One rainy night, I was returning home on a ride-hailing motorbike after a party where I was already tipsy. The late-night rain was bitterly cold. The raindrops fell at an angle, lashing against my face, making me shiver. The yellow streetlights cast a dark, hazy shadow through the rain. The road ahead kept appearing and disappearing in the water, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry. The young driver suggested I pull over to take shelter under an awning.
The young man spoke with a thick, Central Vietnamese accent. He had struggled to make ends meet in Saigon while studying, eventually choosing to become a ride-hailing motorbike driver to better suit his study schedule. On a good day, he earned four or five hundred thousand dong. On a slow day, he'd earn around two hundred thousand. Life in the city isn't easy; he clung to this place to study, hoping for a better life later and to ease the burden on his parents back home. Ahead of him, with each turn of the wheels, lay the future, his hometown, his home, so he prioritized safety for himself and his passengers. The rain continued to tap steadily on the corrugated iron roof where we were sheltering. But it didn't matter, because, as the young driver said, we still had a future ahead of us.
But not everyone can see the road home ahead of them with every turn of their bicycle wheel. We occasionally read news reports, read on social media, and hear statistics about traffic accidents after holidays or Tet (Lunar New Year) when people flock home for the festivities. These numbers diminish the joy. The rush around corners, the lane-swerving, the frantic acceleration – everyone wants to go fast, no one wants to slow down amidst the busy roads. Everyone is scrambling for a quick destination. It is at that moment that we slow down our entire lives.
Or consider our habit of "drinking to the limit" at drinking parties, the pressure to drink, the deference to others, and the desire to prove our "drinking prowess," only to stumble home drunk. Alcohol always provides a significant stimulant for those speeding along the road. In early June, a tragic accident in Bac Giang caused by a driver with a blood alcohol level 1.5 times higher than the legal limit shocked society. This tragedy and its horrific consequences served as a wake-up call regarding the importance of controlling speed. It's the same road home, but ahead of those rolling wheels are people who will never return home.
On every road across the country, millions of wheels roll by daily, millions of people behind the wheel, traveling to and from their destinations. Ultimately, it's all about awareness of what lies ahead. If we know we have a home with the waiting arms of our parents, the love of our spouse, the anticipation of our children, and so many other things worth being mindful of, restraining ourselves in, and continuing to live for, then surely those wheels will always be driven by a sense of safety on their way home.
My daily commute is about 20km. Early in the morning, my mother always comes to the gate to wait until my figure disappears down the alley before closing the door behind us. On days when I come home late, she still stays awake waiting. She leaves the porch lights on, rocking in her hammock, her phone always in her hand. She knows the sound of my motorbike by heart. As soon as I stop at the gate, she hears the jingling of the key she inserts into the lock. She always waits like that, even though for over 20 years her son has been driving and struggling to make a living. For her, the return of her child after a hard day out on the road is true peace. And I believe that every mother in the world longs for her child's return with the same feeling.
Therefore, before each turn of the wheel, I always think of home and my mother. Because I know that love resides in the heart, but peace lies in the hands behind the wheel. With every turn of the wheel across our country, I believe there is always a home and someone waiting ahead. It's just a matter of whether we see it sooner or later!
Article by: Tong Phuoc Bao
Illustrative image: Archival material
