I've had just enough time to... see a machine that moves me.
Taken in a small street in Jakarta.
To you, it is just a vehicle.
A battered, broken down machine which had seen better days. Patched back, glued together with whatever one could lay hands on. You even smile at the ingenuity.
Stop smiling. For this “broken machine” is my life.
It had served me faithfully and traveled more miles than that Merz of yours. It put food on the table for the family. Carried my children in it. Without it, I was nothing. With it, I have a job; I raised a family. I have a life. It carried me through streets you will never pass, through life you will never understand. And we share a bond closer than the love you shed tears for in the movie. I don’t blame you. How could you understand? Your machine moves without you moving it, so it could never “move” you the way my machine moves me.