Vintage BDU

I drive a vintage red Proton Aeroback, preloved from mom to Along to me. It has been around since I can remember; since 1996 if I'm not senile yet.

I never really name it, though some lovable brats at school call it Budu.

Hazim once told me, "Teacher, Raimi kata kereta teacher buruk."

I chuckled and saw that Raimi was merely two metres apart. Kids, we're not playing broken telephone here!

Yes, the colour is dull out of age and dad once told me, if I get it waxed, the colour will shine and it'll be a beautiful as can be. Problem is, I can't find it in my tight schedule to squeeze in waxing car.

Okay, I admit. I am excruciatingly idle.

This week alone, I've crashed the poor old car twice. On Sunday and on Wednesday. The first was when I had to pick up an urgent call while driving. Yes, it was rather unwise to do so. I hit a lamppost and I was alone in the car.

No harm done, except for some hideous scratch on the left side of the bumper.

I laughed myself silly. I told parents of it. Dad shook his head whilst mom gave me the eye.

The second was when I had to pick up Hazim at 5. With my bloodshot eyes I went and fetch him and managed to hit the raised sidewalk near the junction in front of Billion.

Same spot on the bumper. Imagine that.

We survived the rather humiliating incident. I can never trust myself with things that can go fast.

It's quite tedious to have a car to care. It has been two weeks since I gave it its bath and if I do not do it today, it'll have to wait till next week.

How could boys be crazy of cars? They're troublesome!

Budu may be old, creaky perhaps, but it's my Budu. I shall cherish it until I save my late grandpa's Ford Escort from the forgotten garage of carnage.

Now that's antique.