Friday, April 7th, 2006
I had to leave my car in front of my uncle’s office building this evening. We’re using his vehicle to take my cousins out for a drink. I flinched as he handed my key, under Samurai Jack’s guard, to the night watch.
"We’ll get it on Sunday afternoon," my uncle said.
Sunday? Sunday afternoon?! That’s like 40 hours away! We’re talking about my car here! We’ve been apart, surely, but it had always been me going away for a weekend or a long vacation. Since I started using it regulary, which is to say since we moved to the far east, I don’t remember it being away for too long.
I started missing my car the moment I got off to hand over the wheel to my uncle. Sure, I don’t take care of it much. It hardly gets to the carwash; the backseat is always full of press releases, invitations, souvenirs, trash. At one point, the seat and the carpet even got stains after a neglected bottle of red wine decided it already had too much heat and it just to perspire in red, profusely, through the cork.
I push my car to its limits. I’d carelessly floor the gas pedal and bang on the horn, especially when I’m pissed - at the stupid vehicle crawling in front of me when I’m late for a coverage, at the impatient car beside me that’s trying to cut through my lane, at trucks or buses which can’t decide which lane to stay on, at the world, in general.
I’d go beyond speed limits; beat the red light; run past traffic enforcers who flag me down either for a violation or just for the fun of it; I fly over humps, dip in to potholes, swim through puddles, cruise on roughroads as if it’s an all-imported and powerful 4×4. I’d keep it running even when the panel already screams for more fuel.
My car is nothing fancy. It’s just a four-door, black, entry-level sedan bought shortly before my graduation. It was not exactly meant for me, and it’s still under my mother’s name. I cover motoring events and I’m very painfully aware there are lots of more elegant, more efficient, more everything vehicle in the market. But the car has been sort of "mine" for over a year now and I love it, dents and all.
I sat quietly as we went off to Ortigas, my mind busy masking the ridiculous loneliness I felt over the temporary distance from my car with supposed forlorn over the permanent departure of lost loves. It did not work. And I got scared. It seems like I have grown detached to humans, and yet here I was totally bugged over a slightly sophisticated version of a pushcart.
It must have been quite a ride because I ended up thinking of how similar I treat my car and the people I love, or should love. I run fast, overtake, always to busy for anyone; I curse at them - consciously but in silence; at times I demand a lot, expect everything to be instantly available with a single request; and I ignore their needs, as if heeding to a small request like taking out the trash or doing the dishes would kill me.
It’s awful. I’m awful.
And it’s 3 a.m.-ish once again. I shall be posting this in a bit and it will be virtually immortalized. But when I wake up in the morning, or afternoon, I will probably be back to my old self - selfish, cold, uncaring and unloving, yet demanding the world from those who love me. Like a vampire, I will suck in all they can offer, and more. When I get my car back on Sunday, I should be back to my old self. Otherwise, how am I going to survive traffic on the road and in life?
