Three Wheels, Two Best Friends, and One Driver
The driver and his tricycle — the reasons I have made it this far in life
In my twenty years of existence, I have ridden different vehicles that brought me to places. But for the most part of my life, I wasn’t riding a car or a bus. Instead, it was this short-distance three-wheeled vehicle — a tricycle that was loved and driven by my grandfather — my ‘Papa.’
“Pa, pasundo ako mamaya” (Pa, please fetch me later) — words I used to say to my grandfather.
He typically wouldn’t ask or say anything. But when it’s time to pick me up, I will find his tricycle already parked in its usual parking space. On the other hand, his body lies horizontally on the motorcycle with a towel covering his face, while he sleeps peacefully, as if he doesn’t give a damn about the busy world around him. And when I’m already near him, I would call his name — and just like that, he would automatically open his eyes, give me a smile, and say, “Ay adda kan?” (Oh, you’re here already?).
Before going inside, I would unintentionally inhale the scent of the rusty tin that indicates the amount of rainwater that drenched the tricycle for two decades. What blends with this smell is the scent of the leaking gas. And inside the vehicle, I couldn’t help but sniff the accumulated dust from its seats. But I don’t care at all! Those smells don’t matter to me, because at the end of the day, I know that Papa will get me home safely.
Although I know that before arriving at my grandparents’ house, some kind of thrill would first unfold. How so? Well, most of the drivers know about the ‘always right rule,’ which means, when on the road, vehicles should always keep right. However, Papa was not fond of following this rule. Instead, he was the kind of driver who will yell at others if he thinks that they are wrong — when in fact, most of the time, he’s not even right.
This is just one of the many stories about Papa and his legendary tricycle. In fact, his three wheels could testify to his sacrifices long before I was even born.
Papa’s tricycle was already paving the roads of different barangays back when he was a tricycle driver. By doing this job, Papa financially sustained his family of three children and his wife. When I was around seven years old, my family made him retire from being a tricycle driver. But that didn’t stop him from offering rides to anyone for free, because that’s what he wanted to do. He loved driving, and he loved bringing other people to their destination safely.
He would also drive his tricycle to other towns to see his friends, run errands, and buy his favorite snacks before returning home. I know how much he loves to do all of that because driving is his hobby, and his tricycle is his best company. But since, as a family, we are busy with our own lives, we never imagined the possibility that Papa would lose his strength to ever drive again.
Likewise, it seemed like Papa also never thought of it until he was admitted to the hospital last August 21. With his weakening state, my mother told him that it was about time to split up with his tricycle. But my grandfather, instead of giving up, persistently denied that.
He said, “Kayak pay” (I still can), with teary eyes.
But the moment we saw how difficult it was for him to swing his arms, stretch his legs, and breathe even with the apparatus, we knew we would never see him drive his tricycle again.
And all we could do was accept it — that we would never witness him move his tricycle out of the shed, kick its pedal, turn it on, heat its engine very loudly, call for our names, and tell us to get going.
The very first day of September, Papa passed away. Before he left the world, I know he wished he could’ve seen and driven his tricycle. Sadly, he wasn’t even able to bid his best friend goodbye.
I may not see Papa anymore, but this doesn’t mean that his love wouldn’t continue to linger. Because for me, Papa and his tricycle are one. Thus, when I took a photo of his tricycle a day after his wake, it felt like I was taking a photo of him one last time.
