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What I expected on my journey through the busy streets of Vietnam was, in a sense, the unexpected - and yet I still found myself unprepared. I was staying on a small, rat filled side street separated from the freeway by a sound wall which hid me from the bedlam behind the barrier. Saddled on my small Honda Wave, I drove near the tall stone wall which covered my vision of the busy road I was to join and I came to a stop. I inched closer and watched the traffic as it sped past. Now, the movement was all headed one way- It was coming from my left and passing on my right. And so I watched the left, where the traffic was coming from, as that would be where all traffic would appear from... Or so i thought. Noticing a gap in traffic I seized my moment and gave my bike some gas. I sped up with a smile and turned my vision to the road ahead. As I jerked forward, I was greeted by a man on a bicycle. His sudden appearance gave me little time to react, but luckily I was going 3 km/h and so I came to a complete stop rather quickly. My bike stopped, though not before it gently prodded the bicycle. Having made it one foot into the street I took part in my first accident. They say time goes slower in the moments where we come face to face with death, and oh boy did I feel the weight of time, as the poor defenseless old man wobbled and looked at me from the side of his eyes with a look of terror. I froze, wide eyed, and watched as the bike swayed back and forth as if it were a bowling pin deciding to fall or not. And, unfortunately, this elderly bowling pin did fall. What was probably only a brief two seconds felt like seven. Not an unreasonable amount, sure, but definitely an uncomfortable amount of time to be staring into a wrinkled face washed over with fear, knowing I was the reason for it. I popped down my kickstand and ran to his aid. I jumped in front of the traffic that was swerving by, picked up his bike, and offered him help up. This was when I met his full gaze for the first time and realized that not only did I hit an old man on a bicycle, but I hit an old, blind man on a bicycle. Well, at least half blind. One eye was a piercing brown that stared into my soul as if I had just betrayed a loved one, while the other eye was a faded blue that seemed unconcerned with the situation it found itself in, and instead drifted and wandered as it pleased. The man said something I couldn't understand and began tapping his arm and moaning. I looked at it and there was neither cut nor bruise, and so I did all I could, which was apologize and shrug my shoulders in ignorance at the man's concerns. Confused about how to continue, I heard a booming voice from above that said “It was not your fault.” The sudden reassurance from God felt good but I was surprised by his french accent. I looked towards the sun above and saw the shadow of a man stood upon the sound wall. “I saw it all. He is driving against traffic, what can you do? It's his fault.” said the French man as he stood arms crossed, cigarette in hand. I turned back to the man and handed his bike to him, saying sorry for the tenth time, but felt he was fine. I got back on my bike as he did his, and watched as he continued his brave, half seen journey against the flows of traffic. I decided not to follow his lead and go against the grain, and instead joined the masses on my way to work. Unexpected to say the least.