I almost got torpedoed on the way to work today. True story – sort of.

To be completely accurate, a pile of torpedoes almost sideswiped my friends and I as our car vied for on-ramp space with a flatbed truck carrying said weapons and an army jeep. Strapped to the truck with a few cables, they sailed past my window just close enough to make me a pacifist.

As the truck passed us, we stared at the little propellers shrinking in the distance and wondered about whether or not the driver ever saw us and about local weaponry transportation regulations. I imagined what would happen if one of those cables snapped and all those heavy cylinders tumbled onto our black Corolla. Think of the call home from the hospital:

Mom? Hey, it’s Shiloh. I’m in the hospital, but I’m fine. Just a skull fracture. We had a minor collision on the highway. Fortunately, the torpedoes weren’t armed, so no one died in an engulfing tidal wave of fire and shrapnel. It’s all good.

However, to be honest, nearly dying  – or at least being party to the ruination of a perfectly good paint job – in an entirely unique way made me feel cool. I think that if you have to die or pay for property damage, why not go all out? Why not involve yourself in a highway torpedo collision in Asia? It sounds like a swell idea, and if the event results in an obituary, at least it’ll be a real page-turner.

I moved here for many reasons, one of which involved stories. I love to write them and photograph them, but I want to live them, as well. A tale has to be lived before it can ever be written, and I don’t want to miss out on my own just because I get wrapped up in those of other people.  Asia’s a good place to find the kind of stories I want to write and live, and I’m sure all the other travelers out there can identify. Since I moved here, I’ve consumed a fried cricket, watched elephants amble down the street and celebrated Christmas Eve harnessed to a zip line that flew me through the jungle. As of today, I’ve also survived my first, almost assault with deadly weapons.

One of my ultimate goals is to be the kind of grandmother who tells stories over dinner that are so enchanting, her grandchildren refuse to leave the table hours after they’ve finished their pot roast. I’m a lousy cook, so this plan had better work. If the kids can’t stomach the beef, maybe the torpedoes, crickets and elephants will make up for it. I might be underestimating the atrocity of my culinary skill, but I think the stories will be enough for them. Therefore, I must thank the whole of Asia and the wonderfully interesting culture it has born. It has done my hypothetical descendants a service. It has done me a service, as well.