Nightwatch
In the late 1990s, when I was in my mid-twenties, I happened to strike up a conversation with someone at a restaurant inside a rest area on the New Jersey Turnpike. He was a large, white man in his mid-forties with a rather big head. He had pulled into this rest stop for a late dinner while en route to New England in a massive Kenworth W900 trailer truck hauling a Walmart container.
The market was in shambles back then. It had plummeted over 15% from its recent peak as summer turned to fall. The glitz and noise of New York offered no solace to calm my nerves, and conversely, finding peace in the overly quiet house seemed equally elusive.
After work, I drove north toward Manhattan to cross the George Washington Bridge. Even with the window open to ease my restlessness, I felt strangely suffocated. So, without any particular reason, I turned south again and entered the Lincoln Tunnel, ending up in Hoboken, New Jersey — over 40 minutes from home. It was at a diner I stopped at for something to eat during this drive that I met this truck driver.
I don’t know if circumstance brought us together, but a plain-looking Asian guy in his late twenties and a quintessential Southern white man you’d expect to see in Arkansas ended up talking for over thirty minutes. It might have been interesting for him to talk to an ‘English-speaking Asian,’ a rarity back then. Or maybe I liked his face, which seemed more genuine and never lost its smile compared to other white people.
As we chatted about this and that, I became curious about the truck he drove. He showed me around his truck, explaining everything. I mentioned wanting to drive it once, but that was probably out of the question. He offered to give me a ride since he was heading north and could take me to Fort Lee. Even though my car was there, I saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime chance and gladly accepted. That’s how our short journey together began. I haven’t ridden in a 16-wheeler since then, so accepting his offer back then was definitely the right call.
Inside the moving truck, it was relatively quiet. While the engine noise was loud, the ride became surprisingly smooth as the gears shifted. The cabin absorbed every bump and curve in the road like a seat placed on an old wagon, providing an exceptionally comfortable ride. As the conversation quieted a bit, the man named Dan (Daniel) turned on the radio. The dial was set to 92.7 FM — a familiar Family Radio Station to me too, and the program “Nightwatch” was currently airing.
“You know, Sam. I ain’t got much money, and all I have is a modest wife and an ordinary kid. I don’t know anyone powerful, like lawyers or someone who can help me when I am in trouble, but I got this truck to keep me goin’, and I thank God for that.”
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“So here I am, driving a 16-wheeler, and whenever I tune in to this program, I see myself as a night watcher, moving stuff from A to B through the night, praying for those who are asleep and for those who struggle through the night. There’s nothing much I can do for other people, though I want to, but I can be a night watcher for them, saying prayers to keep them going.”
He had a religious background similar to mine. But looking back now, I had no faith back then. I believed I had quite strong faith at the time and never doubted it, but looking back now, I was worse than a hollow ice cream cone. But Dan was a man of incomparably greater strength than me.
Now I’ve reached an age similar to his. I sometimes drive on the highway past midnight. And I think about that road we shared for twenty minutes. I wonder if he’s still keeping night watch, or if he’s now well over seventy, living out his remaining years comfortably somewhere in the American South.
As the years pass, darkness deepens in this world. In today’s climate, even the smallest light feels like a blessing when leaving the highway for a national road devoid of streetlights. Without a house-sized 16-wheeler to protect me, stepping outside my home or car door makes me feel the world’s atmosphere — like a pack of wolves — sweeping over my body and mind.
Like that person, I too call myself a night watcher in my own way. I hope to be a night watcher for those traveling this night road, with the small light I shine. Yesterday, someone asked me, “Did you know there are businesses in South Korea that pay monthly rent on your behalf through installments?” I hadn’t known this, and hearing it filled me with dread.
So this is how hard the world is becoming.
The meaning of “night watch” is this: 1. a watch or guard kept during the night. 2. a person or the persons keeping such a watch. — Though a world where no one cares for others has always been this way, the increasingly vicious and dangerous state of society feels palpable now, unlike before. When someone commits suicide, even their family can’t be there to stop it. There’s no other way to describe this current phenomenon than as the “rampant spread of evil.”
I am a prepper. Yes, I’m one of those people who prepare essentials and way more, just in case. I believe this world will end someday, and I think that day isn’t far off. But until then, I want to keep the night watch. We all walk the same dark path, day or night. My heart yearns to lead us onto a brighter path, no matter how.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to say “Happy New Year” next year. I tell people this at the turn of each year, but with no feeling at all. It’s already been more than six years like this.
- February 28, 2026
