The ominous rumbling of a large vehicle behind me - probably a bus carting off tourists to Angkor Wat for the sunrise. Its powerful headlights light up the dark road before me instead of my weak dynamo-powered bicycle lamp. The furious roar of its engine. A loud bang and a violent jolt.
You know what they say about your whole life flashing before your very eyes just before you die? It's bullshit. Revisiting the incident, all I could think of whilst flying through the air was to stay alive. Seconds later and thump I'm on the road. Instinct tells me to breathe after having the air completely knocked out of me but the force of the impact still has my body in shock. With some effort, I manage a small gulp of air, like a gasping fish out of water. Auto-pilot takes over and I scramble to the side of the road to avoid the oncoming traffic.
Within an hour, I'm being rushed to a hospital. The sound of an ambulance's siren is not strange to me but hearing it from inside an ambulance itself, especially after being placed on a stretcher like they do on television, is surreal.
White fluorescent light on white ceiling. Beige walls. Sterile. The doctor wants to administer an anaesthetic. I refuse for many reasons: the cost (I'm not insured), the HIV scare in Cambodia and the fact that pain tells me I'm still alive. As they clean my wounds, I grip the bed railings so hard that they start to rattle.
This is where the true Cambodian spirit reveals itself and thank goodness they live up to their name. Whilst lying on the ground, I saw the bus carry on down the road and I thought the driver was going to pull a hit-and-run. Thankfully, he stopped and other motorists stopped to help. The tourist police was very helpful but I found the guy from the insurance company to be the most helpful, surprisingly. Maybe it was because I could've filed a lawsuit but didn't. All I wanted was the company to pay for the medical fees and the rented bicycle which was wrecked - (which they did). I just wanted it all to be over and done with. Besides, you can't set a price on everything: on the pain I'll have to endure? On the missed sunrise and wasted time? On distress and shock? On limbs or life itself? Ridiculous. I get further with an apology.
Looking back on the accident, I was awfully lucky. The angle of my front wheel could have been different or the vector of the force with which I was hit could have been different, and I would've been flying to the middle of the road in the path of the bus itself. I could've been decapitated, my head smashed against the front of the bus with brain splattered all over like the watermelon in seatbelt or safety helmet advertisements. The irony being that I wasn't wearing a helmet either.
Oh how weak and fragile our bodies are? Pathetic. How insignificant and puny our lives? Like the scene of the video I saw at the Reunification Palace: gun to head, bang, falls down to knees, dead. Next scene. Moving on. All I can see in my mind's eye is a candle flame. Exposed. Blow. Out. Blown out. Snuffed out. Just like that. Poof.
The thing is; everyone's going to die and to be honest, we can't control the way we die (naturally). So is there any point in trying our best to live when it's actually this hard?
I've not broken any bones. My lungs did not collapse. But I've yet to analyse any psychological effect this accident might have on my mental state. I hope it's nothing serious, if not permanent.
You know what they say about your whole life flashing before your very eyes just before you die? It's bullshit. Revisiting the incident, all I could think of whilst flying through the air was to stay alive. Seconds later and thump I'm on the road. Instinct tells me to breathe after having the air completely knocked out of me but the force of the impact still has my body in shock. With some effort, I manage a small gulp of air, like a gasping fish out of water. Auto-pilot takes over and I scramble to the side of the road to avoid the oncoming traffic.
Within an hour, I'm being rushed to a hospital. The sound of an ambulance's siren is not strange to me but hearing it from inside an ambulance itself, especially after being placed on a stretcher like they do on television, is surreal.
White fluorescent light on white ceiling. Beige walls. Sterile. The doctor wants to administer an anaesthetic. I refuse for many reasons: the cost (I'm not insured), the HIV scare in Cambodia and the fact that pain tells me I'm still alive. As they clean my wounds, I grip the bed railings so hard that they start to rattle.
This is where the true Cambodian spirit reveals itself and thank goodness they live up to their name. Whilst lying on the ground, I saw the bus carry on down the road and I thought the driver was going to pull a hit-and-run. Thankfully, he stopped and other motorists stopped to help. The tourist police was very helpful but I found the guy from the insurance company to be the most helpful, surprisingly. Maybe it was because I could've filed a lawsuit but didn't. All I wanted was the company to pay for the medical fees and the rented bicycle which was wrecked - (which they did). I just wanted it all to be over and done with. Besides, you can't set a price on everything: on the pain I'll have to endure? On the missed sunrise and wasted time? On distress and shock? On limbs or life itself? Ridiculous. I get further with an apology.
Looking back on the accident, I was awfully lucky. The angle of my front wheel could have been different or the vector of the force with which I was hit could have been different, and I would've been flying to the middle of the road in the path of the bus itself. I could've been decapitated, my head smashed against the front of the bus with brain splattered all over like the watermelon in seatbelt or safety helmet advertisements. The irony being that I wasn't wearing a helmet either.
Oh how weak and fragile our bodies are? Pathetic. How insignificant and puny our lives? Like the scene of the video I saw at the Reunification Palace: gun to head, bang, falls down to knees, dead. Next scene. Moving on. All I can see in my mind's eye is a candle flame. Exposed. Blow. Out. Blown out. Snuffed out. Just like that. Poof.
The thing is; everyone's going to die and to be honest, we can't control the way we die (naturally). So is there any point in trying our best to live when it's actually this hard?
I've not broken any bones. My lungs did not collapse. But I've yet to analyse any psychological effect this accident might have on my mental state. I hope it's nothing serious, if not permanent.
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1 comment:
hey .. you take good care there okay ..
yes, at least, you are still alife.
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