More and more electric cars are starting to show up on our roads. Charging stations are popping up in malls and gas stations. But for many Filipinos, especially the “older” ones, EVs still feel like a high-tech experiment reserved for techies, vloggers, or young people.

Which brings me to my tita.

She had just arrived from the province, fresh from a seven-hour roro plus bus ride. Tired but still sharp, she saw the Jaecoo EJ6 I had just test-driven.

She froze.

“Ano ‘yan ‘toy?”

I told her it’s electric. No gas. No engine. No oil change. Just batteries.

She walked around it slowly, like inspecting a new appliance. She tapped the hood. She saw and stared at the charging cable in the trunk like it might shock her.

“Parang selpon lang pala,” she whispered.

She was unconvinced. She gave it a look, the kind your tita gives when you bring home a weird haircut or a friend covered with tattoos. Curious, concerned, but respectful enough not to call it anything uncomfortable outright.

She started asking questions, the way only titas can.

What happens if the battery dies in traffic?

Can it be pushed like a regular car?

Can you still use it during a typhoon?

Does it need to be unplugged pag may kulog?

And most important, “Di ba nakaka-kuryente ‘yan?”

She does not hate electric cars. But in her world, you trust things that smell like gas and make noise. Silence, for her, is not peace. It’s more like a warning.

I tried to explain. The Jaecoo EJ6 is fully electric, yes, but it runs with all the strength of a regular SUV. It has power, space, and more tech than my old SUV. The ride is smooth, it feels like Luke’s speeder from Star Wars. But to her, all of that didn’t matter.

She just kept asking, “Wala ba talaga siyang tunog?”

Eventually, I convinced her to take a ride with me. She sat in the back like a passenger in a taxi. I did not mind being my tita’s chauffeur. She was a very caring aunt to me and my siblings when we were little kids. She deserves a deluxe car ride. Ten seconds in, she said, “Ang lamig ng aircon, ah.”

A minute later: “Tahimik nga. Parang elevator.”

Three minutes later: “Pwede na siguro itong pang-grocery ano?. Pwede ding pang-outing.”

Progress.

“Hopo,” I answered. That’s my province’s equivalent of “Opo” in Manila.

But even after the full ride, no engine rumble, no gear shifts, she still had that one last question. The one that refuses to leave her brain.

“Ay paano pag nag-brownout?”