In between Hot Wheels

Love is one of life’s most irreplaceable things. You can replace an arm, you can replace a friend, and you can replace money, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find any immediate replacement for love.

It’s not enough to force yourself to forget about something. It’s not enough to stop thinking about it. At one point, you’ll have to confront it. At one point – any point in the future, you’ll meet it again. I can’t tell you when, but I can tell you if: and the answer is yes.

It’s hard to give up your passion. Some might even call it impossible. Impossible to break out of your habits, your obsessions, and your desires. It’s hard to change, but it happens anyways. You leave a lot of things behind when you change. Some things, you don’t mind letting go of. Bad memories – indiscriminate feelings of something that you regret. Something that you lost. Pointless, menial arguments about nothing at all. You don’t mind letting those go.

Sentimental people get the worst of it. When I was little, I used to cherish my used tissue paper. I would just keep using them. I’d wait until they get dry, and I’d reuse them. Of course, if they got too gross, I threw them out – but I tried to keep them for as long as I could’ve. As long as I could hang on to their fragile, fleeting pieces. As long as I could keep them in the palm of my hand, they would be immortal. As long as they stayed there, they would live forever.

It was stupid. Stupid, and so pointless, yet so important to me. It was a premonition; a warning of what would come next.

I recalled a lot of things about when I was little. I remember going up that mountain – I remember looking at the signs leading up to the peak, and noticing how wet they were. I remember how uncomfortably heavy my wet jacket was on my little three-year old body. I remember my little feet, and how it felt like I was standing among giants. The heroes of my childhood.

One day, the illusion broke, but that’s 500 words for another day.

Something that never broke was my love of cars. I always wanted to buy a toy car every time I came home from kindergarten. I remember asking for “more cars” as a birthday wish. I remember the way the wheels sounded on the wooden floor; rattling and shaking. I loved Mitsubishi. The Evo was the pinnacle of car design, I thought. I wanted that car when I grew up. I didn’t care about Ferraris or BMWs or Mercedes. They were too mainstream (and it looks like my contrarianism is nature, not nurture).

Hopelessly, I was drawn to cars. The 1990 Acura NSX was my second favourite. I didn’t even know what it was called. I just liked the shape. I guess that says something about the design. Most of it was just my personal interest, though. A perfectly “boy” thing to take an interest in.

At heart, I’m still a “boy,” I suppose. I still look at the toys section of stores for hot wheels. I’m the guy that’s taking the cool cars away.




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