Ayush Chaurasia - Week 16 - Some Things You Never Forget
In many of his writings, American author Tim O’ Brien reflected on the topic of storytelling and how it relates to memory. He claimed that the memories of one day replace memories from the previous day, and the specifics of the past fade away. Only the most abnormal, most extreme situations that we tell stories about will earn a rank within our long-term memories.
I remember when my car broke down.
That deep-blue Acura SUV, older than I was at the time, had shaped my childhood. In that car, I visited Lake Tahoe for the very first time (and discovered my favorite vacation spot). In that car, I explored San Francisco, driving on the majestic Golden Gate Bridge and through SF’s bustling downtown. In that car, I picked up my dog Miko for the first time and took him home.
When I was only around ten years old, that car went on its very last drive. My family and I were driving to Livermore, and on the way, we came to a stop at a red light. The light turned green, and I heard the engine pick up. It revved for a bit and then it died down. Then it revved again.
But the car did not move an inch.
Horns honked behind us and cars zoomed by on both sides and my dad was frantically trying to get the engine going and I sat still in the backseat. Helpless. Stressed. Heartbroken. It felt like an eternity.
Maybe it was sheer luck, or maybe the gears just clicked into place, but the car managed to lurch into motion for one last time. It barely made the crawl into a nearby parking lot, but at least its suffering was over.
In that car I waited for my dad to call a tow truck and arrange a way for us all to get back home. I saw the brown leather seats, scratched up from my dog’s paws. I saw the small screen on the roof which I had to beg my parents to let me watch Cars on during road trips.
When we got home, I prayed that the mechanic would fix the car.
When my dad got home, my prayers were shot down. He told us the transmission was broken—repairs would be less worthwhile than just getting a new car.
The old car was sold for parts, and everyone seemed to move on quickly. I know my parents and my sister were a little sad to see the old Acura go, but I know they were happier to see the new one roll in.
I, on the other hand, did not move on as quickly—the car had meant so much to me and feeling it break down right under my feet was deeply troubling. I will never forget that experience.
I remember when my car broke down.
That deep-blue Acura SUV, older than I was at the time, had shaped my childhood. In that car, I visited Lake Tahoe for the very first time (and discovered my favorite vacation spot). In that car, I explored San Francisco, driving on the majestic Golden Gate Bridge and through SF’s bustling downtown. In that car, I picked up my dog Miko for the first time and took him home.
When I was only around ten years old, that car went on its very last drive. My family and I were driving to Livermore, and on the way, we came to a stop at a red light. The light turned green, and I heard the engine pick up. It revved for a bit and then it died down. Then it revved again.
But the car did not move an inch.
Horns honked behind us and cars zoomed by on both sides and my dad was frantically trying to get the engine going and I sat still in the backseat. Helpless. Stressed. Heartbroken. It felt like an eternity.
Maybe it was sheer luck, or maybe the gears just clicked into place, but the car managed to lurch into motion for one last time. It barely made the crawl into a nearby parking lot, but at least its suffering was over.
In that car I waited for my dad to call a tow truck and arrange a way for us all to get back home. I saw the brown leather seats, scratched up from my dog’s paws. I saw the small screen on the roof which I had to beg my parents to let me watch Cars on during road trips.
When we got home, I prayed that the mechanic would fix the car.
When my dad got home, my prayers were shot down. He told us the transmission was broken—repairs would be less worthwhile than just getting a new car.
The old car was sold for parts, and everyone seemed to move on quickly. I know my parents and my sister were a little sad to see the old Acura go, but I know they were happier to see the new one roll in.
I, on the other hand, did not move on as quickly—the car had meant so much to me and feeling it break down right under my feet was deeply troubling. I will never forget that experience.
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| https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/17/Acura_MDX_-1st_gen.JPG/1024px-Acura_MDX_-1st_gen.JPG |
Hi Ayush! Thank you for sharing such an intimate and meaningful memory in such a detailed fashion. Memory is a strange thing. In your echoing of Tim O’Brien’s words, you mentioned how only the most traumatic or greatest memories pass the test of time. I feel that a small portion of our long-term memories are also reserved for their emotional value, and another is for seemingly mundane events. For instance, for some reason, I will never forget this one day when I was eating chocolate ice cream from a glass bowl while watching the television on new trains in China with my father. A strange amount of normal events seem to share the unforgettable aspect of extreme events. I found your recollection of your blue childhood car intriguing, as it seems that the rest of the family are not as attached as you are. A likely reason would be that the things we grow up with have immense sentimental value. Never has one been accustomed to a substitute, and it can feel straining to grow out of that comfort zone of its presence. I share a very similar experience, as I was attached to the tree in my backyard. It was cut down due to concerns about extending over the fence and causing damage to neighbors, so although I calmly understood my parents’ reasonings, it was hard to let go. I feel that these events serve as early steps to understanding how to navigate ourselves in the world.
ReplyDeleteHi Ayush! Your blog post about the breakdown of your beloved Acura SUV truly resonated with me. Intertwining the story of your car's final moments with the broader theme of memory and storytelling was insightful. It’s fascinating how objects, like your old car, can become so deeply embedded in our personal histories. Cars, in particular, often serve as carriers for our memories—they hold countless stories of road trips, family outings, and small everyday moments that collectively shape our lives. Your vivid recollections of driving to Lake Tahoe for the first time, exploring San Francisco, and bringing home your dog Miko brought to life how this vehicle was much more than just a mode of transportation. Your reflection on Tim O'Brien's views about memory, particularly his assertion that extreme and abnormal situations tend to lodge themselves firmly in our long-term memories, is so true. The breakdown of your car was one such defining moment. The helplessness and heartbreak you felt as the car refused to move, the frantic attempts by your dad to revive it, and the subsequent realization that it was time to let go of something so cherished were particularly impactful. These are the stories we tell ourselves and others, shaping our identity and our understanding of the past. It is clearly shown through your writing the emotional impact of that day. It's interesting to think about how our brains choose which memories to hold onto. I also appreciate how you highlighted the contrast between your reaction and that of your family. While your parents and sister quickly moved on, you held onto the memory, showing how personal our attachments can be. It’s a reminder that what may seem like just an object to some can hold profound significance to others. As someone who has experienced similar moments of attachment to inanimate objects, I completely understand the sense of loss you described. It’s not just about the physical loss of the car but it’s almost as if you lost something that was a part of you. Overall, your post serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of storytelling in preserving our memories and making sense of our past. Great job!
ReplyDeleteHi Ayush! Thank you for sharing this personal blog on a topic that all of us can relate with, at least to some extent. Your universal topic allowed me to connect to your topic and understand how it relates to my life. I appreciate how you used narration to describe how your car was important to you and how it broke down. This allowed me to see the experience through your eyes, and understand how it affected you. Your concise paragraphing aided to the flow of the blog, and illustrated the blur that this moment could be. I wanted to take this opportunity to reflect on the role of vehicles in our life, especially as they relate to memories.
ReplyDeleteFor me, my family's green Toyota minivan was a source of many of my childhood memories. Like your vehicle, we used it to go on several road trips and it was the car I rode back from preschool and elementary school in. Especially at this young age, car rides were really exciting, as they offered a unique experience to a young child. Generally, it is likely that the places that we spend long amounts of time in are fundamental to our memories. For example, it is likely that most of the members in our blogging cohort remember a specific teacher or friend or room from elementary school. Through the same logic, we are likely to have a lot of memories from our childhood home, or even our childhood car.
Once again, thank you for sharing this personal and reflective blog. I enjoyed the reminder that object that we often do not pay special attention to play such a large role in our life and in our development. I wonder though, if this attachment to inanimate objects in healthy in all cases. It could be possible that in some cases, being dangerously fond of an object can be harmful, as if this object breaks or is lost, it could result in harmful consequences to one's development, both socially and physically.
Hey Ayush! I found your blog to be really relatable because it reminded me of the time I thought that my own car had broken down. Back in October, my friend and I were just outside, running an errand. When we came back to the car, I saw that I forgot to turn my headlights off, and when I tried to start it, the engine just sputtered and stopped. I was devastated because, similar to your experiences with your family Acura, the Lexus that I drove had been with my family for a really long time now. My dad got it before I was even born, and we’ve made countless memories with it—including also driving to Tahoe in it every few weeks to go snowboarding. Even though I called my insurance and all it took was a mechanic to come jumpstart it, at the moment, I felt horrible. Experiences like these really speak to the value of extrinsic things. A lot of us don’t realize what we have until we lose it. This idea comes from a long history of human beings, as the same can be said for celebrities or environmental issues in general. Nevertheless, because of the uncontrollable nature of life, when you are faced with an unexpected and rapid change, rather than trying to fight it, the best thing to do is to just let it happen. My car was going to have to get replaced someday anyway, and if it had broken down for good then. I feel like the healthy and effective mindset we should take on is to remember the good memories but not let the nostalgia of the past stop us from moving forward with our lives. Time moves on, and if something of value to you decides that it no longer wants to move forward with time, then that means it wants to be let go. For your experience, it was quite lucky that the car did not break down in the middle of the highway and only on a road instead. Therefore, it can be seen that everything has a purpose.
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