Reaching the top

It started out as a random line thrown in a conversation. My friend told me that he liked climbing a mountain an hour away from his house. "Maybe we should do that one time... climb a mountain," I said. Burst of laughter from me ensues. I'm not a really outdoorsy type of person. I'm a city boy. I like my concrete jungle. But, something within me has been changing these past few years. More and more, I yearn to escape the city-ness that I live in. I long to see trees, walk in fields of grass, hear the stillness in the air. And so, I decided to do something that I've never done before. I was going to climb this mountain. 


It was a beautiful hike. Sweat dripping from my face, I kept on going. We took a small break and proceeded to take out our cameras and have a little photoshoot. Even did some planking and owling :P After awhile, we were back on the road to the top of this mountain. It was hard work but when you have a goal in mind, it makes the hard work easier. Well, maybe not easier, but at least it gives you a reason to move. Climbing up the rocky face was challenging, to say the least. The fear of falling never really left me until finally, there were no more rocks to climb, no more steps to make, because I finally reached the summit. As I looked out from the top, it took my breath away. The view was startlingly refreshing and breathtaking. 


Later on at night, we saw the light show of the heavens. The clouds, the stars, and the moon provided us with a heavenly display devoid of the light pollution that can often dull these glimmering bodies in the sky. Sitting there, my eyes transfixed, my heart bursting, my mouth silent, for once, at the wonder before me. God's wonderful creation viewed by another creation. Humbling and awe-inspiring to say the least. 


As I climbed down, I knew that it would not be my last. I look forward to going back up that mountain and being transported to yet another world. 

Yay!!! =) 

Poetry that inspired my latest writing challenge

I woke up to "The silence was deafening" and thought of this poem that I wrote awhile ago. This provided the impetus to write the story I just wrote.


Song of Sid IV


Mind spinning, whirling, twisting
Remembering what should remain forgotten
Seizing what should remain hidden
Contemplating what should remain latent


Soul descending, spiralling, groaning
Falling under a burden of care
Stumbling over sins I bear
Tripping over and under everything, I swear


The walls are closing in
I can barely breathe
My world is caving in
I can barely scream


I cry out in the open
I cry in despair
The tears flood my senses
But I can't tell if You're there


Silence.
Screaming silence.
Painful silence.
Silent silence.


Eloi, Eloi lama sabachthani


Tetelestai.

The silence was deafening

*This post was inspired by Sherree Worrell's writing challenge. The topic is "The silence was deafening.” I decided to take up the challenge as well.*

The sun rose in the east. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, decades after decades, millennium after millennium, it did what it naturally did. And yet, somehow, this time, it was different. The sun rose not only to announce that it was a new day; it rose to announce the end of a life. This morning, he was going to die.

He knew he had it coming. Well, everyone on this earth knows that but somehow still manage to think that it would never come. No, not him. He knew he was going to die. He even knew how. He was one of those people that knew his mortality. Accepting the fact that he was going to perish, it gave his life meaning and purpose. I guess that's how it works. We only know how to live well if we know how to die well.

I guess it wasn't a surprise. He was always telling the so-called good people the things they didn't want to hear. He was always telling the bad people that love is not some far-fetched dream. Standing up against the status quo can get you killed fast. It was only a matter of time before they were going to make a move against him.

In the middle of the night, they found him. Arrested him. Brought him to a kangaroo court where he was accused of crimes he didn't commit. Beat him. Tortured him. Amnesty International wasn't there to intervene against such cruel and inhumane practices foisted against his body. There will be no petitions for his release. The paparazzi couldn't make tabloid fodder over his fate. No one was there to console him. He was all alone. Even his so-called friends scampered away when they saw the law coming hard against him. When trouble came, they all fled.

And so, they subjected him to one of the most gruesome and humiliating walk of shame known to man. Stripped naked, they paraded him. They did it to make an example out of him. “Don't be like him,” mothers whispered to their kids. His mother crying a flood of tears as she sees the mangled flesh of her son. It was too much for her to bear.

Suddenly, the skies darkened. The very ground they stood on began to tremble. Pathetic fallacy perhaps? Maybe he was innocent after all? Perhaps. Only time will tell. And in the midst of all the rumblings in the sky, he cried out in a strange and foreign tongue. Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani. My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?

In what must seem like weeks, months, years, decades, and a millennium to a dying man, the answer finally came.

Silence.