Gaia and I
Originally published June 29, 2025
My first car was a slightly beatdown 2006 Toyota Matrix that was passed down to me by my mom. It’s not the car that drove me home from the hospital after I was born. It’s not the car that drove me to my baptism (although I’m fairly sure we walked there- the church was on our street). It’s not the car I spent the first few years of my life being in. But it is the car that brought me to Florida. It’s the car that brought me everywhere. It’s the car that I remember. I called her Petal, and I cherished her, up until her very last working day, and her very last day sitting in our driveway. And still to this day, I cherish her.
My second car, Gaia is so, so, special to me, and for other reasons. Gaia, a 2014 Mini Cooper with an engine of gold, was mine. She was used, of course, but she wasn’t passed down and she wasn’t anyone’s before. I got her fresh and new to me. The down payment on Gaia was an early graduation gift not terribly long after Petal died. It was April 22nd, 2022. I was leaving a closing shift at the mall with one of the assistant managers, Kim, and while we walked to the front of the parking lot, where my parents waited for me, Kim and I chatted it up; I told her about the cutie little car my dad had sent pictures of that morning.
I’m very outgoing in terms of style and character, and I wanted a “fun car.” I didn’t want a Corolla or a Lexus or something common (no offense, those are very nice cars, but I’m extra). My dad found a cutie little Mini Cooper at a dealership in Lakeland for about $12,500, but he said we couldn’t just order right there; first of all that’s not how it works, and second of all, we needed to check it out first. For me, it checked all my boxes: it was different, and it had a CD player. Those were my two boxes.
So, Kim and I are walking to the parking lot, we’re talking about this fun car I liked it, it’s well past closing, there’s almost no one left at the mall, and I look up to see an off-white, 2014 Mini Cooper sitting in front of me, parked and empty. All I did in the moment was stop in my tracks, right where I stood in front of Starbucks and Vans. I looked at my manager and I said “Kim, that’s my car.” She was just as spooked and excited as I was. Then, I looked around, and my parents popped out of nowhere behind the mall map, camera in my mom’s hand. And that’s how I met Gaia.
Since that day, my car and I were inseparable. We went everywhere together. Over the course of just over three years, we drove around 3,000 miles, her and I. For a lot of the time, I was the friend with the car. I would pick everyone up, take my neighbors to school with me everyday, go to McDonald’s with my foreign exchange friends afterwards. We went to work almost every day, we went to the beach definitely everyday. I drove on the highway for the first time with Gaia, I drove over the skyway with Gaia, I drove to Gainesville and back with Gaia. I moved to Orlando with Gaia. She was a safe space for me and a lot of my friends too. I could have spent hours just sitting in my car, doing nothing; and a lot of the time, I did.
I had a pair of pink bedazzled sunglasses that I kept in my car, and over time, the passengers that we had would put them on, and I would take their picture, and put it in an album. Some of these people I haven’t seen or heard from in years, and some I talked to this morning, but no matter what they live on forever in Gaia’s heart.
This past Monday, I watched Gaia’s lights go out in front of my eyes. I got into a car accident. I’m okay, but I experienced a loss like no other. I lost Gaia. I loved that car more than anything, and I’m terrified to let her go. She’s sitting at my home with my parents, as my neighbors drive by and frantically find my number to ask me what happened, if I’m alright. And I am, luckily, but Gaia isn’t. She’s never going to drive again. We are never going to drive together again. I miss her a whole lot.
It wasn’t the first time she’s been picked up and carried back home, but it was definitely the last time, and I’ll cherish all those times she got towed forever.
I love my car, and I miss my car. When you saw my car, you knew I was around. When you looked out into the parking lot, you could just guess which car was mine. If we were going to the island, you knew Gaia would be coming with us. What I wouldn’t give to go down Gulf Drive with the sunroof open and my CD blasting, but that’s life. Sometimes good things come to an end, and I’ll think about her forever, and Petal always.
With love, Willianny
