🔥 When the Heart Kicks the Steering Wheel

🔥 When the Heart Kicks the Steering Wheel

A Spiritual Reflection on Anger, Desire & Ego

Written by Kateb Shunnar

If I’m being completely transparent, I didn’t expect to find myself wandering through the Kingdom of Champa in the year 1300, wearing sandals that felt like someone had carved them out of disappointment and leftover coconut husks. But life is strange like that you try to teach about emotional intelligence in the modern world, and next thing you know, you’re sweating through ancient history, trying to keep your spirit calm while your forehead glistens like glazed fish from a Cá Kho Tộ pot. I’m not even the main character in this reflection. I’m just your guide, your narrator, your slightly sarcastic spiritual Uber driver steering you through time. Our real teachers today are two locals: Phương Trang and Nguyên Hoa, whose friendship was about as stable as a bamboo ladder during monsoon season. Their story is one of those tales the ancestors told so dramatically you’d think the fate of the universe hung on a coconut. And actually… it kind of did.

The Kingdom of Champa was hot not regular hot, but the kind of heat where even the fish in the river looked like they were reconsidering their life choices. Still, the people were lively in that very southern Vietnamese way: teasing each other, gossiping with enthusiasm, cooking enough food to feed ghosts and ancestors, arguing, forgiving, and arguing again. They flavored their conversations with vernacular that slapped harder than a sandal during Tết cleaning, like when someone’s temper flared and folks would mutter, “Trời ơi, đừng nóng như lửa vậy!” (Oh heaven, don’t be hot like fire!). And guess who heard that phrase the most? Exactly our two emotional firecrackers, Phương Trang and Nguyên Hoa.

Now, imagine Phương Trang: sharp tongue, sharper eyebrows, the type who shouted “Thôi đi má!” (Cut it out, girl!) before hearing all the facts. Her anger cooked faster than instant noodles. Then you had Nguyên Hoa, who seemed soft-spoken until she wasn’t. Her desires had hands; they grabbed her attention like hungry children. She’d see something shiny and immediately whisper, “Để đó cho tui.” (Leave that for me.). Her ego? Oh, it was subtle but present, the way fish sauce sneaks into a dish you don’t see it, but you definitely smell it. Together, they were a walking billboard reminding humanity what not to do when making decisions.

One humid afternoon, when sweat was dripping down people’s backs like nature’s unwanted massage oil, the market in Vijaya was alive with chaos: vendors shouting like opera singers, pots of rich broth bubbling like they were plotting something, and the scent of caramelized fish from Cá Kho Tộ twisting through the air. This was the kind of environment where foolish decisions thrived. And this was the day the infamous incident of The Coconut of Calamity took place. Yes. A coconut. Don’t laugh. Coconuts have shaped destinies before. Possibly. Maybe. Don’t fact-check me.

There was a village Bình Nước Đầy (Full Water) whose name sounded poetic but mostly reminded outsiders of bathroom emergencies. In that village, a legendary coconut tree stood tall, and people swore it was enchanted. Not fairy-tale enchanted, but petty enchanted. Like, the tree knew your mood. Approach it with anger and the coconuts grew sour. Approach with ego and coconuts dropped early like they were quitting the conversation. Come with selfish desires and… well… there was that one man who walked around smelling like coconut juice for three whole days after a fruit landed directly on his head, and folks swore they heard the tree whisper, “Đáng đời mày.” (Serves you right.). Was the tree truly magical? Who knows. Folklore thrives on maybes.

One morning, our two heroines walked past the tree. They weren’t thinking about emotional wisdom or inner peace; they were thinking about lunch. Nguyên Hoa wanted a coconut. Phương Trang wanted to prove she could climb the tree better than anyone else. Desire and ego collided like buffaloes in a field.

“Trang, hái trái đó cho tui,” (Trang, pick that coconut for me.) Nguyên Hoa said.

“Nhiều chuyện quá. Tự hái đi.” (You’re too much. Pick it yourself.)

“Bộ sợ té hả?” (What, afraid of falling?)

See, ego is sneaky. You're calm, wise, perfectly balanced… and then someone suggests you’re scared, and suddenly you’re scrambling up a tree like a lizard late for work. And up Phương Trang went, climbing with pride as her invisible ego-cheering squad chanted inside her head. Halfway up, the tree shook gently, as if whispering, “Check your ego, con.” (Check your ego, child.). But she ignored it, because pride had already taken the driver’s seat. She yanked a coconut too hard, and gravity faithful, merciless gravity delivered the coconut directly onto Nguyên Hoa’s forehead. A perfect karmic kiss.

“Trời ơi! Cái gì vậy trời!” (Heavens! What is happening!) she shrieked, flailing dramatically as if auditioning for an ancient soap opera. She threw sand. Phương Trang yelled back. Villagers gathered instantly, bringing their unsolicited commentary and snacks, ready to spectate. The worst part? The coconut wasn’t even ripe.

Thankfully, Bà Nội Mây (Grandma Cloud)—the village elder known for wisdom wrapped in sass stepped in. She shook her head with the energy of someone who had watched generations make the same mistakes and said, “Hai đứa bây để cái ego và cái nóng dẫn đường như vậy thì chỉ có trái dừa là thắng thôi.” (You two let ego and anger lead you, and the only winner here is the coconut.). And she was right. Emotions had driven both girls straight into foolishness.

She sat them down and delivered the lesson people still repeat today: anger blinds, desire tricks, and ego misguides. She told them emotions are meant to be felt, not obeyed like tyrants. Feelings pass, decisions stay. They apologized, hugged dramatically, and split the coconut. It tasted awful. The lesson tasted better.

And honestly? We’re no different today. We may not climb coconut trees, but we still blow up while driving, jump into decisions because we want something badly, or defend ourselves out of pride rather than truth. We let emotions become dictators. Anger makes us underestimate consequences. Desire makes us impulsive. Ego makes us allergic to humility. Emotional intelligence demands we pause. Breathe. Ask ourselves: “Is this my anger? My desire? My ego?” And if yes step back before our choices hit someone on the forehead.

When we practice self-control, compassion, mindful awareness, and honesty with ourselves, we reclaim the steering wheel. We become softer, wiser, kinder. We stop yelling “Ê đồ quỷ!” (Hey you little devil!) at innocent people. We become people who choose love over impulse, wisdom over ego, and peace over temporary emotional satisfaction.

So don’t let anger, desire, or ego guide your decisions. Let wisdom speak louder. Let peace speak clearer. Let humility lead you gently. Because the coconut always wins but you don’t have to let it hit you.

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