- I got skills 
If you could choose to be a master (or mistress) of any skill in the world, which skill would you pick?
I’ve thought about this before – you know, as a fall back if the writing thing, being a penmonkey for hire, doesn’t quite pan out. I’ve also thought about this during times when the words don’t come quite as easily as I’d like. 
Moving on. I’ve always thought that I’m a jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none. That’s not a compliment. I am not tooting my horn. For me, being very good at one thing beats being okay at several things. Why? Hey, I’m a good enough basketball player, but not good enough to get a scholarship. I’m a good enough draftsman (woman?), but I am neither good enough (nor willing) to do it professionally again.
ANYWAY. So back to the question. What skill do I want to be a master of? There are a lot of things I’d like to learn – like for example, dance. In my head, I could totally dance. In reality, no. I’d like to be skillful at entrepreneurship too, because it’s a useful life tool. There’s marketing, sales, public speaking, and finance management – things I wish somebody had taught me sooner (if at all).
But, I have to say, the skill I could have had the most use for is knowing how to fix a car. Specifically, my car. Meet Car-car (sometimes Sheer Luck, Mo, that battered beetle, and Frankenbug).
He was born at the time when music really mattered and when radio was king, when accountants didn’t have control, and the media couldn’t buy your soul, and computers were still scary and we didn’t know everything~ He’s 11 years older than me and a poster boy for excellent German engineering. The problem is, despite the German engineering, a 40 year old car is a 40 year old car.
If I were a master mechanic, I could have saved myself thousands of pesos in maintenance and towing fees. I could have saved myself the embarrassment while sitting on the curb at White Plains with Remi and Mabie. I could have saved two thousand five hundred pesos when an MMDA Tow Truck sidled up to us and the charm-offensive failed miserably. I could have known then that it was the dratted ignition coil and I could have just placed a wet handkerchief on it and drove happily away.
Another time, I was driving to Buendia and took the Quiapo route, which was a bad idea because I hadn’t known it was Chinese New Year at the time. I sweated bullets when Car-car died – in between a packed jumble of trucks, jeeps, and other vehicles – at the very bottom of the Quiapo underpass. It wouldn’t start again. I don’t remember much of that adventure, but I do remember that as I muscled my way through a cluster of jeeps on a steep incline, an Urvan who wouldn’t let two girls on a Beetle cut into his lane suddenly, miraculously dies too. “Oh my God, his water broke,” I said. Remi shot me a questioning look, and I pointed to the pool of water under the Urvan. His radiator had gone bye-bye. 
The point is, car ownership can be such a money vortex and to tell you the truth, the total cash I’ve spent on Car-car is enough to buy me a secondhand mini-SUV from this century (read: with air-conditioning, disk brakes, airbags and powersteering).
If I were a master mechanic, I wouldn’t even think of putting Car-car up for sale. If only I were. I wish I am.
1. Writing prompt from The Daily Post.
2. This happens often. Okay, a lot. Sometimes it does feel like that all the time and of course, that can’t be good. Whenever this happens, I feel like a total fraud. I’m just waiting for some kid to point out that I’m not wearing any clothes.
3. In case you’re curious, you can totally drive with that kind of engine trouble – or at least, you can drive until the nearest gas station or until your balls are well-done. The nearest gas station was around 5 to 10km, near the piers.