The Story of The Rio

– A love letter to my car, my metaphor, my moving mirror –

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The Rio isn’t just a car. It’s a companion, a co-pilot, and a bit of a character in my life story. It’s seen things. Heard things. Hauled things. It’s been everything from a getaway vehicle for big dreams to a quiet retreat when I needed to scream-sing a breakup anthem or sit in silence with a coffee and my thoughts.

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It’s taken me across more than 4000km when I packed my life and moved to Melbourne — chasing something uncertain but necessary. It didn’t complain once (okay, maybe once on that steep hill outside Dubbo). It showed up when I needed to start over. It carried not just boxes and bags, but versions of myself I was shedding and becoming all at once.

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Some days, The Rio’s ready to go — engine humming, music on, air-con almost working. Other days, it protests, like it's saying, "Maybe we both need a break today." And honestly? Fair.

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It’s gotten me to school on mornings when I wasn’t sure I could show up. It’s held my snacks, my tears, my dreams, and my mess. It’s cost me more than I care to calculate — in cash, in time, in trips to the mechanic — but it’s also taught me that things (and people) don’t need to be shiny or perfect to be valuable.

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The Rio is my daily metaphor. How it runs, how it feels, how I feel in it — it mirrors the season I’m in. Parked. Flowing. Reversing. Racing. Changing lanes. Lost. Found. Moving forward, even slowly.

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This quiz, this project, this reflection? It’s powered by that little red car. Because sometimes the best way to understand where you’re at is to take a ride in something that’s been there all along.