Locking Myself Up In The Car For Some Alone Time

I have a great car - a black MyVI my father bought me a few months before he passed away. Before that, I drove a small second-hand white Kancil for a year or so, which I also passionately loved. I love both my cars because they carry me to to wherever I need to go, without complain. For God knows how much I hate complains.

As with most people, I think, I love driving. I also love driving alone. When I am by myself, looking at the road ahead. There I was, heading to a destination I had in mind. The thought of such certainty satisfied me to a certain extent. Provides me with an irony in life. We always know where we are heading with a car but never with ourselves. Where are we heading, exactly? Forward? Backwards? Towards the light? Or oblivion? Or towards a blackhole of complete hollowness?

I don't know. I have no idea.

Therefore, after spending much of my time with that certainty of a physical destination, I would lock myself in the car at the parking lot. I would switch off the engine, leave the battery open and play Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes on the CD player. I would stretch my legs comfortably as the song Winter keeps playing repeatedly. I would ignore the bustling world outside and rest my head on the edge of the window.

And I would think about my father.

I would try to remember how he looked like, how he sounded like, how he was, the way he talked to me, the way he walked, the way he held the cigarettes in his hand, the way he took out the Ringgit notes from his blue Valentino wallet and the way he often succumbed to our pleas to have meals at our favourite places. Despite the conflict in the family, I remember how it did not change the fact that we would be able to see him if we want to see him. He might have not been there when he was supposed to, but he tried his best. And he would pick up his phone for his children. Even when he was in a meeting. Or when he was busy. And he would give me advices. And how I told him of my activities - all in the effort to impress him. I would tell him of my faculty and my friends, as if my life was that interesting. And he would nod as he scrolled his Blackberry. He did not look at me but his ears were listening to what his daughter was saying. And he would respond. I would sit opposite him and he would listen to what I have to say. Most of the time, I had a lot to say. And I had a father who listened. But most of the time, I said things that were not on my mind. But he listened anyway. And after I told him the truth of how I really felt, he kept on listening. He had his own problems to deal with as I with mine - though both categories were of very dissimilar gravities - it did not create distance for us. His world was the world I aspired to reach. By spending much time with him, I hoped I could be as hardworking and passionate as he was about his job. But I always found myself at the lazier side of life. A girl who hated workload. But I tried. And I keep trying. For my father never gives up for what he believes in. He was persistent. He was stubborn. But he never shouted at his family. He had a certain class in managing his life. His obsession with all things neat and organized drove me crazy. The car should not be dirty. "This is a new car, Ruby," he said one day after the MyVI was purchased. "Drive with care. Don't treat it the way you treat your Kancil." "Don't waste money." "Have some discipline in life." "Work hard." "Why is your pointer like this?" "How did you study? Did you not try your best?" I would try my best and dig at the core of my brain to recall the memories. Perhaps, for a short while when I am alone, I could relive the feelings that my father is still in my life. Pushing me to do my best. To be my backbone. To make me strong again.

I miss that. I miss everything about my old self, whom I know I will never get back.

I am different now. I am a changed person. Did you notice it? I talk the same way, I laugh the same way. But do you notice the hopelessness on my face I try so hard to cover? Perhaps not. Perhaps you did. It does not matter.

I find it hard to tell these things to a friend. I have great friends whom I love and who would be there for me if I need them. I don't like being sad in front of other people. I am not sure why. Perhaps because I don't want them to know why I am sad. I am not comfortable of the thoughts of people knowing what I think and feel. I don't like that. It is akin to being naked, just without clothes. No, I don't like that.

But the thoughts never leave me. So I lock myself in the car, alone. To think alone. To ponder alone. To evaluate the severity of my situation, alone. To weigh the great and bad stuffs about my life, alone. To think of my strengths and weaknesses, alone. To miss my father, alone.

Then, I would pick myself up again. Why? Because I have a great family and a great home I can always return to. Great friends. And my future is bright. Many many possibilities await me. I can live a great life. A satisfying fulfilling live with a lot of new experiences that will make me a better person. I can still help people and change the world for the better. I can still achieve my dreams. I can do anything.

Nobody said one needs to be happy doing those thing anyway.

Should I ever get a little bit upset with life, I could always lock myself up in the car. And think. And feel better. At the end of the day, all I need is just to feel better than what I felt before.