FollowThey say you never forget your first car. The freedom, the independence, the smell of… well, in my case, a 1997 red Perodua Kancil. It was a symbol of a huge milestone. After five long years of navigating Kuala Lumpur’s public transport, at the age of 24, this little car was my pride and joy. It was my mobile sanctuary, my ticket to spontaneous adventures, and my escape from the crowded buses and trains.
Little did I know, it would also be the first inductee into what I now call my “New Car Curse.”
It started just a few months into our beautiful relationship. I had just finished a grueling overtime shift at the bank. It was a Saturday, and I had worked overtime for over 3 hours. Tired, sleepy, and operating on autopilot, I was reversing in the basement car park. What happened next is a blur of sound and shock. I had crashed the rear of my beloved Kancil not into another car, but into the actual building itself—specifically, into an office.
My heart sank. Panic set in. I jumped out, expecting the worst. I still remember vividly the guard running towards my car, as if I had committed a major crime! The damage to the building was significant (the repair bill later came to a staggering RM20,000!), but in what I can only describe as a miracle, my tiny Kancil had only a slight dent. My small but mighty car had taken on a concrete wall and lived to tell the tale. Thank God for insurance, and thank God it was after office hours and no one was in the office.
I thought it was a one-off, a rite of passage for a new driver. Oh, how naive I was.
The curse was merely dormant.
Fast forward to 2014. My husband bought me a gorgeous pink Hyundai i10 for my birthday. “Pinkie,” as I affectionately called her, was perfect. She was zippy, modern, in my favorite color, and, most importantly, not dented.
For a few months, anyway.
I was on a standard mom mission: picking up my daughter, Sherilyn, from her after-school care centre. I was parked, waiting patiently. Then I saw it: a BMW in front of me began to reverse. Directly towards me. I laid on the horn, a long, desperate “HONK!” that I was sure would snap the driver to attention.
Instead, the car kept coming. Honk! Honk! HOOONK! Nothing. It was like the driver was in a soundproof bubble. With a sickening crunch, his car met my passenger door.
The driver? A lawyer. With an office, ironically, right above the childcare centre. He simply hadn’t looked. Once again, the panic was followed by bewildered relief. The crash had only left a superficial scratch on my pinkie. The curse had struck again, but again, it was gentle. And the lawyer buruk? He hit and ran away! Can you believe it? He ran away from his irresponsibility, but I am quite certain he wouldn’t be able to run away from Miss Karma.
Now, to the present day, eleven years later, I’m behind the wheel of another new car. Surely, the curse has a statute of limitations, right? Wrong. Just the other day, crunch. Someone reversed into my bumper with a monstrous pickup truck. You can read the story here.
I just had to laugh. I couldn’t believe it.
Three new cars. Three separate incidents within months of getting them. Is it bad luck? A bizarre coincidence? Or, as I’ve started to think, are these all minor, almost comical accidents preventing something far worse from happening?
Maybe my Kancil’s dent saved me from a major highway incident. Perhaps Pinkie’s scratch was a shield against a more serious collision. Maybe this new bumper scratch is just the universe’s way of getting my attention, reminding me to always be aware, and to be grateful that every time, everyone walked away unharmed.
So, to my current car: I’m sorry in advance for the curse you seem to have inherited. I promise to keep you washed regularly and well-maintained. And to the universe: I’ve received the message! I am officially declaring my driving record cleansed. Let this be the final chapter in my accidental trilogy.
Here’s to hoping my next story is about a car that remains pristine for a decade!
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