Kendrick didn’t plan to buy a car last weekend. He said he was just going to the dealership to “browse.” You know, get a feel of the options. Ask questions. Smell the synthetic leather. Maybe pretend he understood what torque meant. By mid-morning, he was on Quezon Avenue and met a bright-blue BYD Seal 5 DM-i. The sales rep lifted the hood, pointed to a small gasoline engine, then to a thick orange cable that fed an electric motor. “On pure battery, you can cruise a little over a hundred kilometers from Manila to Bulacan and back before the engine even wakes up,” she said. If Kendrick ever ran low, a fast charger could refill most of the battery on a high-power plug in about half an hour.

Kendrick liked the silence. No rumble, just a soft whirr as the Seal glided out of the gate. It felt like coasting on a moving walkway at the airport. But the test drive ended, and reality surfaced. The thoughts of charging at home and hunting for public chargers on road trips entered his mind. He wonders whether today’s 900 plugs around the country would be enough if everyone else went electric.

After lunch, he crossed the city to Makati, the land of reliable sedans. A silver Toyota Vios sat under fluorescent lights, smelling faintly of new plasticky upholstery. The rep did not bother with buzzwords. “One-five gasoline, four cylinders, works even on regular unleaded,” she said. The figures were modest. About a hundred horsepower, but the promise was bigger with 14 to 20 kilometers per liter on a good day, and parts so cheap every street corner in Banawe has them. Kendrick slid behind the wheel and remembered why half his barkada drives this car. It always starts, and no one googles where to refuel.

Late afternoon found him at a Mitsubishi dealership, impressed by a Mitsubishi Montero Sport parked at the curb. He climbed up and fired the 2.4-liter turbo-diesel. The cabin vibrated just enough to feel alive. The numbers were bigger here: 181 horsepower and ground clearance higher than most city sidewalks. Kendrick could imagine going to Baguio with seven people and luggage, still breathing easily.

In the BYD, he saw a future-ready version of himself charging overnight and bragging about zero-emission commutes. In the Vios, he saw predictability. Fuel anywhere, service anywhere, and the relief of never explaining what “kilowatt-hour” means. And in the Montero, he felt taller, braver, like a proper gentleman who knows campsites in Tanay, Rizal, he has never actually visited.

But questions kept poking holes in every dream. Could his parking slot even fit a wall charger? What happens on a spontaneous Elyu run if the one charger in town is occupied? Would he get tired of a diesel’s appeal when prices swing upward? And would the sensible Vios still spark joy once its new-car smell fades?

He ended the day without a key, only a sandwich from the dealership café. Choosing feels technical on paper, yet it’s personal in the gut.

Kendrick has three browser tabs open. One shows the Seal 5’s online calculator. He types his daily kilometers, watching the savings amount climb. Another shows a long-term Vios review, its comment section full of owners bragging about 200,000-kilometer odometers still ticking. The last tab is a Montero video, headlights slicing through muddy trails.

Maybe next weekend he’ll revisit the showrooms. Or perhaps a decision will click while he’s stuck in traffic commuting to work, drenched in sweat.

And that’s the thing about cars. We think we’re choosing them. But sometimes, they’ve already chosen us.