I was nearly 19 when I "earned" my first car. It was a used red Volkswagen that my parents offered me in return for choosing to go to the Lebanese University. An obvious choice for me who wanted to go to the only journalism school in the country at the time but a well-appreciated one for my parents who were financially drained after paying sky-high tuitions for my siblings in private universities.
And so I drove my red Polo to college every morning, bragging about being one of the very few students who owned a car and offering free lifts to my friends. It was a nice car minus the color; it was impossible for me to go unnoticed and I felt stalked most of the time. The car gave me a feeling of freedom; movement was not an issue anymore. I could go anywhere, anytime without having to beg my mother for dropping me and picking me up. That was the first step towards becoming independent!
But then one day, my car broke... It was a rainy winter day and it was dark. I was driving down the highway and the car suddenly stopped and it refused to start again. I sat there with broken sobs and half-supressed sighs (remember I was 19!) and I didn't know what to do. The wind was blowing harder, the car was almost shaking, and the rain was pouring... I reached to my phone and I dialed my father's number. After a long minute, he finally picked up. I told him that I had a car problem and that I needed help, to which he replied: "where is X?" (X was my boyfriend back then)
Between the shock of the answer and the disappointment, I swiped at a tear that escaped my eye, wiped another one from my cheek and said: "he can't come, he has an exam" and to that he responded: "why don't you call a tow truck"... I hung up, looked into the pile of insurance papers and called for assistance.
Fifty minutes later I was sitting next to the tow truck driver, feeling half petrified and half relieved. His smell and the way he looked at me were terrifying and I was gripping the passenger door, ready to jump out. After that incident, I replaced my in case of emergency person. I removed my dad's number and saved Jaafar's name instead. Jaafar was the tow truck driver. And so every time my car broke from that day on, I automatically called Jaafar.
Three years later I sold my little red Polo and replaced it with a used BMW. At first I thought it was an upgrade but I soon discovered that if the Polo taught me to be independent and acquire problem solving skills, well the BMW gave me even better skills: mechanic skills! I quickly became an expert in cooling off an overheated engine: Pulling over and opening up the hood so that the engine is able to cool off, opening the radiator cap adding water until the engine has cooled became natural reflexes. I even started to accept help from complete strangers with pleasure... Even when it came from weirdos who offered me tools and a ride to the nearest gas station. I realized strangers can sometimes be nicer than your immediate family members.
My BMW moments were long lived and they taught me some of the most valuable lessons of patience and self-reliance.
It wasn't until my sister offered to give me her Audi, that I gave up the BMW. The separation was easy in fact; I couldn't feel more relieved. The Audi had no overheating issues but had a short battery life. Or was it just like me, too lazy to go to work on Mondays that it hopelessly tried to keep me home. Truth be said, my Audi and I had a fairly good time but like every story, ours came to an end too...
As I look back, I realized that no matter the memories, each car taught me a lesson, but the hardest one was to rely on myself... because that’s the only way I will never be disappointed.
