On Solitude：Drive
I’ve never really missed anything.
Maybe I should say I’ve never allowed myself to miss anything. Of course, there were moments I felt difficult and lonely, but I know it better that it doesn’t help to sit around and miss something. But there’s one thing I truly miss since leaving home and that is driving.
My father taught me how to drive before I turned to the legal age of driving but only got the license years after. He let me drive his best car, so I had to make sure I didn’t smash the shit out of it. I enjoy my little universe while driving. I learned how to drive stick on purpose when we don’t drive them anymore just to make sure I know how to tame every vehicle. With the music blasting out loud and the scenes flashing through me, I feel infinite. It’s one of my favourite ways to be alone for it always calms my thoughts.
My father was never an ostentatious man. He grew up poor, eating the cheapest thing his family could afford which is sweet potatoes with plain rice. I’ve never seen him being wasteful and he wears the same clothes my mom bought for him for years. He would get mad when we throw food away. But since I can remember, we always have nice cars. That’s the only thing he would spend his savings on. Those cars were never big or extravagant. For me, it was always classic, four-door sedans and they’re always black. In my world, cars are always black.
He takes good care of them, sometimes better than of his own daughters. There were times I resented him for this, but now I understand better. He never sells his “old” cars; he just kept having more. I used to think it was unbelievably ridiculous but now I take pride in of the fact that we used to have more cars than the licenses we had at home because what’s worse than a sabotaging family member? Besides, it means my father can afford his good taste. I got to drive the oldest sedan on my own when I had my license and it’s still in a very decent condition due to my father’s constant care. He set the standard high and I always feel like I have to be as good as him when it comes to cars. I never leave the car if it wasn’t parked neatly or in a regular parking spot. I tried to keep it as clean as possible even though it could be better. I follow traffic rules but speeding occasionally. I don’t honk unless it’s necessary and even if it’s necessary, I made sure I could at least shout at the drivers. Driving is probably the only thing my father and I would talk about. Other than this, we seldom share.
It took me a long time to understand what it means to be a good father for him is to provide a roof over his children’s heads and adequate assets because that’s what he always lacks as a child. As a father, he does his best to provide what he thinks is the best for us. And he did. People around me always say I’m my father’s favourite child since growing up, although there were times I felt like the opposite. It also took me a while to realize I’m a very tricky daughter for a father to have. But driving makes me feel like we’re on the same team. That I drive like him. That I’m still his daughter. That I still belong to somewhere, to someone.
And that’s one thing I truly miss.
— First written in Apr 2020
