Merepek

Came across a news article in The Star yesterday about this British chap named Omed Aziz, 31, formerly from Iraq, who was pulled over by the Police when they saw him driving and veering dangerouly. The Police was astonished to find Mr Omed has no eyes (lost them in a bomb blast), is deaf and also suffers from leg tremors. How did he do it? Well, Mr Omed had a friend on the front passenger seat guiding him along with instructions to steer, brake and the suitable speed limits. When he was charged, Mr Omed said he is perfectly safe on the road. Nonetheless, he was found guilty of dangerous driving.

OMG! Like that also can ah? Missing so many faculties and still insists on driving. But then, I must commend his friend for being such a very brave fellow. Either that, or he is a utter moron.

This brings to mind the first time I sat in the car as my son, the newbie driver took to the wheel. Even before I stepped into the car, I was like saying my prayers a thousand times. Then with beads of sweat trickling down the face and dirtying my make-up, I took a deep breath and lowered my bum onto the front passenger seat and buckled up. ***cherrh, cherrrh, cherrrh…** He coolly turned on the ignition. I shot him another reminder to drive sloowwwwllly as I grabbed a big clump of tissues to try soak up the uncontrollable torrent of sweat. He let go the parking brake and the car glided (more like lunged, actually) forward. Another 50 metres or so to the T-junction, I was already yelling at him to ‘SLOW DOWN, SLOW DOWN’ and at the same time stepping on the imaginary brake pedal on my side. On to the main road, I went “DON’T FOLLOW SO CLOSE! KEEP YOUR DISTANCE! LOOK OUT! USE THE HORNS!, TURN ON THE SIGNAL! TAKE THE CORNER SLOWLY! WATCH THE LIGHTS!...BLA.. BLA....BLA..”

My heart felt like it was going to jump out of the chest. And I felt faint. And I felt cold. And I felt pain on my left palm because I held so tightly to the handbar (is this what you call it?) on the upper car cabin, that the nails almost dug into the soft flesh.

After somewhat like an eternity, we finally reached the destination – my hair salon which is only about 3 km from our house. Took another deep breath and as I was trying to pull myself together, the sweet fella cheerfully offered, “Gimme a buzz when you’re done and I’ll pick you up. See you later, Mama.”

I stumbled out of the car and limped (aitelyu, the right leg hurts because I stepped too hard on the imaginary brakes, LOL) towards the salon to get my hair fixed.