Dennis Gaviola

The 2025 version of the Love Bus, which first rolled out in Cebu. Image courtesy of the Department of Transportation's Facebook page

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The 2025 version of the Love Bus

ABS-CBN Lifestyle

<p>“Strict <em></em>ang<em></em> parents <em></em>ko<em></em>.” Do people still say that these days?</p><p>In the ’80s, it was the go-to excuse—why I couldn’t date (even though I sometimes did), why Saturday night parties at the Corinthian Gardens Clubhouse were off-limits, and why I had to plead—sometimes with negotiation letters to my dad, other times with acts of obedience and service to my mom—just to be allowed to attend a soiree with a class from an exclusive boys’ school.</p><p>As a teenager then, I was a protected little brat, and my angst often centered on how restricted I was from enjoying what I thought should be the prime of my youth. My dad drove me and my siblings to school every morning, and in the afternoons, our family driver would take us straight home—or to my mom’s office, where the only gadget available was a single Game &amp; Watch, which we had to fight and bully each other for a turn to use. My mom, our after-school teacher, handed us yellow pads and writing prompts. We would write 500-word essays because there was nothing else to do.</p><p>It was a rigid schedule, with little freedom beyond studying in school and then going home to study some more—or at least pretending to. No going out. No TV on weeknights. Occasionally, I’d manage a small rebellion after school: riding with my BFF M to her family’s store at Padilla Arcade in Greenhills, where we’d roam unsupervised for an hour—until the driver came to fetch me to go straight home. That was the captivity I longed to escape in my prison of a life.</p><p>So when it came time to choose a university, I picked the farthest one from home—no uniform required, and public transport was a necessity. That spelled freedom.</p><p>Freedom was the Love Bus.</p><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1757612299099image0 (6).jpeg" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner" style="text-align:left">The 2025 Love Bus is a true nostalgic trip. <em>Image courtesy of the Department of Transportation Facebook page</em></span></span></span></div><p>The Love Bus first brought me and M to UP Diliman to check our UPCAT results. Back then, the only ways to know if you passed were to wait for the mail (which you would get barely a week before enrollment) or check on campus. We felt so brave riding all the way to what seemed like the northern edge of Metro Manila. We didn’t know we had to pull a string to signal a stop, so when the time came to get off, we shouted, “Stop <em></em>po<em></em>, Kuya driver!” We got off with bowed heads as the passengers giggled.</p><p>I desperately wanted to pass. My safety net, the one where I was already accepted, was an exclusive girls’ school in a Makati village—meaning uniforms and likely being chauffeured to and from school again. That day, a bloodcurdling yet joyous scream reverberated at Vinzon’s Hall. When I looked around to see who was screaming, it was me—after seeing my name on the list. Relief, happiness, and the thrill of liberation. M passed too, and she screamed just as loudly.</p><div><br/></div><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:958px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/17576129569971757612952684.jpeg" class="fr-fic fr-dib" alt="On campus or off, we find time for fun and wacky photos with classmates. Images courtesy of Gege Cruz Sugue"/><span class="fr-inner" style="text-align:left">The author&#x27;s first taste of freedom, by way of the Love Bus. <em>Image courtesy of Gege Cruz Sugue</em></span></span></span></div><p>Studying in UP was my first taste of freedom, and the Love Bus was my daily vehicle of choice to transport me to my parole hours. At 7:45am on weekday mornings, my dad dropped me at the corner of EDSA and Ortigas Avenue—then an empty lot that would someday become Robinsons Galleria. Of all the buses—red, white, yellow, or the non-airconditioned blue—I chose the blue air-conditioned one decorated with hearts. I wanted to feel and smell fresh when I arrived at school. The fare was ₱9.50, nearly a quarter of my daily allowance, but worth every peso—especially because of my crush.</p><p>J was my crush. He was chubby, chinito, and maputi—the trifecta of everything my immature, shallow, unwoke teenage heart desired. He smelled like Johnson’s baby powder. I never got close enough to him to know what he really smelled like, but that was what I imagined. His uniform—pastel polos and faded blue jeans. He did not know me. I knew his name because we had common friends. Each morning, waiting for the Love Bus, I felt goosebumps on my neck whenever I sensed his presence behind me at the bus stop. Maybe he noticed my Goodie barrettes. I hoped my Gap shorts didn’t ride up too much. I certainly made sure my hair—and everything about me—looked good from the back.</p><p>The Love Bus was like a school bus with familiar faces and semi-regular seats. I sat near the front, always angling for a window seat. J sat in the back with his Assumptionista friends. Twice a week, we shared Econ 101 with Prof. Solita Monsod. Again, I imagined him appreciating how cute I was from the back. Because he never sat beside me. Despite mutual friends and opportunities, J and I never happened. He was introduced to me once, but never made an effort to change our label from school bus mates to friends—or to any of the letters from FLAMES. J was the one that got away—on a blue, air-conditioned bus strewn with psychedelic hearts. The symbol of my freedom was also my first taste of the frustration of unrequited love.</p><div><br/></div><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:958px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/17576130002971757612998468.jpeg" class="fr-fic fr-dib" alt="“Strict ang parents ko.” Do people still say that these days?"/><span class="fr-inner" style="text-align:left">On campus or off, the author (far left) always found time to document some of the best times of her college life. <em>Image courtesy of Gege Cruz Sugue</em></span></span></span></div><p>Afternoons were less predictable. Classes ended at different times; there were org meetings, hanging out at friends’ houses, or movie trips to SM North. Or when we were feeling rebellious, San Miguel beer at Full House in Katipunan. Sometimes we went to class reeking of alcohol and Marlboro. Freedom! Freedom within reason and within the limits of our allowance. If lunch at Casaa or lola’s togue lumpia and manong’s mango-on-a-stick hadn’t eaten up all our cash, we could treat ourselves to another Love Bus ride going home.</p><p>But we had to get out of the confines of the campus and cross over to Balara because the bus would be packed by the time it got inside UP. This time, the bus would be filled with students from the other Katipunan schools. None of the passengers was J.</p><p>If we missed the Love Bus, we’d have to settle for the non-AC blue buses, or the yellow, white, or red ones that we had to board at the Quezon Avenue–EDSA corner bus stop. By then, freshness didn’t matter. I’d had my daily dose of freedom and was eager to return to the jail I still called home. Whichever bus I caught, I’d always get off at Tropical Hut in Ortigas, where the family car waited to take me home. Sometimes, I’d buy myself some french fries as I relished my last few minutes of freedom.</p><div><br/></div><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1757611775067image1 (4).jpeg" class="fr-fic fr-dib" alt="Circa 1980s. University life included out of town trips for planning sessions and outings with org mates. Images courtesy of Gege Cruz Sugue"/><span class="fr-inner" style="text-align:left">Circa 1980s. University life included out of town trips for planning sessions and outings with org mates. <em>Images courtesy of Gege Cruz Sugue</em></span></span></span></div><p>When I heard that the government was going to bring back the Love Bus and it was going to be used for free rides, it sounded like such a good thing—a step towards more socialized transportation. I read that they started a pilot run in Cebu. Here&#x27;s hoping the project finds success and gets implemented in as many cities as possible. </p><p>I wonder if it would still be blue and if the logo would be the same (it is). I wonder if it would bring commuters together in some informal community of people with similar routines and schedules. I wonder if it would carry students to their first taste of freedom, their preparation for adulting. And I wonder if it would be a vehicle for crushes to blossom into love and romance.</p><p>These days, I don’t ride buses anymore. Waiting endlessly for a seat on a bus or train is not my idea of freedom. Forty years later, freedom feels more nuanced, more complicated, harder earned, yet even more valued. Now, freedom means having enough time to escape work and social obligations, drive myself to Antipolo, and simply be with the people who matter most...my strict parents.</p><div><br/></div><div><br/></div><p>ABOUT THE AUTHOR </p><div><em>The pandemic lockdowns confirmed for Gege Cruz Sugue how important freedom is. As a freelance corporate trainer, she finds that helping people find freedom from ignorance and incompetence is a cool, fulfilling way of being a freedom fighter. She escapes life’s tedium by creating art, traveling around and outside the country, and buying more books than she could possibly read in this lifetime. As an ambivert, she loves being trapped at home with her husband and her two doggies—Chuckie and Chicharon.</em></div>

<p>The iconic Love Bus, which started its run in the mid-70s and said goodbye to the commuting public in the 90s, is a pure nostalgic trip amidst its current revival project. </p>

The iconic Love Bus, which started its run in the mid-70s and said goodbye to the commuting public in the 90s, is a pure nostalgic trip amidst its current revival project.

When Freedom Was Spelled LOVE: Musings on the Love Bus of a generation past

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When Freedom Was Spelled LOVE: Musings on the Love Bus of a generation past

ABS-CBN Lifestyle,

Gege Cruz Sugue

Published Sep 12, 2025 06:08 PM PHT

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