One evening last December, I climbed up a jeepney filled with Koreans; all of them male, excitedly murmuring in Korean, and occupying both sides of the jeepney. One side would take pictures of the other side, and the other side would repeat the gesture. I had to look away or the digital cameras' flashes would hurt my eyes. I've had a long day and a late night at the office.
They looked at me. I looked at them. Three of them took my picture and I squinted, but I smiled. I pulled out my jeepney fare and leaned over the guy nearest me, so that the guy farther away could take my fare and hand it to the driver. It is a custom when riding jeepneys in the Philippines.
The Korean beside me took my fare, put it in his shirt pocket, handed me his camera, and the entire Korean delegate suddenly faced me and became one big smile.
I took their picture, using camera after camera after camera, digitally freezing the all-out smiles of men who all look the same to me.
My fare never reached the driver.
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