The Drive and My little Car

The Drive

Now, what do I spill here? Its funny how you have some many thoughts in your mind and you can’t wait to write it all out here and when you’re finally here, you forget. You stuck.

The thought came to my mind as I was trying to drive last evening, a Monday evening to be exact. It’s been a long time since I last drove, and I couldn’t drive a manual car anymore.  Heck, I can’t drive an auto either. But that’s not the point.

I used to have a car. It was a nice one, not very good-looking, not chic or sleek looking, or posh, not at all Lamborghini or Volkswagen Beetle, but it was a damn good car, and I loved it. It may be cheap and common, but I liked it a lot.

I still remember when I first saw the car. It wasn’t really a love at first sight, no, not at all. Love was too strong a word, and I think it was just, okay? But I gave it a chance, and we got to know each other, and later got along pretty well.


I fell in love with the car in no time, for it was always comfortable. For it always gave me a good time. Of course, we were always travelling, me and my little car, but it never gave me problems. I loved the car, and was very proud of it, I never wanted more. I never asked for more.

The drive? It was beautiful, being with the car made me feel like The Stig in Top Gear. Adventurous, yet fun, and sexy, very sexy. The drive got me laughing a lot too, for I was always happy with that car.  Always contented. The drive was smooth and fun, one that we never wanted to stop. I loved the drive so much, and at times I must say I love the drive more than the destination itself.

I would say I took great care of my little car, my baby. I gave it all it wanted, all it needed. I gave and took, tolerated a lot. We’ve had bad times, bumpy roads, crashes, but we sailed through. My car was behaving well too, was always for me whenever I needed it. Yet little do I realise that my little car was leaving me.

My car left me all alone in a deserted street one day, gave up, not wanting to continue the drive. We didn’t reach our destination. Was there a destination? And looking at where we both are now, is this a destination? I counted so much on a car; I’ve had so  much faith in it and yet it broke down and broke my heart.

Does that happen all the time?

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I remembered when I first drove a manual car. It was with him. If there’s really one person that I will never forget no matter how long it has been since, it’s him.

May be, it was because he was the first, or the fact that he was such a nice young lad, until he walked out on me.

Must be, because he had walked out on me; fell out of love on me, the moment I was still in love with him.

He taught me how to drive a car; a manual car. He was so patient then; he sounded more like a teacher than I would. He was patient, soft spoken, and very calm, even when I almost got the car went into the drain. It was funny, and daft, very. He taught me near the unoccupied shop lots at Perda, and we were interrogated by a police officer when he saw us wandering aimlessly there. Being teenagers we panicked, and at 18 I was suspected to have run away from home when the policeman saw my luggage.

He was a very nice young chap. He wasn’t best looking, not the drop dead gorgeous type—breaking hearts and faces. But he was wonderful.

He was like a really good car. Our love was like a drive. It ended. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. Unexpectedly.

At least, it was beautiful while it lasted.

If you get what I mean, I want a new car