Friday, February 29, 2008

Empathy for A4

As I was driving along the other day I took note of all the little things that needs fixing on my car: the side mirrors are rusted but they still work, the rear view mirror refuses to stay on after multiple glue-ings, the little hole chipped in on the cruise control acceleration buttons, the loud muffler, the brake light that is always on, the rubber trim pieces slowly peeling off the doors, the almost invisible rusted edges here and there, the popped off & missing centre wheel cap, and the feeling that the engine struggles every so often or the timing is off when it does its thing. The interior is slightly scratched here and there, a good cleaning or rubbing down with oils will probably work wonders but when I saw all these things, I felt sad because I empathized with my car.

I remember when I test drove it with my bf just over 3 years ago. It was 6 years old then and while it looked used, the previous owner was easy on it and it honestly felt relatively new. It had power, it went when you gave it gas. It had minor scratches on the outside only and the interior was close to perfect. Mechanically & electrically it was flawless as far as I could tell. I loved it and still do but I have not been as nice to it as I could've. Only did basic repairs and tuneups on it. Often, things were not fixed until it broke down or out of necessity. I did not put above average kilometers on it but for a year or so, it went through some terrain that was probably inappropriate for it.

Now, while not on its last legs yet, it feels haggard, aged & tired. Only 3 short years. I feel like its journey & transformation closely resembled my own and of course it was there with me through much of it. It sheltered me when I decided to sleep outside someone's house for some godforsaken reason when I could've gone home. I changed in it, ate in it & it trucked all my belongings back and forth many times. It took me through nasty weather to get to work far from home. It accompanied me with music and made me feel better when I was down. On some of those longer drives, I felt the much needed escape it provided. For the 3 hours there and back on those days, it was just me, my car and the road: the freedom of mobility, possibilities, opportunities.

Sadly, I cannot say I paid for this car. It was a gift from my parents from about 8 years ago and I thank them very much for it. Aside from being a tool and a mere means of transportation, it has often been a sanctuary of sorts also. It is for all these reasons that I feel sad now. When I drive it and it struggles, all I can think is "I feel you, I know the years have not been too kind but we must keep moving until we can go no more." The roads will get better, there will be brighter horizons and when I am able, I will plan a better route for you so that you may have a longer and stabler life. Until then, keep that ol' license plate on you and we will go wherever we are needed.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Home is where the heart is

I know this to be true and it feels strange and uncomfortable sleeping without my heart. I feel aimless, hollow and restless as my chest aches, longing for warmth in the deep caverns of where my heart should be. It's cold here.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

That bound feeling

This is what being an "adult" feels like or maybe that's a bad label for what this is. There are just situations you put yourself into, refuse to get out of, where more often than not you feel as if your hands are tied, your mouth is gagged and you are almost blind-folded, prodded and pushed along to an action you are reluctant to take. It's the classic damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't scenario.

They are the abundant moments in life when you breath deeply, sigh with all your being, hoping to release the pent up whatever that doesn't go anywhere. You desperately want the tension to relieve itself but it lingers and gnaws away at you little by little on the inside.

*breath in, breath out* Nope, doesn't work. Meditation. So simple an exercise yet so hard to execute.

Go I can sleep in peace.