here in germany, cars are revered as cows are in india. most people choose their cars more carefully than they would a flat. see, a car is more than just an electro-mechanical implement to get you to from point A to point B. it’s a lifestyle, a statement, a testament to who and what you are. you know how they say that good drivers feel that the gas and brake pedals become extensions of their feet, and that the shift stick that of the arms so that the car becomes a part of them when they drive? well, what do you think would it feel for a german to be bereft of his car? of course, there’s M, hubby’s good friend, who wouldn’t give a hoot; he’d rather spend 6 thousand euros for his bike, rather than get himself a car. but he’s a geek an exception.

we’ve got the dreaded call. last saturday, we had a seemingly normal car. nobody’s dream car by any stretch, but at least it was utile. one day later, we have a ton of metal scrap and four winter tires that costs nothing more than 500 euro. the injection pump, the heart and soul and spine of the car, is comatose. the car wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even make an idle hum. nada. of course, like terri schiavo, we can resuscitate it, but spending as much as the estimated three thousand grand for the repair doesn’t seem to make sense. it’s nearly as much as the value of the 7-year old car, and there’s no assurance that it’ll stay problem-free after the repair.

some part of me just can’t reconcile that this car is, from one day to the next, reduced to a heap of worthless scrap. back home, my kid brother is still driving my dad’s corolla ‘91, a car that has received a lot of use and abuse during my reign as its mistress. before me, it was even used for a short span by my older bro as a service car, and the kilometer reading was pretty high. once, during a typhoon, i didn’t dare drive through the flooded roads, and i simply drove to the curb, left it and took a jeepney home. the next day, as i went back to the car, water gushed out as i opened the door. yes it was flooded through, and it took an eternity to get the seats dry again. and since i parked it on a road banked by rice fields, the mechanic also had to pick out rice straw and other debris from the engine. what a catastrophe!

but emil, my dad’s trusted all-around mechanic and from time-to-time, driver, was good with cars. he used to work with grand air, and i’ve always asked him if he could make the car fly, too. he’s made countless overhauls and changed inumerable parts on that car, none of which were bought from an official toyota dealer, of course. he always knew where to get that alternator, or that ignition piece, or whatever else that he needs for a reasonable price. the insignia on the car says it’s a toyota corolla, but under that hood, there’s probably just 5% left of toyota there.

i can’t help but wonder how it would be if emil would be here. when i go home and tell him this story, he’s gonna guffaw in disbelief with our decision to simply let this car go. i can nearly imagine him saying, “bigyan mo ako ng limang libo, patatakbuhin ko yan”. that’s labor and parts included. but of course, hubby won’t have him touch it; he’s not an accredited mechanic from an accredited repair shop, and will not be using official spare parts bought from accredited suppliers.

at any rate, the decision was not ours to make. the car was a gift from my parents-in-law when i got pregnant with jan. it was never transferred to our name, so that we didn’t have to pay the taxes, insurances and what have you’s. it’s technically still my father-in-law’s, although he never gets to see it except when we go visit them. it was nearly painful to tell them the story; they needed to install a new heater just a few weeks ago and are not exactly swimming in money at this point.

so the verdict: f*ck the car and get info on leasing rates, fast!

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