I'm cringing just by reading online about cases where porters have been baldy mistreated by western trekking companies - how some porters receive minimum, or no proper trekking equipment to help them climb mountains, or sufficient warm clothing and/or sleeping bags, and even being overloaded by too heavy a load (I'm probably guilty of this, because according to Saf, my bag was notorious for being heavy =/), and also how they're being underpaid and having to skim on their very skinny salary to pay for their own accommodation and food during their trek up with tourists instead of being paid for by the trekking company.

"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."

- Christopher McCandless

For inexplicable reasons, I found myself sauntering over to Languages whilst in Kinokuniya this afternoon and picking up a Nepali-English language book before strolling over to the to Travel section and flipped through the Lonely Planet guide book on trekking in the Himalayas.

Did I mention I've been sleeping so much more nowadays? Ever since returning, I've been sleeping for a good 9 to 10 hours straight, with naps during the day. My mum says my body is still recovering from trekking 5000m above sea level and is still tired.

She's wrong. Its not my body that's tired. Its my heart and soul that's tired from missing Nepal so much right now. I've always scoffed when people mention how much it hurts to miss something so bad. I now take it back.

I think Nepal may have changed my outlook and perspective in life. I got a B in Statistics when I saw my results online. Typically when I see a B, I begin to throw fits and remain moody and despondent to the point of being suicidal. But when I looked at that incriminating alphabet, I accepted it with stride, for some inexplicable reason. I didn't understand why I wasn't throwing a fuss or crying to myself on the bed. Maybe I did whine a little to M, but I didn't feel as overworked as I always did before.

I even surprised myself when I told my mum, who was lamenting over how she needed to start kicking my brother into gear for exams in his final year, that there are more things in life thangrades reflected on some piece of paper.

This is me?!

I think I'm possessed.

This might just be a temporary phase, and after I'm relieved of the Nepal high/nostalgia, I shall revert back to my old ways.

I'm tired already.

I still have stuff I need to get out my system, but I'm not giving two hoots about it right now. I need sleep.

Goodnight, my paradoxical world that I'm living in right now. You amuse me, bemuse me and confuse me all at once.

Is it a surprise that I wish not to go back to school?

I really should switch to live journal soon. Permanently.

Is it a surprise that I wish not to go back to school?

tomorrow is the day where I spend 5 hours in Kinokuniya straight.

what's the point of getting Kinokuniya book vouchers when you don't put them to good use right? LOVE YOU MUM THANK YOU FOR BRING THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD TO GIVE ME MY ONLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT THIS YEAR.

Sanjay

Nepal has really made me aware of 2 significant things:

1. Realize the power of mental strength

Each trek takes at least 7 hours. Each one becomes a little longer, a little more tiring, a little more physically challenging and so much more mentally challenging. There have been so many times when I've said to Zee, Asty, K and Sanjay:

"I'm not doing this anymore."

"OMG people I am done."

"I'm too tired."

"I can't do this anymore. Its too long and hard."

"I want to fly home. Not on the 22nd, not tomorrow, but right fucking now"

"Somebody get me a fucking chopper for me to go home."

"Can I hire a yak or a horse, or get the porter to carry me down?"

Yes, these are some of the things that I've said. I myself find it hard to believe I said all that, considering how I have always considered myself to be a fighter. I'd never thought that I'd actually said I want to, and would be giving up. I cried on the way once. It is THAT mentally challenging. I actually cried, when I thought that the trek we were embarking on would be 10 hours. It turned out only to be 3 hours due to a change in destination, but the fact that I actually broke down meant that its possible for me to actually push myself too hard to the edges.

Yet despite the countless number of times my trekking friends and guides entertained my exclamations of giving up, I'm terribly surprised to see myself actually pushing forward. I keep saying I want to give up, but somehow I continue pushing forward. Its like all these words are on auto-pilot. I say I want to give up for the sake of saying it, but somehow my brain silently wills and pushes me to go further and further, to get to my destination before night falls, before the strong winds come.

We are living proof, that mental strength outweighs physical strength. If not, I would not be here right now. We are living proof, that mental strength outweighs physical strength. If not, I would have died on the trails.

We are living proof, that mental strength outweighs physical strength.

2. How our guides and porters are some of the most humble, loyal, gold-hearted and spirited men I will have ever met.

I'm biased when it comes to men. Yes I know that. I know that I've a White complex. That Caucasian men are kind and good looking and awesome. But trekking with some very different men during this trip has made me so much more aware of how the group of guides and porters we have been assigned to can actually give some of this White boys a run for their money, who are proof that looks aren't always that important, who are proof that its a hear of gold that counts and impresses and lasts more than having chiseled features.

Most of the time.

I can never truly be grateful to the wonderful group of guides and porters who have stuck with our EBC group for the past 2 weeks. They are living proof, that good men do exist. Maybe I'm biased, because I'm making a judgment after knowing them for only 2 weeks and I'm exhibiting a halo effect. But spending 20 hours with them each day has really revealed something about them to me.

One of the traits that I've come to admire about them is that they never complain. We carry a 5 to 10kg load on our backs when we walk, maybe less. A water bottle, maybe 2, some jackets, sunblock and essentials and we walk for 9 hours, and we complain and whine and moan. But porters are superhuman. They carry at least 30kg everyday and trek the same distance as us. They carry our load for us. They don't have to. But they do, because its how they need to make a living. Even so, they willingly carry it for us. They don't complain. They do this, every single day. They make things easier for us. They accept the shit in life and don't complain. Some porters are our age, 1 is 18, and another a year older. Both are such good looking young men (i swear, from someone who says White guys are hot. These 2 Nepalese boys are seriously hot.) They could have been doing something else, but they chose to do this. Some are married and have families. They have to spend weeks away from their loved ones, but they just do it. They don't even get paid a lot of doing this. And its a dangerous job. Porters have died before.

But they fucking do it without even saying "I've had enough".

But guess what? They're happy. They're content in life. We carry so little, and we have so much more than these porters. They've never seen an iPhone before. They carry Nokias. They've never seen a Polaroid camera before.

But they're content with the little things they have in life.

And us? We have so much, but its not enough. We have so much, but we're not happy.

We live in an utter viciously amusing paradox.

Even the guides. Of all the 3 guides we have, the one I've gotten most close to is Sanjay. Sure he's young and a young boy at heart. He makes faces at babies and he shoots imaginary guns at boys and yaks who block our way, but he's pushed me and helped me greatly, He's always behind me to shove my bag up to propel me forward whenever I'm struggling to go uphill because the steps and stones are too high for my vertically challenged legs, he's constantly reminding me to drink water and offering to carry my backpack because I always complain of my headache and breathlessness and subsequently chiding me for carrying too heavy a backpack. He makes fun at how I trip and fall, and the noises I make when I fall and then asks me where my eyes are when I miss a step and fall unceremoniously. He tells me stories about the rivers and the mountains, and of his own life to keep me distracted from the pain.

He knows the land like the back of his hand. He can spot a mountain goat from miles and miles away when all we see at first is just an oddly shaped moving piece of rock. He can spot a bird's nest high up in a tree. He can tell you how long a flower in a particular stage will take to bloom and blossom. He can tell you how high a mountain is. He can tell you how long more an aged hill will take to erode.

He notices all the beautiful things in life that I would never notice myself, because I've been so busy focusing on the bigger picture in life. I was so busy avoiding the dangerous rocks and potholes because I've been trained to filter out the things that don't help me reach my goal. But Sanjay helped me realign myself. He's living proof that we need to slow down and be more observant, to know that there are more beautiful things in life, that yes, the goal is important, but the things we do and see along the way ought not to be missed, because life would be boring shit. He's living proof that beautiful people are those who actually truly notice these things.

Needless to say, I cried when we hugged and said goodbye to each other at Lukla Airport.

In life, we'll always meet some people who have made a lasting impression in our hearts and memories, either through what they say and/or do. Sanjay is one of them, and I can truly truly say, that I will never forget him. He may forget me, because after all, I'm just another trekker eager to climb to Base Camp who he has to guide, and I might not have done anything significant for him to remember me by. All I did I was fall and laugh and moan.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that for those 2 incredible weeks, I've managed to learn so much from him. What matters is that during those 2 incredible weeks, I entrusted my life in his hands. I followed him, I trusted him to tell me where and when it was safe to go, and true to his word, he led and directed me to safety. Without him, I would not have alive.

For that, I can never be grateful.

We can all never be grateful enough to our guides and porters.

Even now, I can't help but feel a little sad and nostalgic as I think of how he's helped me, and how I had to say a bittersweet goodbye that I did not want to say, because there is still so much more that I want to say to him, to thank him for putting up with my shit. I did try, to tell him all this at the departure hall. To thank for taking care of my life. To thank him for motivating me. But I couldn't. Somehow, the words couldn't formulate. The hug opened a floodgate and I could not stop.

But I hope he knows what I meant to tell him. I think he knows.

Because there are some things in life that cannot be put in words and I learnt that the bittersweet, heart-wrenching way on the 20th of December.

Thanks Sanjay. You're the best. Even though I know you can't read this, please take care and know that I will never forget what you did for me, and us all.

love, serene.