And by “baby”, I meant my car – the black 2-door Honda. At first when I handed the buyer the key and signed off the title, I didn’t think much. Actually, I wanted to sell it as fast as possible. These weeks have been pretty rough on me and I really needed to get one thing off my mind. As they were driving my baby away, I felt relieved.
But one day later, it started to hit me. That car – the black 2-door Honda – has been with me through thick and thin. When I had no one by my side, when I had no where else to hide, it was the little lair I came to seek comfort. It was with me on the highways where we used to enjoy the marvelous Southern sunset or when I chilled at some lake after a long tiring day at my useless school. It took me home at 2 a.m. after a party with my best friends. I drove to Fort Worth to pick up Iris then went to Dallas to meet up with Zi. We were young, very young back then. Life was full of the thrilling unknown. After a long trip, I I usually pat on the roof and said, “Good job, babe. Sorry for not treating you well.” I treat my car pretty bad and if it were a person, it really tried its best to put up with me. And I can’t believe I sent my baby away with a relief. There have been tons of times I ate, cried, chilled out with friends, sang out loud, studied, enjoyed a night ride in that car. It has witnessed me at my strongest and weakest points.
And on that note, selling the car means the end of an era.
I bought that car when I first moved to Texas in 2011, leaving the sad and haunting memory of Washington behind. Now that I think back of who I used to be, a part of me will laugh it off while another part just wants to pat the old me on the shoulders and says, “Poor girl, don’t worry! You will see places and meet people you’re meant to. Life is not always so dull.” In community college, I was that girl who ate alone in the cafeteria wearing a pair of earphones and hoping no one would bother her. I didn’t know what to do with my life, and the flame once burning bright in my heart seemed to be long gone. As I thought that was destined, I accepted everything.
But things changed and people came. Some friends whom I once hold dear to my heart but no longer contact, a guy who broke my heart but from that I learned to love myself the way I deserve. And Zi and Iris. I came here at the age of 20, not old enough to consume alcohol, pursued a major I disliked but assumed it would help me to get a job easier in the U.S. And now, here I am.
As the car wore out, I learned more and more lessons about life. Some has gone expired, some stays true until now. I know more people. I have seen my friends growing up, getting married, finding Mr. Right. It seems as if just yesterday, three of us were in the car driving to AMC to watch Avengers, being crazy about those handsome superheros, wondering who could love us and talking about our passions.
I’ve been aware for a while that I’m no longer that innocent girl. But selling the car is the official seal closing this chapter of my life. A part of me regrets for not having a proper farewell with my beloved car, but maybe it’s a good thing. I’m not good at saying good bye, either for objects or people.
Dear my car,
Where are you now? How have you been? What did they do to you? Are they treating you well? Did they give you a new stereo or change the seat covers? I’m sorry for all of the taints I caused.
I just want to say that you will forever stay as one of the best memories in my heart.
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