Everything I own has a soul. That is why I don’t want to keep just any object beside me. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I grow attached to the things I have.

It was shortly after I first met my husband on a blind date, before we were married. He came to pick me up with a small SUV to drive me to our meeting place. That was the first day I met “Dwaeruki.”

My husband always said that after he met me, Dwaeruki somehow came to him at a surprisingly low price. In fact, before meeting me he had been preparing to leave Korea entirely—selling his previous car and even putting his house on the market to wrap up his life here. But after our blind date, the very Peugeot SUV he had long wanted appeared on the second-hand market. It was almost new, with less than ten thousand kilometers on it. A compact SUV with excellent fuel efficiency. He bought it immediately, as if it were destiny.

Dwaeruki truly had great fuel efficiency, and for an SUV it was small and agile. My husband liked to say that the model had achieved legendary results in the Dakar Rally, one of the toughest rallies in the world. Whenever he turned the absurdly small steering wheel for such a sturdy vehicle, he said it felt like he was racing.

He always wanted Dwaeruki to wear good “shoes.” The tires were always Michelin, and because it was a diesel vehicle, he made sure it was given only high-quality coolant. Still, he was not overly obsessive about it. He did not clean the interior every day, but he never left trash inside or let dust pile up. His philosophy was simple: keep things reasonably clean, but make sure the “shoes” were always good.

Dwaeruki took us to so many places. When I was working while also attending graduate school, my husband would drive me to the university library and back home even on weekends. When I was writing my thesis, when I was giving presentations—Dwaeruki was always there.

After I graduated, during the height of the COVID pandemic, we traveled around Korea. I still remember sweating nervously in the empty fields of Gangwon Province when we realized we might run out of fuel before reaching a gas station. We worried Dwaeruki might stop from hunger. But somehow it carried us safely to our destination.

There were also those intense day trips: waking up at six in the morning, driving four hours to Busan to eat gukbap, then heading to Namhae for seafood, and returning to Seoul the same day. Even on those exhausting journeys, Dwaeruki never complained.

When I was preparing for a job change and my nerves were at their peak, worried about being late for an interview, Dwaeruki delivered me exactly where I needed to be. It also helped us during two different moves, carrying small appliances and our belongings again and again.

When we decided to have an outdoor wedding and I prepared everything alone without a planner, there were countless places to go and things to arrange. Dwaeruki was with us then as well.

But one day, Dwaeruki began stopping on the road from time to time. My husband suspected it had never fully recovered after a minor accident—an incident before our honeymoon when a motorcycle lightly bumped into its rear. To be honest, Dwaeruki had always been a bit problematic, with several recalls and small defects.

It truly started becoming ill in 2025. Although we loved it deeply, the frequent visits to the mechanic and the mounting repair costs slowly changed our feelings. At some point it began to feel less like something we were grateful for and more like a burden.

In the end, we decided to let Dwaeruki go. My husband spent a significant amount of money at the official service center to repair everything. He insisted they replace as many parts as possible, just in case. Quietly, we signed a contract for a new car without Dwaeruki knowing, said our final goodbye, and sent it away.

We only hoped it would meet a good new owner and help shape that person’s life as well.

For my husband, Dwaeruki was especially meaningful. Through Dwaeruki he met me, we married, it witnessed my graduation and career change, and eventually we even bought a house. My husband said that for five years Dwaeruki had stayed beside us, helping us reach where we are today, and that perhaps its strength had simply run out.

Maybe, he said, when it meets a new owner it will become lively again and help guide that person’s life in a good direction.

I often think that the objects that stay with me have souls, and that we are deeply connected to them. That is why, whenever I keep something close, I try to choose the one I truly love the most.

Because I never know where that object might take my life next.