An ode to the Nissan Tiida, my first (and only) car

They say you always remember your first car.

I don’t have to remember because I’m still driving mine – a grey 2008 Nissan Tiida with more than 70,000 kilometres on the odometer and hundreds of memories in its hallowed seats.

Nicknamed “my noble teed” or Whacko (for its WKO number plate), it’s where I’ve spent a substantial portion of my life. It’s gotten me home from long shifts at a shopping mall during university. It’s picked up countless loved ones from the airport. It’s been the site of several deep and meaningful roadside conversations with best friends. And it’s not just my car; it’s my best friend.

Despite happily learning to drive at age 16 in my Mum’s Volvo station wagon (a very safe car, albeit one that required you to take out a second mortgage every time it was serviced), I had no clear image of what my first car would look like. I was just happy that having a first car was even an option.

So, with a very generous loan and plenty of parental advice, they took me on a journey to find my new vessel. Not knowing much about cars, I was useless. Fuel consumption and air bags weren’t high on my list of priorities. A cute colour and iPod connectivity were.

While most of my private school peers were gifted with the likes of BMW and Mercedes-Benz the second they turned 18, I had more humble ambitions. In my mind, my first car was most definitely going to get scratched, bumped and squished within an inch of its life. I didn’t want some shiny, sensitive European import – I wanted a battler.

More expensive cars get their windows smashed, I reasoned. More expensive cars cost an arm and a leg when they’re serviced. More expensive cars are, well, more expensive.

And then I saw it. We both did. Resplendent in its suburban driveway glory – the perfect size, the perfect shape and the perfect price (if you took my Mum’s haggling skills into account). There was no question. A couple of days later we drove to the owner’s house for a test drive. It was love the minute I sat in the driver’s site. It was spotless. The diligent, thoughtful owner told me he cleaned it every week and loved driving it, but had to sell it to pay for his kids’ uni fees.

A week later I signed the papers, got in my noble teed and never looked back.

If you’re wondering what my car offers in the way of special features, the answer is a big fat zero. It doesn't even have electric windows, which creates problems when you need to speak to someone outside your car on the left.

As for fuel consumption, I can’t give you an exact figure because there’s nothing even resembling a trip computer. All I know is it costs me about 35 bucks to fill up my tank every two weeks or so. It runs out faster if I put the air conditioning on.

Each time I test-drive a new car, I get back in mine and laugh at how little it offers me in the way of technology. But it’s mine, it gets me from A to B and it feels like home. Yes, I actually need to use my own eyes rather than a camera and parking sensors: Priceless.

They may as well have killed Bambi. My rant about the indecency and cruelty of this heartless act was Nobel Prize-worthy.

Thankfully, my brilliant mother (who grew up with a Swedish engineer father and can subsequently hotwire a car if required) used the suction of a toilet plunger to remove the dint.

That, to me, summed up what a first car is all about. You make mistakes in it.  You make memories in it. You live, you learn and you (hopefully) grow as a driver and a person. Lane departure warnings not included.