For The Last Time

(dont cry. this story is very sad and not safe for emotionally sensitive readers or story-consumers. good luck on trying not to cry while reading this. i hope this is enough of an emotional roller-coaster to make you cry.)

The cold and blunt wind pierced my face like a sharpened knife. I heaved my ponderous bag, and forced myself to put a foot after the other, crunching into the 2 meter deep snow.

I was hiking a mountain; Mount Everest, to be exact. The snow crunched beneath my feet, reminding me of the mellow crunch of the cottage-core autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place back at my home.

The snowflakes were hosting a family party on the top of my hat. My eyes and eyebrows were hidden by a pair of super thick glasses that protect me from frost and heat.

I also wore a thick cow-leather mask, to protect my lips from trembling like crazy and my nose to start spouting snot at light speed.

The temperature half-way up Everest is -15, and that counts as sunny. I don't really know why I did this, all I know is that one day, I woke up huddled under a big tree, cuddled up in everything I own, from the backpack itself, to the little stove struggling to burn with the chilly wind trying its hardest to blow it off.

After that, a tree branch fell on my head, and now I'm not only fighting the wind but also doing the arduous task of suppressing the pain on the back of my head caused by a big bump.

Ouch.

Little could I see in front of me, for my eyes were shaded with the glasses I told you before, and the rapid flecks of snow didn't make things any better. The harsh winds were constantly trying to tug my bulky beanie off along with my ear-mufflers.

Every time I got too cold, which was a symptom of hypothermia, I sat down on some random wood plank, and lighted my ultra lite stove, trying to get warm.

That wasn't enough, so obviously I made a little campfire made of pine cones and stray branches. Unfortunately, the pine cones were enveloped in snow, which made them hard to burn, and the branches were dripping wet.

But, at the end, a branch, that just fell (not on my head, thank goodness) as I sat down, was quite dry and crisp; the perfect branch for a fire.

With the help of that little faithful branch (sorry I had to burn you up, Bobby) I managed a little fire that was enough to keep me warm for the time being.

Trudging up a snowy, slippery, and freezing mountain, especially one that's 8,849 meters (29,029 feet) with a (estimation) 10 kg backpack with all your belongings drains your energy.

So of course, when you're a mountain-hiker, energy equals your stomach. So if your energy is low, your stomach is growling with hunger, and if your energy is high, your stomach is purring like a fat cat that just ate three cans of tuna and is warming its body by laying on the hearth of a big, warm, cheery fire.

Oh god, I can't think of fire, especially with this pathetic one in front of me right now.

The thought of a comfortable home, with a comfortable king-sized bed, a huge and comfortable fire, with many comfortable friends and family and with comfortable food makes my heart burn with envy, sear with anger, fill with regret and melt with sadness.

But, as soon as I felt negative feelings, it was instantly replaced with positive feelings. If I was able to reach the summit of Mount Everest, I could experience the simple home comforts with the pride of having endured such agony and discomfiture.

Let's veer back to the present: I don't feel like a fat cat that just ate three cans of tuna and is warming its body by laying on the hearth of a big, warm, cheery fire.

In fact, my stomach is growling like an angry dog that didn't have anything to eat for three days and was constantly harassed by its owner. Metaphorically, the mercilessly ruthless mountain is my owner and the food I have is bare and almost non-existent.

I rummaged around in my backpack, and found a pack of instant noodles and a can of coke, which was unusually bent in impossible ways, but weirdly, not leaking the delicious liquid inside.

As I cooked the instant noodles, the scent of MSG filled my nose. Oh, this looks tasty.

I drank 1/4 of the coke, savouring the sweet and fizz of soda. So good.

The bouncy noodles, I drained, and the hot water immediately froze as it hit the snow. It was so satisfying. I squeezed out the chili powder, flavour and oil. While mixing the noodles with a fold-able spork, I licked my lips in anticipation.

I spotted a few barely alive basil leaves growing at the base of the tree I was sheltering under. Plucking them off, I shredded them to pieces and added them as 'garnish' to my meal.

As I sucked the long strings of flour and MSG, the meal warmed my heart, soul and stomach, making me feel warm and safe, as if I'm back at home again.

The instant noodles were finally ready, and I ate everything in the blink of an eye, acting like wolves upon deer.

After my meal, I prepared for bed, laying down my tatami, if you ight call it that, then my blanket. Proceeding to unfold my portable pillow, I patted it down to fluff it up a bit.

I pushed some more branches in my fire, as I re-kindled my fire. I found that the instant noodles' plastic packaging was very useful, for it burned the fire about 4x more brighter.

The sun went down, leaving a dark, yet scenic landscape of swirling snow, weirdly shaped trees, and a bold twenty two year old climbing Mount Everest.

The oxygen was thin and not many humans that attempted the same thing as I did survived. I just hoped I will.

I've caught hypothermia three times on this, half way done, half month journey, so I'm physically unstable. But, even more so was my mentality.

The sheer fear of slipping and falling to my death lay heavy in my heart every second of the day. The sheer fear of never meeting any of my family or friends again haunted my dreams after the sun sets.

Every night, I had to reassure myself that I wouldn't die, and this wouldn't be the last time I'd close my eyes.

Every morning, I thanked god and each of my family members and friends for they must've prayed for me and at least I'm still alive and breathing now.

Every time I feel lonely, I would huddle and sob my heart out, then collected enough courage to take a deep breath, stand up, wipe my tears off my face and continue on this heart-wrenching, absolute roller coaster of emotions, dangerous and pain-filled but inspirational and life changing journey, a million miles away from home.

''Goodnight, me,'' I whispered, as I looked at a photo of my family a million miles away, comfortable and safe at home, ''Don't let this be your last sleep, you'll meet them again.'' I reassured myself as my eyes fluttered, then closed.

For the last time.