The train was the only part of Manila that kept its own time. I mean this in the worst way. One morning in early 2024 the platform clock at Tutuban said 6:12, and the train was not there, and the clock was not right.
I keep a notebook of station clocks that are wrong. That one is still my favourite, because it was wrong with such confidence.
Boarding
When the train arrived, it arrived all at once. The platform, which had been calm, became a tide. People flowed in through every door and somehow the carriage had room. A man held a sack of onions on his lap like a baby. A student read a thesis printout with a highlighter in her teeth.
The platform clock said 6:12. The train and the clock agreed on nothing.
The window
The best part of the ride was the window. For most of the trip you passed the backs of houses: laundry, tin roofs, a barber working in a doorway, a dog on a rooftop. You saw the city from the angle it never expects to be looked at.
The stations were small and plain and each one had its own character. One had a mural. One had the wrong clock. One had a vendor who sold hot peanuts from a basket and who, without exception, was exactly where you hoped he would be.
What changed
A few weeks after that morning, at the end of March 2024, the trains between Tutuban and Alabang stopped, so that a new commuter railway could be built along the same corridor. I wrote this down so I would remember the old line the way it was: the laundry, the peanuts, the clock. When the new trains run, I will ride them too, with the notebook open.
The 6:12 is a sample time from one morning in 2024. Trains on this stretch are not running while the new railway is built, so check the current service before you travel.