Goodbye, Mumun!

My car, Mumun — I guess it’s time to say goodbye. She’s been with me through so many roads, storms, and near disasters that it almost feels wrong to let her go. But before I do, I want to tell her story — or maybe ours.

The scariest moment happened one Christmas holiday. I decided to take Mumun to Jakarta, thinking the highway would be the fastest route home. Everything went fine at first, until somewhere in the middle of the long, grey road, I felt something strange. Mumun began to lose her power. I tried not to panic — maybe I imagined it, I thought. I pressed the gas pedal harder, hoping she’d recover.

Then, the engine stopped.

It was raining that day — heavy but calm — and now I realize that was a blessing. Because of the rain, cars were driving slower than usual. If they hadn’t, things could’ve been much worse. I sat there, gripping the steering wheel, the sound of rain mixing with my heartbeat. I was alone. I didn’t know what to do, so I prayed. I turned the key again and again, whispering, “Please, God.”

After a few tries, Mumun came back to life.

I sighed in relief and drove again, but she wasn’t the same. The power was weak. And then, she stopped again — right in the middle of traffic near the Tanjung Priok toll gate. Cars were honking, people were impatient, and then I saw an ambulance trying to pass on my right. Right at that moment, the engine died once more.

Panic kicked in. I turned the key and pressed the gas, but there was no response. Then I noticed something — the road was slightly downhill. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was grace, but I released the brake and let gravity help. Slowly, Mumun started to move, and somehow, we made it out of the highway.

The road to my house was another test. I took a smaller, quieter route, hoping it’d be easier — but of course, life had other plans. A car and a gerobak blocked the way at the same time. I couldn’t move, people started yelling, and I felt completely helpless. They didn’t know the gerobak couldn’t move aside. It was chaotic, humiliating even. But eventually, I made it home. Mumun’s engine released a puff of smoke as if to say, “That’s all I’ve got for today.” Only later did I find out she had been “dehydrated.”

A few days later, I drove her again — this time to my church’s Christmas gathering in Lenteng Agung. Four of us were inside, laughing and chatting, until the same problem came back. We didn’t know what to do, so we left Mumun in Kalibata and continued our journey by online taxi. I was worried sick. Thankfully, my friends later helped me, and Bang Alex figured out the issue and fixed it.

On the drive back, though, I couldn’t shake off the fear of the engine stopping again. It made me press the gas harder than I should have — too hard, maybe — and I almost collided with another car at an intersection. My friend screamed, my heart stopped for a second, and I knew I’d pushed too far.

That night, shame hit me harder than fear. I could’ve hurt someone. I could’ve made things worse.

But later, when I told this story to a colleague, she smiled and said, “That’s something unforgettable — and precious.” And maybe she was right. Maybe all those moments weren’t just problems; maybe they were lessons — reminders that God’s protection is real, even in the middle of panic, rain, and engine smoke.

So now, as I prepare to say goodbye to Mumun, I choose to remember the good things: the roads we conquered, the prayers whispered in fear, and the quiet gratitude after every near-miss.

Thank you, Mumun, for every adventure — for being part of my story, for teaching me to trust, to stay calm, and to believe.

Goodbye, my loyal friend. You’ve served me well.