When one turns eighteen here, there is an inevitable question that has to be asked and duly answered.That question is: What is your dream car? (Or some other variation of it)Generally speaking, the Kuwaiti youth would already have prepared an answer to the aforementioned question. A Range Rover Sport was my sister's answer. A pepsi blue Wolks-Vagen Touareg, a Jaguar and a Mercedez-Benz jeep were among my other sister's choices.They don't necessarily get those dream cars, but it seems to be absolutely essential that a decision be made as to what dream car you dream of getting once you're eighteen.But when eighteen hit me, so did the horror of not having an answer to that seemingly divine question. What car do you want to drive? To be honest, I gave the matter some serious thought. I said to myself, let's see...I hadn't come up with anything (I couldn't have, really, I only thought for about a millisecond) when my sister interupted with quite an angry remark: "How difficult can this be? What car have you dreamt about driving all these years?!"And then it dawned on me...I didn't have a dream car. So that's what I said, I said: I...I guess I don't have one...I really haven't ever thought about driving, and dream cars, and other things of that sort."My sister's reaction? Well, what seemed like an angry remark only seconds earlier, was topped by a furious statement: Stop trying to be different all the time! (But that's a whole other different story I'll have to tell you about later.)
I learnt how to drive though. I didn't buy a car (nobody bought me one either) but indeed, I learnt to drive soon after turning eighteen and have been driving ever since. I drive my mother's old car, which isn't really old, but it's not new either. It functions alright, you know, it moves. Some light signals work of their own accord, the A/C has proved to be of a faultering nature and the seat covers are splattered with permenant diet Coke stains, but it gets you to places and back. And that's what cars are supposed to do, right? That should be enough. And it was. It is. And I'm not complaining. Not about the car, that is. Driving and it's pleasures, after two humble years of experience however, have proven to be, at least to me, extremely over-rated. I've met a fair amount of people who have described to me the high they get when they grab the steering wheel, and push their foot on the gas pedal, to the max, and see that highway disappear into the horizon in their rear view mirror. I've heard them talk about how the most relaxing thing they can ever imagine is a slow drive in the rain. Driving seemed to be the best thing ever. Not to me it didn't. And I'll tell you why not.
There are so many things that can go wrong when you're in a car, or on the road. Traffic, for one, would drive anyone insane! You try to deal with it, put up with it, work your way around it, but having to deal with it day after day after day...it's just, too much. Plus, no one (I must not generalize) most drivers ignore all driving rules known to mankind which is plain frustrating. Also, when you are under the mercy of a vehicle, a moving man-made automobile, that might decide to stop moving in the middle of the road, or that might choose not to work the brake pedal...it's plain scary. What about the little things that happen oh-so-often when you drive a car? The thought of the trouble that a flat tire, or a leak might bring along increases stress levels to unprecidented hights. And I haven't mentioned accidents yet.
Today, when the family was discussing the dream car issue again, on my cousin's eighteenth birthday, it couldn't be easier making up my mind as to the answer to the question this time. I would rather walk!
