Some summer afternoon, I drove my car into an intersection just in the heart of the city. The light turns red, so I slowed down, shift my gear down to first gear and release the clutch slowly in order to slow the car down. The brakes of the car aren’t something you could put your trust on, and it’s extremely noisy if you force it through. I was on front, just right behind the stop line.
The car doesn’t have any stereo set whatsoever, so the slow purr of the engine was all I can hear for my entertainment. It’s a steady hum-and-shackle just below 1,000 RPM and the occasional hiccups. An occasional surge of fuel surplus going thought the carburettor because of the new additional fuel pump I have to install in order to keep the car running.
As the light turns green, I carefully shift to the first gear, and release the clutch. Accelerating was not really an instant effect you could expect. It’s a slow and steady push forward as you heard the engine start purring at higher RPM, and the occasional horn-honking drivers right on your back. You can’t help it. You just have to move along, slow and steady, with the melodies of diminished, high-pitched electrical horn honking at the back of your head.
The acceleration of the car was pretty much slow, with its engine blowing hiccups and mechanical tantrums. Even at top gear, you could only go as fast as 3,000 RPM without having to worry that the whole assembly of the car might just tear down. It never goes faster than 90 km/h, and I don’t think it’s wise to try to go further than that.
The overal ride experience was strenuous. The suspension doesn’t work at all, due to its old-and-worn rubber cones on all 4 wheels. One single bump you encounter, could provoke an earthquake right behind the driver’s seat. And the big “thunk” sound of metal-to-metal contact was never a good part of your driving experience. The car was a perfect, ingenious design back in its time. But then again, after 40 years of constant service, it’s an entirely different story.
I’ve been driving a 1974 Mini Cooper on a daily basis throughout my professional career (my professional career wasn’t that long up until this article is written, though). I could say that this is the first car that I have taken responsibility caring for. I’ve never gotten my hands dirty trying to maintain a car my whole life, until this baby came in to my posession.
The car was undeniably a sight of beautiful assymetry and a satirical approach to imperfection. Ingenious in design, practical, with its heart lies on the foundation of marvelous craftmanship, but it has its limits. Its functionality stripped down comfort, and its simplicity lacks sympathy to its drivers.
But it was through driving this car, I learned a lot to listen, and to sympathise
The car lacks sympathy, it was the other way around. The car had turned into something that I have to sympathise for if I ever want to drive around with it everyday. Gas-guzzling, engine revving, or excessive speeding weren’t a logical choice for me. I have to sympathise to every worn-out gear and gaskets that 40 years of service had given them. Even a masterpiece often had time to work against its nature, and I have to understand that. Driving around with the car had made me more sensitive to my senses. It reminds me to pay attention to how the clutch responded to the gentle push of my toes. It taught my ears to listen carefully to any possible out-of-place clunk and thump. Personifying the car to be people I deal with everyday, reminds me that I might have do the same to the people around me. I realised that other people often were bunch of emotional and physiological gears and gaskets too, worn-out by experience and time of their own. It taught me to listen more to their story, and to sympathise more to what they have to say.
I learned that bumps and obstructions are a given in life. Just be cautious.
Bumps and roadblocks aren’t something I could take for granted when driving a car with a worn-out suspension system. I can’t put my foot on the right pedal without having to be sure of any obstruction ahead. The road wasn’t in my favour, and I don’t think it ever will be. The road is beyond what I can control, so I just let it be. The whole experience taught me to be a little more cautious in driving. Maybe that goes the same with life. Roadblocks and detour weren’t really within our controls. Problems and trivia aren’t really within our grasp to make sense of. What’s more important is for you to be cautious of what might lies ahead. I guess it’s more important than ever to cast your eyes about to whatever within your visibility. Be mindful of what lies ahead. You’ll dodge bullets if you’re lucky.
I learned to slow down, I learned to be small
I think the correct expression to define the experience using an old car is to be “in appreciation of slowness”. It’s a common sight having to drive at the slowest lane and see all cars and trucks overtake you. It’s the same with life, I guess. It’s always a common sight to see other people succeed, thrive, or march forward a little faster than you think you are. It makes me realise, that often it’s pretty much pointless if you have to force yourself up to their pace. You were given your own pace and speed, to do your own thing. And often, the best response you can give to the fast-forwarding people and world around you, is just to slow down, be small, and don’t hurt yourself. It’s not getting ahead that matters. It’s about reaching your destination. It’s not about how fast you’ll get there, it’s more about how you enjoy your time planning the journey. You have the burden (or benefits) of carrying a 40-years-old wisdom right within your palms, and there’s no need of forcing it through the traffic. Be small, slow down, and enjoy the ride.
I learned about love
Kahlil Gibran once said,
“Love is work made visible. And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.”
I guess this car is a perfect definition of love. My tendency to objectify my love for the car is more than just a blind, testosterone-filled passion. It’s more about realising the true exchange of love. It took inconsiderable amount of time and care to maintain a well-running, old engine on wheels. I learned that for you to get the most out of the whole experience, it took lots of heartfelt care and patience to make sure it’s running flawlessly. What the car gave me in return was also something that was important beyond measure. It’s my means of transportation, a means of keeping my world up and running. And the experience of it all, which has been a thrill, never fail to deliver that triumphant feeling. Eventually, after all the effort, blood, and endless bath in engine oil, It’s more about realising and understanding the feeling of being loved back. Your efforts are returned, visibly. You feel the result of all the care you put through right in the grasp of your palms, at the touch of our feet. Your patience are paid back in the sweet hum of that 1.000cc engine. You reap the seeds you sow with your own hands. You get what you give. And for me, that’s the true exchange of love humankind had ever experienced. I learned to appreciate life (and beauty) a little bit better, and life is more about the journey What are the perks of having to be slow and small? It’s no other than the chance to catch more of the world’s marvel, beauty, and diversity. It often took me twice as long to get to one place or another compared to other people. But I realised what had not been missing. The thrill, the view, and the sight of the world surround me were always at my pleasure. The journey to a destination had given me a chance to cast my sight around and about, to whatever the world is trying to show me. The joy of the journey often lies just right at the side of the road, and you only can enjoy every marvel of it by paying more attention to what it has to offer. Roadside sight, wasn’t a thing I take for granted anymore. What are more exciting in life other than to be right here, in the now? The beauty of life isn’t on the end of the road, on top of mountains, or in the very end of your destinations. It was the grassy field you met along the hike. It was all the small lake you stopped by during your first checkpoint. It was the people you met along the way, giving thumbs up, smiled, and laughed with you along your ride. It was the children laughing, cheering your way up, although you’re struggling to put the second gear on the long ascending road. In slowness, you learn to laugh with your efforts. To make fun of the things you had put your heart on doing, and share the joy with other people along your way. And I guess those are the things I learned about life, through driving an outdated, 40-years-old engine on wheels. Sometimes, you just gotta pay attention on the little things. But most of the time, you’ll realise that some things just take time. You can’t force things to go your way. You have to live a little of your life along with the bump. You’ll learn that you can’t run all the time. You’ll learn to appreciate slowness, and dwell in it. It taught me to sit back and breathe. Perfection comes with patience and determination. And in the end, no one will deny beauty made with care and time.