Men who don’t have cars generally are looked at as inferior choices for a partner. That’s because of the value that a car brings to someone’s life: you get to travel to different places quicker, cheaper, and more convenient. It’s also a status symbol: the better the car you have, the more of a “man” you are.
This guy, however, wrote a Facebook post that disproves of all those presuppositions about cars and manhood. In his post, he proudly proclaims that he doesn’t “have a car”. And that even though he lacks material wealth, he makes up for it in terms of being loyal and faithful. Read on below to find out more!
I don’t have a car.
I’m not like the other guys who asks you where you are when it’s raining then come pick you up, waiting outside your office’s doors with an umbrella open, ready to tuck you in, to keep you from getting wet.
I don’t have a vehicle that would take you to places, asking you where you want to go, take a glance at your smile and your eyes that are filled with excitement as we head out of town, to places you ever dreamed of going.
I don’t have wheels that we could use to go out on dates, then just park on top of a hill, drink a few beers, lie on our backs as we decipher the constellation of stars above us, or point out the places where we first met as we observed the city below us, glinting brightly at night.
I don’t have an automobile that has a heater to make you warm during cold nights, or that has a stereo that I can turn the volume up and let you hear your favorite songs as you belted them out loudly, not really minding whether or not you’re in tune, or that has plush seats at the back where we could cuddle perfectly, then make out.
The things I only have are my feet and my legs.
I could still take you to places. I could walk in the pouring rain, heading towards your office, wait for you outside, then we would run to any shelter that could keep us from getting wet, but we already are. We could look into each other’s eyes and just smile. We could walk together under the deluge, wearing our wet clothes, dance, laugh and jump in mud puddles as I look into your eyes filled with joy and hear the symphony of your gleeful giggles as we play around in the rain.
I could take long walks with you around the city, being in the actual spots where we met, not just pointing out to those spots from afar but literally reliving the moments where we first had our conversations. We could walk around, then whenever we hear our guts rumble, we grab some food being sold just by the street or immerse ourselves with rice and grilled food, and complain right after how full our stomachs are. I would walk with you, long walks, and just be silent about it, nothing awkward, just walking with no words uttered and being comfortable with you in the deafening silence as we walk because I love you.
I could ride a jeep with you, or an Uber, to routes you have never known, getting off so suddenly when in fact it’s still not our destination because you didn’t know what route that jeep would take. We would be riding jeepneys wherein our shoulders and waists are literally compressed right next to each other because that’s how jam-packed the vehicle is and yet the driver insists that it still needs a hundred more passengers inside. We could ride a jeep, confident that it would take us to our destination but found out that it has a different route and it took a different path, and we would just get off wherever and laugh about how we never noticed the sign painted on the jeep’s side.
All these I could do without a car and yet it seems to be hell of a lot more fun than if I have one, because in the end, it’s not the things I possess, but the person I want to be with.