The clock on the wall ticked toward 11:00 PM. It was high
time to sleep, yet I remained wide awake.
A storm of thoughts fought for space in my head. I thought
about myself; my family; friends; the work I had left behind; empty pockets;
drained savings; bills past their due dates; and debts that hooked me,
demanding payment. All these worries mixed into one giant knot: problems.
 |
Sometimes you have to ride
in the dark to see the lights |
Ugh, I felt messy! But deep down, I knew I could handle
everything, even if no instant solution came to mind.
"Heck with it," I thought. I didn't care anymore.
Cortisol spontaneously surged through my body; I felt a warmth in my chest.
"It is time. I have to do something," I hummed to myself.
Quickly, I prepared to go out before the night slipped away.
Without thinking twice, I decided to deep dive into the night alone. I had to
turn these problems into a moment of clarity.
I grabbed my old Trek bike from the wall mount. Next, I put
on my brightest, most eye-catching jacket with fluorescent strips on the
sleeves and back. I checked the front and rear lights—the most important tools
to ensure visibility in the dark. I picked up my helmet, locked the door,
walked through the yard, and latched the fence.
A few minutes later, I found myself on the road, starting to
cycle slowly. Where was I going? I had no idea. Just keep pedaling.
The Silent City
Half an hour later, I reached downtown. But everything
seemed different. The silent night, with its dim and soft lights on the
buildings, brought a sense of peace to my mind. I asked myself, Where had the
crowds gone? I didn’t see people rushing against time as I did every day. They
had disappeared. No one was here.
Downtown was only a few kilometers from home. I passed by
closed stores, government offices, banks, and the ATMs I usually used to
withdraw money. Only the security guards in their corner boxes remained awake.
They looked at me curiously, and I simply said hello and waved as I passed.
The weather felt comfortable due to the lower temperature.
The night wind felt moist and refreshing to my lungs and heart.
Cycling at night feels different—more silent and less
polluted. It was my first time riding purely for leisure at night, though I had
done it years ago for work. Back then, I participated in "Bike to
Work" (B2W). Returning home at 5 PM, I faced twilight. As the sun went
dark, my front and back lights drained after only an hour. I had to creep along
the road, very slowly, taking almost four hours to cover just 35 km. 🤔
I learned from the past that bike lighting is vital—not just to see the track,
but to avoid fatal crashes.
Encounters in the Dark
I kept pedaling until I reached the bus terminal, where
several MRT buses were parked. Nearby, I found the railway station.
Some girls under a red light waved for me to stop. When I
waved back, one girl shouted and ran toward me. She asked if I needed something
to relax, promising she would do anything to please me.
"I'll do anything for you, Sir. I can make you feel
fresh after your ride. I swear!"
This beautiful young girl, wearing a mini-skirt and a tank
top without a bra, was truly challenging. To be honest, it wasn't easy to
refuse. But when she grabbed and hugged me tightly, I faintly smelled alcohol.
That scent suddenly stopped me from being seduced.
I left her with a few dollars she had asked for, even though
I did nothing. And I continued riding.
Since leaving her, I wondered how hard it is to survive in
life. Then, I saw a homeless man lying against a store wall on a mat, beside a
plastic tent where his wife stayed with their belongings.
He had dreadlocked hair and wore a dirty shirt. He looked at
me sharply, as if I were an alien who had just descended to Earth. I prepared
myself for whatever he might do as he came closer. "What do you
want?" he asked simply.
As he got closer, I saw his face, which had initially looked
fierce, suddenly turn pale, tired, and sad. I said nothing, only putting one
hand into my jacket pocket, clenching my fist inside while remaining standing
on my bike saddle.
Spontaneously, I pulled out the last two bills from my
pocket and handed them over before riding away. He looked stunned, but from a
distance, I heard his shout of thanks.
The Lesson of the Night
It turned out that the deeper I went into the city center,
the more homeless people, beggars, drug addicts, and casual laborers I saw.
There were even neglected children living in makeshift tents on the sidewalks,
some still awake and running around in the middle of the night.
They didn’t ask for anything, but from their expressions and
faces as we passed each other, it was clear they needed help and would be
grateful to receive it.
They don’t need flowery speeches from politicians or city
officials who frequently make empty promises. They need something real. And I
tried to turn rhetoric into action, even if it was just with a small amount of
money.
I stopped for a moment in a park. How colorful this night
was. No matter how heavy the thoughts were before I left home—weighing on my
head and pressing on my chest—they meant nothing after seeing, even briefly,
the lives of sex workers, the homeless, beggars, and wanderers in this city.
After completing my personal ritual in the city park—sipping
hot coffee from a small thermos I had brought from home, accompanied by a stick
of tobacco cigarette—I headed home.
I pedaled dozens of kilometers, racing to return before dawn
arrived. My heart was light and joyful, a stark contrast to my earlier
feelings.
It turns out that giving a little money can bring relief.
And sharing happiness with others ultimately returns to oneself. You don’t have
to be rich to do this. It’s not about how much you give, but how sincerely you
give it. That sincerity is exactly how much happiness you receive in return.
This was the lesson I carried with me on my journey home.
Arriving at home, I threw myself onto the sofa and fell into
a deep, peaceful sleep!
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