A ripple of nostalgia lapped against the banks of my memory as I threaded a puddle. I had just alighted from a bus a stop earlier than my usual. The clouds were threatening to applaud my arrival with a heavy shower, rain drops already greeting windows. A sheltered path led from the bus stop to my block, another to one that had a stationery shop.
As a child I never frequented the toy stores of shopping malls except for special occasions such as my birthday or Christmas. The humble stationery shop in my neighbourhood was my source of all things a boy could hope to buy with his pocket money and a few skipped meals.
One of those things was the toy car otherwise known as the mini 4wd made by Tamiya. It cost me a week's allowance to buy a kit and another to buy the motor. I spent my afternoons listening to the running motor, imagining my car winning race after race. It was all imagination of course, the track was too expensive to buy and no amount of gazing would get my papa to buy one for me.
It was a rainy Thursday afternoon when my friend and I visited the stationery shop to stumble upon a limited edition toy car. It was called the Black Special and it was the only one left in the shop. We decided that the fairest way to own that beauty was to race for it, and made a pact not to buy it till the next day. A restless night and half a day of school later, we ran. Our race started from the moment we alighted from the bus, and ended when I grabbed that box with triumph. I was still panting when I paid for the toy, my legs still burning and my hands shaking from the excitement. The look of envy on my friend when I opened the box to reveal my prize. Those were the first things I remember to have ever won from a foot race. The car I have long lost or given away, but the taste of victory remains salted with sweat on the tip of my tongue. If and when I do have kids of my own, I hope they run for the things they prize, and I hope they win as well.
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