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Friday, August 19, 2011
pho∙bia: noun, \‘fō-bē-э\
An exaggerated, usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation.
Phobia. So that’s how it feels.
If you ask me two weeks back what my greatest fear is, that would be roaches. Hands down. No contest. End of story. Kthanksbye. That’s how simple it was for me back then. But a couple of days ago, something happened that made me develop a sudden fear in fast moving vehicles. Unbelievable. I guess that marks the end of my affair with roller coasters.
I used to have this idiotic notion that the better looking (i.e., clean, new, sleek and shiny) an automobile is, the safer it is. Apparently, I was wrong, and had to learn my lesson the hard way.
I was on my way home after a long day in school, and being my usual lazy self, I decided to skip commuting and rode a cab instead. Several old, frail-looking cabs have passed and offered me a ride, but I declined their gracious offers nonetheless thinking that it would be unsafe for me considering the condition their cabs seem to be in. So imagine my delight when I chanced upon a posh-looking cab. It was so sleek and clean that safety fell upon me the moment I got in and sat on its well-maintained leather seats. Add to that was the driver’s friendly demeanor, and how he seems to ease through the traffic, converse with me, and sing along with the songs on the radio all at the same time. I’ve ridden cabs for so many times my entire life and have been so used to drivers who drive like maniacs on the road, which is why I was adamant to the speed rate to which the driver was going. To me, it was anything but unusual. I was hearing this soft squeaky sound, but feigned ignorance thinking that perhaps the tires only need lubrication. Little did I know, the brake has already given up.
We were along Jupiter road when the lights on the stoplight turned red. The cab driver kept hitting the brakes, but the cab won’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. I was already anticipating the impact whilst panicking inside, and braced myself for the huge blow. I wanted to scream, but I can’t seem to find my voice. In the end, the cab driver decided to save his life and veered the cab towards the direction where my side will directly hit the car in front of us. Douchebaggery at its finest. Well, that’s life, I guess.
The car we hit was Chrysler’s latest model, and thank God for its sturdy behind, the impact of the blow was minimal. I ended up having a bruised knee and a fractured finger. Too bad for the cab, which sustained most of the damages, its hood was almost totaled. And the Chrysler? Well there was a scratch or two, and its driver seemed like he doesn’t give an ounce of care.
I’ve experienced a number of car accidents, but the fear I felt during that time was beyond anything I have felt and imagined. I was literally shaking from head to toe when I got out of the cab, but was conscious enough to contact B who was more than willing to fetch me.
By now you’re probably thinking, “Where’s the phobia in that?”
I didn’t realize back then the accident’s impact on my being.
Yesterday, my sister and I were in a quaint coffee shop, studying, and simply hanging out. It was getting late so we both decided to take a cab ride home. Unfortunately for me, the cab driver was trying to keep himself from falling asleep and was driving recklessly. And that’s when I felt it: FEAR. Fear for my life. Fear that the cab may hit another car, thus the reason for my demise. The day of the accident flashed back to me like some poorly made music video of a horrible, horrible song. I was too stunned that words fail to come out of my mouth. I was scared beyond my wits and was fighting back my tears that my only resolution was to grab my sister’s arm and hold on to it as tight as I can. I’m quite certain I bruised it, not that it matters, for the only thought running through my mind was to arrive home safe and unscathed. And from that moment on, I vowed never to ride another cab ever again. Ever.
What’s the worst thing that could happen if I commute?
Getting sweaty due to the intense heat is one. Not to mention getting late more often because of the numerous stops public vehicles make. And there’s the constant fear of getting mugged or hold-upped. Although I’m certain there have been instances where cab drivers themselves have robbed their passengers, even raped them.
So now I don’t know what’s worse. Shall I face my fear? Or avoid it if I can?
Huston, I believe we have a problem.
An exaggerated, usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation.
Phobia. So that’s how it feels.
If you ask me two weeks back what my greatest fear is, that would be roaches. Hands down. No contest. End of story. Kthanksbye. That’s how simple it was for me back then. But a couple of days ago, something happened that made me develop a sudden fear in fast moving vehicles. Unbelievable. I guess that marks the end of my affair with roller coasters.
I used to have this idiotic notion that the better looking (i.e., clean, new, sleek and shiny) an automobile is, the safer it is. Apparently, I was wrong, and had to learn my lesson the hard way.
I was on my way home after a long day in school, and being my usual lazy self, I decided to skip commuting and rode a cab instead. Several old, frail-looking cabs have passed and offered me a ride, but I declined their gracious offers nonetheless thinking that it would be unsafe for me considering the condition their cabs seem to be in. So imagine my delight when I chanced upon a posh-looking cab. It was so sleek and clean that safety fell upon me the moment I got in and sat on its well-maintained leather seats. Add to that was the driver’s friendly demeanor, and how he seems to ease through the traffic, converse with me, and sing along with the songs on the radio all at the same time. I’ve ridden cabs for so many times my entire life and have been so used to drivers who drive like maniacs on the road, which is why I was adamant to the speed rate to which the driver was going. To me, it was anything but unusual. I was hearing this soft squeaky sound, but feigned ignorance thinking that perhaps the tires only need lubrication. Little did I know, the brake has already given up.
We were along Jupiter road when the lights on the stoplight turned red. The cab driver kept hitting the brakes, but the cab won’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. I was already anticipating the impact whilst panicking inside, and braced myself for the huge blow. I wanted to scream, but I can’t seem to find my voice. In the end, the cab driver decided to save his life and veered the cab towards the direction where my side will directly hit the car in front of us. Douchebaggery at its finest. Well, that’s life, I guess.
The car we hit was Chrysler’s latest model, and thank God for its sturdy behind, the impact of the blow was minimal. I ended up having a bruised knee and a fractured finger. Too bad for the cab, which sustained most of the damages, its hood was almost totaled. And the Chrysler? Well there was a scratch or two, and its driver seemed like he doesn’t give an ounce of care.
I’ve experienced a number of car accidents, but the fear I felt during that time was beyond anything I have felt and imagined. I was literally shaking from head to toe when I got out of the cab, but was conscious enough to contact B who was more than willing to fetch me.
By now you’re probably thinking, “Where’s the phobia in that?”
I didn’t realize back then the accident’s impact on my being.
Yesterday, my sister and I were in a quaint coffee shop, studying, and simply hanging out. It was getting late so we both decided to take a cab ride home. Unfortunately for me, the cab driver was trying to keep himself from falling asleep and was driving recklessly. And that’s when I felt it: FEAR. Fear for my life. Fear that the cab may hit another car, thus the reason for my demise. The day of the accident flashed back to me like some poorly made music video of a horrible, horrible song. I was too stunned that words fail to come out of my mouth. I was scared beyond my wits and was fighting back my tears that my only resolution was to grab my sister’s arm and hold on to it as tight as I can. I’m quite certain I bruised it, not that it matters, for the only thought running through my mind was to arrive home safe and unscathed. And from that moment on, I vowed never to ride another cab ever again. Ever.
What’s the worst thing that could happen if I commute?
Getting sweaty due to the intense heat is one. Not to mention getting late more often because of the numerous stops public vehicles make. And there’s the constant fear of getting mugged or hold-upped. Although I’m certain there have been instances where cab drivers themselves have robbed their passengers, even raped them.
So now I don’t know what’s worse. Shall I face my fear? Or avoid it if I can?
Huston, I believe we have a problem.
-XOXO-
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