This is what it feels like to be twenty-three.

There’s no struggle over the radio dial today. My dad is fast asleep in the backseat. Maybe I feel powerful. I turn the music down, as to not wake my napping parents. Maybe I feel strange. I reminisce about the lulls between word games we played, squished in the backseat, as our dad drove and mom clutched onto her makeshift barf bag.

Wincing at the setting sun, despite my sunglasses, I sing along to stay alert. My dad stirs occasionally, to direct bits of driving wisdom to me.

“Blessed are the hungry; you said it, I believe it. Hunger is an escort to the deeper things of you.” I glance at my carsick mom to my right and peek at my dad through the rear-view mirror. And ask that their souls be stirred, even in their slumber.

It’s dark out now. My dad wakes and utters words of wisdom. Though aware that he’s saying something, I pay no attention until he says to me, “She sings in the Spirit,” of my current obsession on compact disc. I slip my sunglasses back on.

“I believe you are listening. I believe that you move at the sound of my voice.”

oh man.

Car metal scraping against cement wall - one of the worst sounds in my world. Second only to the sound of the car metal scraping against another.

I scratched the car yet again, going through the narrow entrance to the death trap of a parking lot in the basement of my teacher's building. At least it was just my dad's old van this time...or so I thought.

I'm not a great driver. I don't even know how to parallel park. But I'm not a terrible driver either. I am starting to think/realize that many of the problems in my life actually stem from my personality flaws. Case in point - fed up with my dad's chronic tardiness, I said I'd leave if he didn't get ready in five. So I did. I drove there by myself for the first time and in my haste, scratched my sister's car while parking. If I hadn't acted rashly and had more grace on my dad, I would have been late to my lesson but it wouldn't have been a big deal. But I do hate being late and don't appreciate people disrespecting other people's time. Ahh... grace. I still need to learn to give it freely.

And I hope my dad will have grace on me, even though I'm pretty sure he will nag about it for days to come. I have already closed myself off in my room with bossa nova blaring through my ear buds, in anticipation. In high school, I used to do the same while hiding under my desk so that my grandma couldn't find me. Perhaps this is not the best way to deal with a problem. It has, however, got me really into Brazilian music.

I can hear Jobim sing along with his piano solo on "Vivo Sonhando" - I must have listened to this song at least a few hundred times but I think this is the first time I noticed it.

I am sorry.

I wish cars were like marshmallows. You could bump into another or into a wall and it'd be fine. Except I wouldn't want them to melt and become gooey. Vehicles that look like marshmallow peeps... ?

Hmm... and what if the walls were made out of graham crackers and chocolate bars. If you drove into them, you'd end up with s'mores.