I have climbed the highest mountains
I have run through the fields
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
I heard this song for the first time a month ago. I was inside a car traveling seventy miles per hour across the vast stretch of the Scottish Highlands.
I did not understand what it meant back then. I still do not fully understand what it means now. However, for some reason, the song keeps playing inside my head these past few days.
Last weekend, I climbed a mountain. I’ve always climbed mountains as a child. But it is not the kind of climbing where I intentionally scale heights to get to the summit.
Growing up in the coastal area of Dinaig, I have grown accustomed to climbing hills and crossing mountains just to visit my childhood friend, Ate Aila. Ate Aila is Uncle Junior’s only daughter. They are not related to us by blood but they are pretty much family. They live in Pinutulan, the shaded valley behind Tantawan and the unnamed mountains bordering the municipalities of Dinaig and Upi.
It was the summer of 1995 when my father had this crazy idea of building a house in Pinutulan. I still have vivid memories of climbing a hill, crossing a stream, and arriving at a clearing only to see him chiseling a large plank of wood which would become our door’s lock. He built the house from scratch using the things he found in the forest as materials. I have lived in many houses throughout my life but none could match the feelings I have for that house. It was not the prettiest and most comfortable house. We did not have electricity or potable water. The ‘staircase’ going to the second floor is a ladder made from coconut trunks. Our stove is a humble assembly of three mid-sized rocks on top of an elevated platform with enough space for firewood. Despite that, it is still the best house I’ve lived in.
It is situated on a small clearing few meters from the foot of a mountain. A few steps away from its north wall, the earth ends and plummets downwards to a clear creek of which the name Pinutulan is derived from. Days after we moved in, my father dug a large hole near the bank and meticulously arranged rocks and stones from the stream so that water flows towards the excavation, creating a makeshift swimming pool. My mother, on the other hand, planted rows of carnation around the house and made a fence of flowers to keep stray animals from eating our newly-planted avocado tree.
We stayed in this house for one whole summer: my father, my mother, my sister, and me. Every night, we are lulled to sleep by the gurgling sound of Pinutulan creek. Each morning, my sister and I will wake up and congregate at the house’s sole west window to watch the first rays of the sun reflect itself on the peaks of an unnamed mountain range. It will take me twenty-four years to realize that the yellow-green ridge we have always adored is Mount Minandar’s east facade.
You see, mountains are dime a dozen in these parts. As such, only the special ones get their own names. Mount Minandar rises above the Kusiong coastline in its 1,464 feet glory. Its golden slopes and isolated peak make it a prominent landmark in the area. And as it is special, so are the stories that people tell about it. I’ve always wanted to climb it as a child but I never had the chance to do so.
Recently, Mount Minandar was opened to the public. It received a steady stream of visitors in the last few years, most of which are people who are not from the area. So I thought, it is about time I do the same.
And I did.
My sister, my friend Mick (aka Bapa), two younger cousins, and I left our house at 6:20 in the morning. We passed by Uncle Junior’s house. Apparently, they have left Pinutulan and he is now living at the foot of Minandar. The caretaker of the mountain, he is.
The view going up is spectacular. I almost died on our to Base Two because the slope was rather steep. Nonetheless, we made it in less than two hours. We met a group of trekkers on our way up to the summit and they were led by a tour guide named Justin. It took five seconds before it dawned on me that Justin is actually Sultan, Uncle Junior’s youngest son. I sound very much like my grandmother but the last time I saw him, he was just a child. Hahahaha
On our way back, we stopped at base two and had a chat with Babu Ideng. My younger cousin commented that the star apple tree in her yard is already bearing fruits. And as it is with the ever-warm hospitality of the Tidurays, Babu Ideng asked her son to pick some for us.
When you grow up in a place as beautiful as this, surrounded by wonderful folks who thrive in the abundance of nature and the humble simplicity of their lives, you learn at a young age to value life. You learn to be grateful and you understand that no matter how hard life could hit you, you can always, always choose to be happy. You face the world with the wisdom that to own something does not mean to have it and that, sometimes, the best things you have are those that you do not own.
This is the string of epiphanies that I had after that trek. I went to sleep that evening with my body sore but with my heart full. Right at the time when I needed it most.
It is almost a week left to a month since I arrived and I am still unemployed. It is this uncertainty (and perhaps, hasty reintegration) which pulls me down into a strange rollercoaster of hyper-mania and deep misery. Come to think of it, I was not able to properly ‘grieve’ leaving Bradford. It was a bit too sudden (despite the long overdue homecoming). But maybe that’s just how the world works. When you have made a home somewhere else, you will always leave a part of you behind when you depart.
Perhaps I did leave a piece of me in UK. I am not sure whether climbing mountains is a way to get it back; but if that helps, then there is no harm in doing so.
I will eventually find what I’m looking for.
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