I was never a fan of mountains. Its steep path and uphill motion give me this sick idea that gravity will always outsmart me and I’ll eventually fall flat on my face.
However, when a friend told me that I “need to take a break” and “clear my mind”, the first thing I saw was the summit; the sea of clouds serenely drifting, exposing and hiding and magnifying the rays of sunshine and creating a surreal image of how wonderful life is.
I was in the usual fix of confusion; to go or not to go. I’ve found several reasons why I should not, one of which was the obvious one. But of course, I still ended up going there. That’s how I roll anyway.
It was December last year when I journeyed up north with a purpose to “heal” and let go of the “baggage” brought about by a separation due to distrust and pride.
But it was not until this December that I literally let go of all the baggage. Weird as it may seem, I brought with me a collection of letters, gifts and keepsakes that could have written a story good enough to share with sons and daughters we could have made together.
I was accompanied by a friend whose presence was just apt in that moment. I’ve told her my purpose: To seek warmth and clarity. I figured; you can only appreciate warmth when you’re in the cold, you can only discover clarity when there’s nothing else to see.
So up we went, with our bags heavy with clothes and foods, with our spirit light and exhilarated, with our hearts seeking for answers and truth.
It was a difficult hike. For one, I have never done this my entire life and I don’t want to disappoint myself if I just give up in the middle of it all. But my body’s reacting as if it’s a natural thing to do, like it’s used to this kind of feat.
After an hour of breathless hike, pausing, marveling, taking pictures after pictures and praying for our legs and back not to give up, we reached the first base camp.
We were silent. We knew what the other was thinking. We knew our limits were being tested. But we did not dare talk about it because we knew it will not serve us well. The exhaustion and frustration became elephant in the room.
After a few minutes of rest, we were again in motion; traversing the mossy path of the mountain. Trees became thicker, the view became lovelier. Cramping legs and aching backs were transformed into adrenaline rush.
For four straight hours we climbed. Along the way, we were able to entertain ourselves so as to forget that it’s already raining and our soles were already drenched in mud and rain.
Humor, indeed, never failed us. This was the time when we were exchanging foolish remarks and deep, metaphysical similes that were mostly about…love.
Soundbyte #1
April: Mt. Pulag is 2,249 MASL… Meters Above Sea Level
Raine: No, that means Age, Sex, Location
April: M? What’s the M?
Raine: *Thinking… Miss!
Then pointed at each other while laughing
Soundbyte #2
Raine: Ang pag-hike ay parang relationship.
April: Rocky.
Raine: Hinde, may ni-lu-look forward.
April: Nagta-thrive.
Raine: Kahit mahirap, maganda.
April: Mahirap pero colorful, tapos babalik-balikan mo.
Raine: Pinaghihirapan, kasi in the end… Sasaya ka.
It was already dusk when we reached the second base camp. We needed to stay overnight and hike before the crack of dawn going to summit and see what everyone was waiting to see.
It was drizzling, wind’s strong as expected and the sun is bright despite the time. We managed to set up our camp, used the bushes beside the tent as makeshift fridge for our ‘drinks’ and began to remove layers of jacket as it was warm inside the tent, which was great.
We settled inside. My friend took a nap while I was busy processing and savoring the hike we just had. I had a pen and a journal with me, I was ready to write but no words came out. Instead, I opted to read the letters and journal entries I brought. Re-reading all the things from 2012 to 2014 was challenging and ironic. I was waiting for a pang of guilt, maybe regret and a surge of longing but none of those were felt. I was just reading the whole thing but I could not connect with it anymore; it’s already a distant story I don’t mind throwing.
The reason why I was seeking warmth and clarity was not actually because of the letters. It’s not even about the story behind those. I was seeking a different kind of warmth. I was seeking a different kind of clarity.
I took a nap and woke up at seven in the evening. We opened our cans of sausages and drank our cold beers. We didn’t mind the rain outside. We just relished the moment of solitude, of silence, of closeness to nature.
My friend and I started another level of metaphysical conversation. Before the hike, I just came from a 2-day silent retreat and I told her we should process it. We talked about life. We talked about journey. We talked about God.
She told me that I’m going through a very intense stage of Isolation vs. Intimacy (see Erik Erikson’s 8 developmental stages). I guess I am. I guess I am being prepared by some divine power to something really great. I guess it’s about time to open myself up. I guess.
We waited. We waited for the rain to stop. We waited for the dawn to come. But the rain grew stronger and the wind became wilder. The tent was shaking, water began to seep through in and coldness was all around.
Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days. We tried sleeping but we could not find it. The wind was trying to topple our tent and we could not bear to sleep in a nearly soaked sleeping bags. We dozed off but we were alarmed by the intensity of the rain. We dozed off but we always, always woke up after an hour of sleeping. I don’t know what kind of sorcery was that but I know that we really woke up at exact time. 9:00PM, 10:00PM, 11:00PM, 12:00PM. Then another one at 1:00AM, 2:00AM and 3:00AM.
At four in the morning we decided not to sleep anymore and think of evacuating our tents. We were already drenched, teeth chattering and hope fading. At that time our guide took us out and brought us to a small hut a little down the base camp. A lot of people were already there, squeezing in a group circling a small bonfire. I was shaking, I could feel my clothes wet with rain and my fingernails already turned purple.
There was a silence in the hut. All of us thinking of different things. “I want to go down”, “I will not see the sun”, “I will not reach the summit”, “I am cold”, “I want to sleep”. We were all thinking but we can’t do anything but to wait until it’s safe to go down.
But there were people who managed to stay positive and vibrant. People whose smile radiates through the room and laughter became heater for the immensely cold dawn. People offering hot waters and noodles. People saying words of comfort and sharing stories of mountain hikes.
That encounter with the coldness made me realize that warmth doesn’t necessarily mean the literal ‘feeling’ of being warm. Most of the time, warmth comes from the people around you; their genuine intent to help you and share joy, their stories and journeys, their smiles and words of comfort. That’s warmth.
Warmth means presence in times of coldness.
Warmth means love in times of despair.
Warmth means laughter in times of sadness.
Warmth means…
It was seven in the morning when the guide decided it’s safe for us to go down. The trek going down was much easier and faster. Maybe it’s because we were just being carried away by gravity. Maybe because we were already familiar with the path. Maybe because we were too eager to be in the comfort of our dry clothes packed inside our bags.
After the deluge of wind and storm, we faced yet another trick the mountain had to offer: Fog.
In the midst of the morning fog and seas of clouds (that I saw not in the summit but on the way down), I found clarity. But clarity doesn’t necessarily mean seeing things clearly.
Sometimes, it means seeing with your heart.
It means seeing life, people and events as it is.
It means appreciating simple things and not always look for something grand.
Because always, always, small things matter.
At the end of it all, I achieved my purpose. It was not to reach the summit (though it would be waaaay better if we had reached the summit), it was not to take awesome photos of the sun…But it was the warmth and clarity I was yearning.
Still, it was a journey for keeps.
PS.
On our way from Bontoc to Baguio, I managed to read one last time all the things I brought with me. One by one, I tore it to pieces, threw it outside the bus window and felt grateful for the wonderful letters that were not meant to be kept.
I threw away tiny pieces of moments in colorful papers. I threw away long letters of declaration of love. I threw away postcards and souvenirs and frustration and distrust. I threw away pride. I threw away suspicion.
I told my friend what I did the moment we reached Baguio (we were not seated together on the bus, I was at the far back, she was in the middle. Eventually no one was there to see my ’emotional’ stunt).
April: Well, nag-create ka pa ng environmental impact.
Raine: Okay lang yun, papel naman eh, biodegradable.
April: GIRL, HINDI BIODEGRADABLE ANG PAPEL.
Raine: Oops.
Fin.
Lou x Raine 