Looking Back - "Aubrey"

I’m taking a break to re-post an old journal entry I wrote two years ago, almost to the day. I attended a Journal Writing workshop that I never felt like attending in the first place, but my friend and erstwhile colleague made such a good case for me to go. It was a worthwhile experience, too bad I did not get to repeat it.

This entry is slightly edited, and it was with a little surprise that I delivered it in public.

"AUBREY"

It was a 1982, 1400cc, red, box-type Mitsubishi Lancer - my friend Robert's car, Aubrey. His story of naming his car goes something like this - when he first acquired the car from its previous owner, he turned on the radio, and coincidentally the song that was playing was Bread's "Aubrey." Or something like that.

Maybe it's less of the car but more of the person who owned "her," but Aubrey was the confessor of our barkada, the ship of our dreams and aspirations, the granary of our frustrations, fears and disappointments. She of course was also the sounding board of our jokes! What we shared inside the car raises a thought - if Aubrey only had a soul - she would write the story of our lives - the journeys we have traveled, the ribbing and the kidding around, the stories that we told and lived through - she would be part of the soul of several years of friendship.

Aubrey was not just a car, she was an old friend that you've been longing to see and would always like to see - she would always be waiting expectantly for me to hop in. When I hear the familiar crunch of her door hinges, when I inhale the sweet-sour smell of her upholstery, when I run my hand on her cracking paint, and even when I struggle to thrive on the hottest days and her aircondtioner wasn't working - I know I am safe and secure, ready to share another adventure with her and our friends. When I am ensconsced in her arms, I believe that I am among friends, friends who accept me for who I am, who accept my idiosyncrasies, reveling in my own gifts and personhood.

Aubrey was the altar of our friendship, a hallowed place that is no less sacred for all the lewdness we have talked about, all the crazy songs we conceived and sang, the dirty looks we gave to passers-by, and generally, the drunkenness of being young and carefree. Aubrey was a fount of acceptance, of belonging, of HOME.

And like Aubrey, her owner Robert is in his own way a fount of kindness and friendship - someone you'd expect would be there if you're in a crunch. It's sad how seldom I got to tell him I appreciate him (what with all the male way of showing appreciation), how have we as friends - sometimes me in particular, forget to tell him we're sorry that we put him into some amount of inconvenience or hurt, or to give some consideration to his feelings. For, like Aubrey, Robert had become an invaluable tool, an indispensable appliance (if those words could be thought of as complimentary when referring to a person), the ubiquitous glue that binds people together. For all this time, I have known that he is one of those angels who walk this earth, giving guidance and comfort wherever he goes.

Aubrey is no longer with us - she gave up the ghost after being involved in an accident on West Avenue some five or so years ago - though Robert had her fixed, it was clear her time had come and he had to let her go. By some twist of fate, it was also around that time his mother passed away - it was as if an era an ended and a new one must be written. For a time, we shared some experiences with his other car, a Kia Pride CD-5 we called "Jenny." We called her "Si Kia" at first and since Gabby Concepcion was married to Jenny Syquia at that time, it was somehow apt to call her just that.

But then, in some cosmic joke or case of serendipity, Robert bought a new car with the money his mother left him - a bigger vehicle that could take in more people (a proverbial school bus) and take us where we want to go. It was a red Mitsubishi Adventure - we called her "Aubrey II."

As with Jenny, life with Aubrey II was not the same with the THE Aubrey. Another of our friends had a Toyota Tamaraw FX called the “Millennium FX” that we also went around in, but for some reason or another, it wasn't the same too. Like an old pair of shoes worn in to the grooves of my foot, the first Aubrey was a comfort that could never be equaled. As time passes and the tapestry of people's lives change, we also follow our own channels, our own paths. Aubrey II was not the same kind of experience, and neither does she evince the same kind of nostalgia as the first one. Perhaps it's because life does tell us that each moment is something we should cherish, and that we should live each moment with value, and to fill these spaces with love. Same for the people we cherish and love.

Now that we spend less time with one another and our friends, I miss Robert, I miss all of them. Some have gotten married, and some have gone away to other places. I miss Aubrey.

But if by chance I see any kind of box-type Lancer, no matter how beat-up or old-looking, I remember Aubrey and am warmed by the thought that somehow, somewhere out there, angels do exist and miracles happen everyday. They're often man-made.