Burnouts, Battles, and Resilience – It’s been a tough year
Year-end; time to reflect, react and contemplate. A tough 12 months, that’s for sure. Didn’t go to plan, that too an understatement. But did it beat me? Nearly. Did it scar me? Definitely. Don’t hesitate to hit play on the video below – my words, SUNO’s sounds. It’s something that you might relate to, it’s something that might soothe, maybe even inspire some hope. But as for reading the rest of this, if you share a state of mind as delicate as mine, best to cease now, and click away. Check out my automotive year in review instead, it’s kinda funny. It may amuse and distract. But peruse below only at your peril.
2024 showed so much potential, but quickly went rogue, pummelling hard the pulp of a tired and shattered mind, barely holding form, frantically searching for fragments of resilience.
It’s bad enough when promises perish on the wisp of feigned conversations. Insincerity shouldn’t surprise, its abundance is a given in the contemporary. Bitter is the realisation of a fortune that continues to evade, popping up instead in fantasies, delivering only in daydreams. Anyway, the bills can wait, the holidays can hold.
Oh, but the Bimmer. A token coin of rust slowly blooming on the bulkhead of my beloved BMW E30; a repair most trivial, a position most inaccessible. It’s unseen, it does not condemn, but I know it’s there. I can feel it, on my person, it’s like my own skin flaking off. It itches, it annoys, it lingers long enough to leash euphoria.
Bitter is the realisation of a fortune that continues to evade, popping up instead in fantasies, delivering only in daydreams.
But this too is a manifest of the meaningless. It’s metal, it’s mesh, it will mend. Tell yourself; it’s nothing, but it’s an annoyance.
It’s yet another annoyance, added to a litany. The stacking of afflictions begins to weigh heavy before leaning precariously, wavering uncertainly. Imbalanced too far and the fragile skyscrapers of the mind will tumble inwards, out of control. It’s overwhelming.
But not yet. I’ve got it steadied. I’ve got it under contr… don’t be silly. Let’s leave it as ‘steadied’. It wouldn’t take much though.
Careful stepper. Minding the eggshells, maintain the masquerade, determined to keep on keeping on. Circumnavigating against the walls, crabbing past the obstacles, skipping over the potholes. Just keep moving. Just keep going forward.
And then the rug got pulled. The streets erupted, flames and fury – not from road racers ripping clutches, but hearts set alight by hatred. Summer brought the heat. But not from the sun. It was fear and loathing that set the world alight, burning deeper, harder, an inferno tearing at the fabric of a place I thought I knew.
The racism of my past came calling, dragging me back to a boyhood I’d long buried, a boy who once hid from a world that didn’t want him, that taunted and haunted him. “Paki Go Home” etched in a hidden corner of a murky memory long suppressed.
“Paki Go Home” etched in a hidden corner of a murky memory long suppressed.
But the bigoted and the ignorant, the fooled and manipulated, their actions terrifying, their words petrifying, pulled back the facade of hope, revealed age-old prejudices still lurking just beneath the surface. Disappointing, disillusioning, depressing, the boy was back. The boy was cowering. Years of self-therapy expunged. An ugly reality laid bare, the fear made real, the mind sent into a spin.
Lock myself away. Cancel this, forget that. I know I don’t want to be seen. Questions of identity, Questions of belonging. Questions of existence. Questions of culture stretched beyond precedent.
I let the despair settle. But it accumulates on the cold quiet metal of a wonted barn-find. Crush or restore? There’s always potential. Deep in its stilled heart, a spark refuses to die. Somewhere in the darkness, a glow. Faint at first, then catching, igniting. A reminder: the road doesn’t end here. The wheels, worn and battered, could yet turn.
Crank it with hope and purpose. Grind it into gear. With a groan and effort of will and courage, it moves again. Ignore the red lights, pay no heed to the haters, get those revs back up. Defiance is a fuel more potent than nitrous.
My metaphor is cars, it always will be. Because cars are life. Everything else is a distraction.
My metaphor is cars, it always will be. Because cars are life. Everything else is a distraction. Friendships forged by the firing of cylinders. Long-lasting are the therapeutic chats in the front bucket seats of a charismatic car. Enduring are the hugs of fellow petrolheads.
From the big classic shows at the NEC to the show and shine of a Southall sounding the dhols, cars gleaming like beacons of hope, a celebration of community, of connection.
To the year-end, the camaraderie of cars continued as Dubai welcomed me like an old friend. The Mille Miglia UAE’s chrome-drenched glory, where stories are written not in words but in miles, surpassed only by the reconnections with friends of fond times past. The love, the recollections, the warmth of familiarity, soothe my soured soul.
The love, the recollections, the warmth of familiarity, soothe my soured soul.
The scars I’ll wear. Reminders of repugnance that remain, but to reaffirm that through it all, even through storms and setbacks, I still have my mind. Hope’s a spark, a spark an idea, ideas form thoughts and thoughts are racing.
Ambition reignites, aspiration reawakens, goals refresh and reset, life goes on; there’s stuff to be done, so get on with getting on. Spin the wheels, burn some rubber, rebel against the rust and stagnation.
Bent but not broken. The road ahead glows faintly, a sunrise painting the horizon with the radiance of optimism. 2024 tried to break me. I won’t let it take me. I’m still driving. Still writing. Still recording. Still here.
2025 awaits, and we’re catapulting into it sideways, bouncing off the limiter at 8000rpm. Come join me. Let’s see what it brings.
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