On February of 2023 I walked downstairs with my bag swaying from my right shoulder. My destination was the cafe around the corner of my house at the time. As per routine I had slept in on a Saturday morning following the previous nights work as a bartender. I unlocked the doors to my Volkswagen Golf 2007 and slid in and slumped into the drivers seat, placing my bag onto the passenger seat. The car was a beautiful thing to look at despite its flaws. An ugly grey with a strange choice of a black rear bumper that appeared as if it were replacing the actual bumper that seemed to have fallen off sometime ago. The chassis seemed bloated and squat, reminding me of a portly old woman taking in the washing or something. Sometimes I would bump my head on the squat height of the car when exiting and entering. It also didn't have bluetooth. I slid the key into the ignition and turned. I was met with a hard resistance that threatened to snap the key. I tried a few more times, sliding the key back and forth, jimmying it inside and even blowing on the hole. The ignition sat there in the same position, rigid and useless. Following a moment of frustration, I resigned to the idea and instead walked to the cafe. Little did I know that for the next two years that was the last morning that I would wake up with the expectation of driving anywhere.

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On July of 2013 I was halfway through my first year in high school. On Wednesdays Mum would be paid early in the morning and walk to Coles located at the bottom of my street to buy our school food for the week. She would return home out of breath with two grocery bags in hand. Upon her return my brother and I would rush into the shower and gather our things in order to avoid her screams to get ready for school. The reason why we didn't have a car at this time seems to be lost with the passage of time. For

years my brother and I would watch her physically struggle just to stock the fridge. On days we missed the school bus, which arrived at 8:10am we would either stay home or rely on my grandparents for a lift down the hill. The same routine continued for two years until we had enough for a used black BMW Series 3 Sedan (year unknown). We all adored this car together, something so exotic about it, the curves, the sunroof and the low leather seats. None of us had encountered anything like it, let alone own it. One of the back windows didn't work and a few of the electronic feature had broken before the purchase but we truly loved it all the same. With this new addition to our lives, we had access to a much missed freedom. On the weekends we would head to the beach and trail sand all through the car without a care. On Wednesdays, instead of walking to the store, Mum would drive and allow us to sleep in. We all relished in these moments as a family, periods of reprieve after a long path of inconveniences and struggles. I learned early on the cycle of gaining small privileges and the realisation of having it taken from me. This gave me a deeper understanding of the value of the things in my life. This lesson provided my family with the gift of self reliance. I recognise it in all of us as we meet challenges with resilience and gratitude when privileges happen to be taken away. I am proud of the fact that we have shown to each other that is always possible to lose it all and try again. Sometimes when we would all be driving I would catch glimpses of the Mum I knew as a little boy. An infectious laughter or singing along to songs from the eighties. I have always appreciated these very special moments as they would touch a deep space within me. Upon reflection I could mould this feeling into the gentle, carefree disposition I step out into the world with. I am thankful for all of these struggles throughout my life, which have led me to this point and continues to propel me forward. 

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It was September of 2017. I had almost finished with the eleventh grade. My birthday had been a month ago and I had already failed my driving test twice. Although disheartened, I tried again for a third time. It was a Thursday morning, Mum had already agreed to drive me to school after and sign me in late. I drove to the test in my white 1997 Ford Festiva. It was a two door coupe that cost $20 for a full tank. My Grandmother had spotted that it was for a sale two blocks away from her house. I was able to talk the price down to $1700 and paid in cash with my saved up Citybeach pay checks. Nervous as ever, I was able to successfully pass my drivers test. I remember how shocked I felt as they handed me my temporary license. It felt like a large release of weight I had been holding and all of a sudden I felt weightless and lifted into the air hoping to never touch the ground again. Without knowing it at the time, I had experienced one of the most purely joyful moments of my life, completely untainted. Life often deprives me of certain tools to make my life easier and more enjoyable, once given I never ever take them for granted. These moments have presented themselves to me a handful of times and I am endlessly grateful every time I experience this very beautiful feeling. I could feel it that afternoon as I backed out of the driveway, completely free. I crossed the lines in the middle of the road and came to a standstill for a moment before shifting into drive. In this small little gap of time was the elation of complete freedom. I doubt I'll ever feel this feeling with this level of intensity ever again for the rest of my life. I remember seeing my own smile reflected in the rearview mirror as a tear tracked down my cheek. This feeling only came to an end as I pulled into the carpark and started my shift for work.

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Now I ride a Royal Enfield Hunter 350. I am in love with the red and black gloss of the chassis. The petrol tank has a decal that consists of the colours red, black and yellow. I love the sound as it roars into life and how smooth it feels slipping from third into fourth gear. As I ride along, I feel bound to the machine below me as I lean left to right in order to dodge obstacles. The stagnant air whips around me and whispers through my helmet. Sometimes when the wind picks up and presents its own direction, I can feel it knock my bike about, forcing me to focus on every manoeuvre. My right foot feels every stop and start as I squeeze and release, I use my left foot to shift gears into the desired speed. In these moments I'm reminded by my lack of security, one misstep or mistake and the show is over. In this space between error and the abyss is where I've found the thrill of actually being alive. With every successful trip I'm thankful for the time granted that is my existence. I have come to understand all that I can do with the time I'm given and how easily it can be take away. Over the past two years of not owning a car I have understood the horrors of relying on bus timetables, walking home with groceries and dragging my feet through water until my socks are wet on the way home. I have been helped by friends and lovers alike. Those who have granted me the grace of their generosity in providing much needed lifts to help make my life easier. I haven't forgotten these moments and can never repay the endless kind favours. Now that I have gained this newly acquired ability to travel independently I plan to cherish it, understand it in every moment and realise that it can all be taken away at any moment. For anybody struggling through the lack of car ownership, looking toward that light at the end of the tunnel, I personally promise through resilience and strategy the goal is achievable. There will be a day where the wind wisps through your hair on the way to the supermarket just to get that one item you forgot for dinner tonight. I hope you feel the freedom and recognise the moment for what it is, pure joy.