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She's the girl who sits and watches while others live a charmed life. The girl loves to write but doesn't know if she's any good at it. She loves rainbow sprinkled ice cream on a rainy day. She loves to take walks with the wind blowing. Giggling should be made a career. She tells you her secrets in not so many words.
If only it was as easy as that. It was devastating to be so near and yet be forced to turn back. I cannot tell you how difficult it was to take that first step to the back. Willing the weather to listen for just a bit didn't make a difference.
The Mountain Gods were not at ease; that's what we heard echoing among the guides.
It was the kind of weather that happened maybe once in a few years; that's what our guide said to us with a straight face. Not your time to climb, this is so you will come back.
A black and white certificate is waiting for you at the headquarters, too bad.
It was terribly disappointing. It was ridiculously painful.
It was undeniably exciting and beautiful. It was eye-opening.
It was a shake back to life's cruel sentence on some.
And it revealed the grace with which some work through life’s most difficult stop signs.
Yamin the cheeky leader. Mee suah with homemade spirit. Kitty. ‘Bah!’. Caught rained in at a rest hut. Insects we never knew existed. Warm soup.
Richard the cool guide. Rain showers. Yellow raincoats. Sunsweet raisins. Chocolate power bars. Shoes two sizes too huge. Text messages that make you smile. Double-layered water protection. Monster earthworms. Jumping on the spot to keep warm. Mist. Bathroom squabbles. Hot water taps that embarrass. The lack of familiarity. Passages that fit too well.
Triple layer clothing. Blind climb. Words and shoves of encouragement.
Poring is bamboo in Dusun. Skipping along canopy walkways. The beauty of the ache. Good looking people of mixed heritage.
Nabalu market. Ukuleles. Iyan the innkeeper. Six to a room. Jetty talks.
Clock tower. Deserted observation deck. Upside down map reading. Yellow soup konlo fish head noodles. Icecream! RM2 Spritzers.
A return is in the works.
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Ten minutes past the thirty minutes, and its time to pack. Notes that have been scribbled on repeatedly and doodled over on top of doodles make it into the bag over the mobile phone. Getting out of comfy clothes into neater ones require more effort than usual. Was this the tee from the other day? And if yes, what of it? Her 'Good Luck!' was replied with a faint 'Thank You'. Somehow it felt like it was a walk on the last mile.
Sharp 11 and the library temperature could pass for the dawn chill. The girls in the corner can't stop giggling over how the guy that she thinks like her asked her to get a hamster on Facebook. Occasional looking up from notes and constant shushings from the anal librarians didn't quite send them the message. Thank God for iPods. But then strawberry fields need redundant displays and razors have to be designed to account for typical perceptions. Blah.
Fifteen minutes past 11 and the volume on the iPod can go down a notch. Alone at the table but with not enough time to get the jacket out to fight goosebumps. Why, suddenly there's so much to recite all over.
At 12 and for two hours, the last bit of second year was put to test. This is it. This seals it.
And this is where it stops. This is when a stare, a voice, a presence reminds of something that was forgotten. Thoughts pushed away wave hello all over. Questions that demand unspeakable answers make its rounds once again. These thoughts are funny things, they tickle at that that was impossible to tickle, nudging continuously for attention, throwing temper tantrums when denied and gloating with glee when allowed for.Between jam sandwiches and bottles of water, between sheets and drifting off, between you and You.
And there's more yet.
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