"So remember when we were driving
driving in you car
Speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
And I...had a feeling that I belonged
And I...had a feeling I could be someone
Be someone, be someone."
- "Fast Car", by Tracy Chapman
Growing up in metropolitan Kuala Lumpur, traffic has always been a major part of my life. My childhood memories are littered with scenes from inside my parents' Isuzu Trooper: my dad taking off-road shortcuts that felt more like cratered surfaces of the moon; sleeping on a mattress laid out at the back as we made our annual 8-hour drive to Johor Bahru; making myself small so that my mom couldn't reach my seat and pinch me whenever I couldn't get the spelling from the list right; the car breaking down in the middle of the road and I'd be lying across the backseat, sweating away as my dad fiddled with the repairs. Now that I'm driving my own car, my memories of getting caught in traffic are different. They are filled with songs that I play almost full-blast, songs that I sing along with, and daydreams of stories that I craft -- or used to craft, at any rate. I actually enjoy traffic jams, provided I'm not in a hurry at that particular time.
But the best memories I build driving around Kuala Lumpur happen during two situations: late at night when it's just me, some random cars and daredevil motorcyclists, and the city lights; and in the mornings during weekends when I drive home from work, where the cool breeze tastes fresh, where the city itself is yawning and stretching, not quite awake just yet. My playlist during these times are more often than not acoustic renditions and covers. I'll be driving fast with the window down, my hair whipping about. The city sits beside me, her long fingers caressing the back of my neck as she shares with me the hidden beauty all around me. Sometimes the city is a guy, but I still appreciate the intimate sharing of sights and sounds all the same.
I've never belonged anywhere. I'm too weird and artistic for the scientific and medical world, but too rigid and structured for the artistic world. Perhaps I've never made enough effort. Perhaps I've been trying too hard. At home, I don't get to share my work experiences because they are too different from what my family members face. Also, having spent my entire career proving my worth but getting glossed over all the time is not something I'm eager to share with anyone. And of late, I've been questioning my worth as a writer that I've quit writing prose altogether. Bits and pieces of Instagram poetry, sure, but I've said my goodbyes to writing stories. I've spent my entire writing career trying to prove my worth, but I still get glossed over, and it's wearing me down.
I'm just tired. So tired. And frustrated. But mostly tired.
I don't know if I can keep this up any longer. Playing by the rules, doing everything right, being professional despite the hits that I receive, and yet never taken seriously. I don't know why my Master's Degree that I literally almost died for seems to worth far less compared to others'. And writing-wise, I keep getting rejections that claim that I'm such a strong writer, with excellent characters that come to life, but best of luck in getting representation elsewhere. And get this: I can't even buy a house because my money management is horrendous. And my face is so messed up now, I'm surprised children still trust me enough to be around them.
So basically my life that's supposed to be a success story is a failed attempt at adulthood. I'm whining, I know. I'm supposed to be grateful for surviving the car accident. I'm supposed to be grateful for earning my Master's Degree. I'm supposed to be grateful for being graced with artistic talents not limited to writing.
What does not belonging have to do with driving? The only time I feel that I belong anywhere is when I'm driving fast in the city with the window down, catching sunrises and sunsets between skyscrapers, passing orange tunnel lights. Just me, the city in the passenger seat, and the possibility that I can be someone. This is the only time that I get to simultaneously think about going ever faster so that I'd crash the car and end my existence, but holding on to life just a little bit longer because there's so much beauty to behold.
"You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way."
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