Image from my personal gallery
Chronicle of the girl with the blue Yaris
In 2004, after returning from Maturín, a city where I was completing my master's degree, my father sat me down and showed me some numbers, which represented the transportation costs I incurred weekly. Based on the small fortune I was spending on taxi rides, my father advised me that I should buy a vehicle. A week later, after issuing a bank manager's check with all the savings I had up to that moment, I bought a car and became the girl with the blue Yaris.
At first, my father offered to be my instructor, but due to his little patience, he quickly threw in the towel. Then it was my brother-in-law and my younger brother who had to endure my nervousness and lack of skill at driving:
_Step on the brake, step on the brake - my brother would shout, and his shouts made me even more nervous.
_To the left, slowly, not so fast - my brother-in-law would say, and my lack of coordination and nearsightedness made the car fall into potholes, ditches, or run over some debris.
After some 'practice', I started driving my car alone to work: I always took the highway and never went through the busy streets of the city. Likewise, if we planned an outing, to drink or dance, I had to take the car home, because with the visual problem I have and how poorly I drove, it was a danger not only for me but also for others.
While I had my car, I did what supposedly no driver should do: I lent my car. My brother, my brother-in-law, and even my friends would ask to borrow the car and I, like someone who hears the good mornings and responds, I automatically lent it to them.
Once I was in Maturín in my master's class and a good friend called me to ask to borrow my car. Without asking her much, I told her to come by my house to pick it up. When I returned, it turned out that my car was involved in an infidelity gossip, and my boyfriend, who thankfully had been with me in Maturín, begged me not to lend my car anymore because I could get involved in bigger problems.
On another occasion, we left early to grab a coffee, and when we left the café, it was already nighttime. Since I no longer lent my car, I drove it home, but when I was about to park it in the garage, I misaligned it and accidentally scratched the passenger door. That meant my mother’s blood pressure went up and my father reminded me of all my ancestors and even my childhood illnesses. Unable to defend myself, I had to endure 'the water stick', my father's scoldings, with my head down and feeling very ashamed.
As the months went by, I kept spending money on taxis and now also spending on my own car. What was supposed to be a solution became a problem. So when my brother-in-law said he would buy a car, I told him I could sell him mine. My father got upset because my car, according to him, 'was a good car. The problem was that I hadn't gotten attached to it.' He told me as if some objects needed love to be okay. Here, between us, when I sold my Yaris, more than sadness or pain, I felt a profound relief.
All images are from my personal gallery and the text was translated with Google
Thank you for reading and commenting. Until next time, friends
