When I was a kid, I drooled whenever a Volkswagen car would pass by. I thought that driving one was almost reaching heaven. For me it was tantamount to attaining holiness, the apex of faith, the culmination of everlasting life. Having a toy car however was nearest that aim.
It was never easy. When I asked my father if he could buy a car, his reply was snappy, he cannot because he does not know how to drive one. He had a point. I could not own one also because I cannot drive either.
My father gave me a suggestion instead. He said that I should study hard in school, read books so that one day if I will be employed, I would get paid and from there I could buy a car of my choice. Once I get one, I will be compelled to learn in driving it. It was as easy and as simple as that.
And so I went inside my room and started pouring over the books, tried to be attentive in school, even tried harder for some extracurricular activities until I realized that my dream of owning a Volkswagen had fizzled off. The volks no longer attracted attention. There were lots of car models to choose from. I lost interest too in toys and got more hooked on reading. At that time, I dreamt of being a writer.
But as soon as I visit one library after another, I thought that the field of literature was already over populated. There were a lot of authors, a lot of writers, brilliant ones at that and if at all I would include my warm body, it would just be too much. No more writing for me.
And so I traversed the path towards Arts. It was an exciting proposition. Besides, I had the inclination, the patience and talent. I could instantly follow the style of the masters; I could immediately mix and blend colors. The problem however is that there was too much creativity required and I had no insane part of my body to exude that quality. And so I reverted to sculpture. Only a few artists can navigate such consuming branch of art. I went further. I worked on bust sculpture, on portrait sculpture. After all, there was only a handful of masters in this craft. Unfortunately, there was also little revenue in it.
I coasted along and after a brief period in the academe with little exposure in arts, I settled to work in government.
Year after year, I ascended towards a higher post until I became a supervisor. With enough savings from my allowances, deducting personal necessities, books and art materials, I was able to save something for what I intend to own.
At that time, the cost of living could only accommodate so little. And since I cannot buy prestige, could not afford to publish my works neither could compete in an expensive foray in arts, I thought of rummaging the nearest junkshop.
And lo and behold, there was this poorly parked car, an aged, run down Volkswagen. I plucked out my savings and bought it. I pulled it out and tried to inject life into it. I offered what I learned, the patience of writing, the interest in arts and the audacity of a government worker. In a month’s time, the Volks had gained a life of its own.
Owning and driving one made my childhood dream a reality after all.