Thursday, June 28


This morning, while I was being driven by my Dad over to my drop-off point to work, he got into this talk that once he and my Mom retire completely, they'll probably sell one of our two vehicles. At present, we have two cars at home- an old but still well-maintained and excellently-running Toyota and an equally-well maintained but slightly newer mini-van/CRV type. He goes on to say they'll probably sell the Toyota and keep the CRV. Since they'll be retired, they don't really need two cars, and they can use the cash. He continues saying that perhaps when he wants to go out he'll just commute.

This pretty much horrified me, to tell the truth.

I commute every day. I do so because it's what I've been doing since I was a schoolkid in shorts. I've seen a lot. I've been through torrential rain, mud and puddles, molasses-thick traffic, sweat-stinking crowded jeeps/buses/MRTs, pickpockets, stick-up men, vagrants, annoying street urchins, plain bad-mannered bastards, bloody groupies, dirty cops and stuff that will make you want to pull out a machete and start hacking away at whatever and whomever is in range.

I do NOT want my Dad or my Mom having to go through that.

I will try my best to convince them to keep the cars. Both of them, for emergency purposes, or for simple convenience. I will try my best to make sure that my Dad never entertains this ridiculous idea of him ploughing into the wide world unless it's from the security and sure convenience and safety of a private car. They do not need to start commuting and mingling with the sea of humanity known as Rush Hour at this point of their life. Call me paranoid. Call me alarmist or an overprotective fuddy-duddy. I don't care. That's the kind of son I am.

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