Highway Run

With my tutor, Long, on the handlebars of the purring Honda, we rocket out of the Ho Chi Minh city center. District 1 passes by in a neon blitz. We roll through District 4, the local gangster’s paradise. Traffic starts to thin out, the night air begins to clear. Our precious little bike works hard and puts in its last bit of effort as Long applies the torque. We fly out onto the freeway just as the air begins to cool with the damp anticipation of rain. 50, 60, 70 kilometers per hour. The separation between the oncoming traffic wouldn’t stop a small car, much less the massive trucks which rumble by. When the divider ceases, Long uses the opposite lane to pass. I cringe, imagining the sight of us splattered across a truck’s window, then let go, knowing that it would probably be a quick death. Suddenly, the multi-story buildings end their reign, no longer looking over our shoulders as we stretch into the night. The dark sky opens to us, welcoming these two dragons with a sprinkle of rain. Lightning flashes and thunder erupts. The air twitches with the electricity of a newly born darkness. Defying death and flying down the Vietnamese highway on a rainy, clamorous night, I feel the exhilaration of life.

To know you are living is to be on life's edge. Whether the verge the death, or the verge of a broken heart. Without the passion and the adventure, life will pass us by in the dullness of grayscale. The highs and lows, the intoxications of happiness and the despair of depression flavor our lives. While we pursue our own inner-peace, it is easy to forget the joy of life, the adrenaline of extreme. It is ironic that even moderation must be moderated.