Old Reliable

What possessions does your family treasure?

    The Los Angeles metropolis was never designed with pedestrians in mind. Squashed between 5, 405, and Laguna eight lane interstates, Irvine, the allegedly “master-planned” sub-city, is no friend to those without personal transportation. Dragging a suitcase stuffed with clothes and heaving a laptop containing an old Dell latitude, English dictionary, and passport (amongst other personal belongings), my mother stepped into the University of California, Irvine with no intention to explore beyond the gates of the campus. After all, she–and her family in China–had never owned a car, learned how to drive, nor any reason to pursue either. 
    Months into her studies, she crossed paths with my father, often described by her friends as a “charming” young man who was on the market for a badminton partner. I know little of their adventures as a couple, but somewhere along the way they discovered that southern California wasn’t just a little campus by the sea, but a melange of urban excitement and natural serenity. Initially tagging along with group trips to Costco, Crystal Cove, and the Spectrum mall, they saved up the fractions of their stipends to purchase our family’s very first car: a 2001 white Toyota Corolla S, S for the spoiler that slightly boosted the miles per gallon.
    Shortly thereafter, I was born into the world, coming not just as an inconvenience to their studies, but also the beginning of newfound responsibilities. My parents looked to expose me past the walls of the city, differing much from their own childhoods within China. Driving from the beaches of San Diego to the Yosemite valley, the Corolla would power through snow, sleet, and rain to fuel our adventures with minimal maintenance beyond a flat tire or two. It’s almost as if the reliability of our car spoke to the values that my parents instilled into my childhood, emphasizing resourcefulness over flamboyant. In a sense, the Corolla acted as a symbol of their own experiences, how in a city designed for automobiles, it’s the human spirit to buckle up and drive the story forward.
    Upon graduation, our car transformed from a mere means of transportation to a consistent presence in my earliest memories, carrying us across America as we drove to our new chapter on the East coast. From the cross-country road trip to everyday errands, the Corolla tirelessly worked to bring us to our destinations. The silent reliability that defined itself through years of flawless commutes would set the standard for the way I came to value stability and perseverance in my own life. Each journey, whether a mundane drive to soccer practice or a grand adventure into other states, etched moments into my childhood that the Corolla seemed to safeguard within its worn seats, raspy CD player, and decaying paint job. It wasn’t just a car, it was the backdrop to countless memories that shape who I am today.
    After over a decade and a half of its life, I would take the wheel to learn the basics of driving, in the same seat as my parents, in the same car that moved alongside my whole life. Inheriting the car of my childhood, I grew comfortable with the elementary controls–far from luxurious, enough to get you from A to B. The rudimentary, but sufficient old white Corolla illustrated the ethos of simplicity that has resonated with me through to today: the simpler I keep my life, the more free I become. The reliability of our car has accompanied my whole life as a metaphor for how I should seek objects that do not place a burden, but allow me to pursue true passions beyond the material world.
    To this I thank the 2001 white Toyota Corolla S for its service to bring countless memories alive for my family across its 20+ year tenure, and will forever remember it as the essence of my family’s journey through America and my childhood.