Motormouth: May the downforce be with you on the road in our home galaxy

Fear of slowness leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering for speediness.

Words of wisdom, indeed, but not exactly from Yoda of Star Wars fame. Instead, these wise words were once spoken by a slightly less ancient grandmaster mechanic who works in a rogue-one workshop, which has been souping up your trusty ride to hopefully turn it into a potential podracer on sport rims. 

A long time ago in a fantasy far, far away, I used to be a padawan petrolhead - a young man driven to distraction by the need for speed, which afflicted every boyracer between Jurong and Changi, with a coffeeshop pitstop every now and again. 

I was fuelled by countless cups of kopi, which were way cheaper than the countless litres of 98-octane petrol that refuelled my pocket rockets.  

The fast force awakened in me for the first time with a Fiat Uno Turbo. It made me feel like a hot-blooded Han Solo behind the Momo steering wheel, but the hatch also made me hot under the collar like furry Chewbacca with its mechanical troubles. 

Then the Japanese empire managed to strike back with DOHC VTEC and I was starstruck. Once I started down the dark path of speedy Honda Civics, forever it dominates my driving destiny and consume me it would. 

Wielding the vehicular lightsaber that was a three-door Civic VTi in imperial red, I was an ah beng Anakin, Skywalking on Singapore sunshine. I even brought along my own ah lian Princess Leia, attached as my spunky better half who looked stunning when draped in white.  

Inevitably, my fast and furious fever behind the wheel shifted insidiously towards the fast and curious. 

Can I answer power with more power, even though the Jedi way it is not? Why does a Jedi use the engineering force for knowledge and defence, but never for attack? Shall I take the performance plunge since it’s either do or do not, there is no try?  

Embrace the dark side, I did, with a Civic Type R, in ironic bright white. My automotive powers went through the steel roof. 

I was able to move random little objects at will, but mainly mundane items such as personal effects and cabin clutter. I was extremely (Traffic Police) Force-sensitive when redlining my B16B engine. And I somehow Force-choked enough money out of my Ewok-size bank account to keep my costly Civic in my orbit.   

Eventually, my financial Death Star destroyed my personal VTEC planet and shattered this past padawan’s power of petrolhead dreams. 

Luckily, I could still play Jedi mind tricks on myself and overthink about the good old dramatic days of being a HDB boyracer whose motoring behaviour was more Jedi than ch**bai.

Darth Vader had to hitch a ride to the Star Wars convention because his TIE fighter broke a tie rod.

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