Every summer, I have to turn my car aircon full blast, or I’ll roast inside my car, a 1997 automatic Honda City. Last week, a truck was running towards my car on my own lane. I was livid with rage as I honked vigorously for, say, ten seconds. After that, my horn turned mute, like a vocal cord that was over stretched. This morning, when I stepped on the gas, my car was like resisting, like a stubborn mule. Luckily, I reached my office. When I went home, though, after office hours, my car finally gave up on me. I felt like I had a flat tire. I stopped by a gasoline station and asked the boys if my tires were flat. They said no and off I went again, not knowing what was wrong with my car. But my car already felt like a heavy cart which could not proceed any further. I was in the middle of the road. I stepped harder on the gas, so I could at least pull over on the shoulder. I was maneuvering a right turn towards another gasoline station, but my car just stopped there like it was carelessly, diagonally flung there. The sun was down already so the heat of the sun was not any more a problem. It was the first time my car bogged down in the middle of my driving. Troublesome as it was, I did not find myself fretting. I felt lucky. I drove a stretch of around six kilometers on a highway but my car decided to come to a halt at a gasoline station after a six or seven kilometer drive. The gasoline boys were so kind and helpful. They called, on their initiative, a mechanic to check what was wrong with my car. The guard called the said mechanic using his own cell phone, using his own load. The mechanic said over the phone that he would be on his way to check my car. While waiting, they gave me a chair. I was using my document files to fan my self while seated on the chair, with my car parked there like it was tossed by a whirlwind. They were all very hospitable and nice to me. It could have been a worse experience for me if the car stopped in the middle of a busy highway under a scorching heat. But there I was like a princess seated on a throne, fanning myself.
Every time I drive, I pray to Jesus that He would be with me, as my front seat passenger. No one else could occupy that seat so my car could only accommodate four, including me, the driver. The fifth passenger is always Jesus and my three passengers could only sit at the back. True enough, Jesus always gives me an easy time even when my ramshackle car would want to give me more trouble.