Motorcycles, Accidents and Dreams

 

I've been on the lookout for a buyer for the motorcycle I have sitting at home. Ever since I purchased a car, the motorcycle has been collecting dust. Besides, last year I witnessed not one, not two, but THREE motorcycle accidents.

Let me recount those incidents for you:

Accident #1: It was a rainy day, and I was on my way to work. As I sat near the door of the jeepney I was riding (I hadn't gotten my car yet, and I avoided taking the motorcycle in the rain), a guy on a motorcycle attempted to overtake the jeepney. Unfortunately, due to the slippery road, he skidded and landed face-first on the asphalt. Thankfully, the car behind him managed to brake in time, preventing a potentially fatal outcome. The rider sustained minor scratches and was able to stand up afterward.

Accident #2: This one was far more severe. I was walking home with a colleague after work (notice the pattern?). Roughly twenty meters away from us, a motorcycle and a tricycle (a motorcycle with a sidecar) collided. The impact was so intense that the motorcycle flipped, launching its rider into the air like a ragdoll! To make matters worse, the rider wasn't wearing a helmet. He was thrown several meters away, lying motionless on the ground. We couldn't be certain if he was still alive. However, that wasn't the most horrifying part. As we were caught up in shock over the rider's trajectory, we failed to notice the immediate condition of the tricycle driver. When we finally looked, we were aghast to see that the skin and flesh of his sole were literally hanging from his foot! The point of impact between the tricycle and the motorcycle had been his FOOT! My colleague and I hastily walked away after witnessing that gruesome sight. Bystanders were already offering assistance, and my colleague didn't have the nerves of steel necessary to stay.

At this point, I was thoroughly convinced that it would be a long time, if ever, before I rode a motorcycle again. But just for the sake of it, let's proceed with...

Accident #3: (This one didn't occur during my commute) I was at the hospital (refer to my previous note on Hospital Blues), waiting outside the ER. Right in front of the hospital, a motorcycle and (here's the irony) a police car collided head-on. It's truly ironic that the very people who are supposed to protect us can sometimes become the ones endangering us, particularly when they fail to pay attention while crossing an intersection. The rider, who curiously wasn't wearing his helmet, had his license revoked. Ah, only in the Philippines.

Returning to the present, I haven't touched my motorcycle since then, and it would be a shame to let it rust away in our garage. Therefore, I made the decision to sell the darn thing and use the money to buy accessories for my beloved car, whom I affectionately named Sophia.

I woke up from a nap due to a vivid dream. Dreams often fade from memory the moment we wake up, but this one felt remarkably real. I felt compelled to write it down before it slipped away, just like any other dream. In the dream, I was engrossed in fixing up the motorcycle so I could sell it at a reasonable price. Surprisingly, I had some help—it was my late father, who has been at peace for seven years now. I can't recall if we engaged in any specific conversation. We simply worked on the motorcycle together and shared a few drinks afterward. It's something I would have cherished doing with him while he was still here. I felt compelled to document that dream here, as a way to preserve that particular memory.

It's hard to believe that seven years have already passed...