Visibility

"I've lived here for as long as I can remember and I have never been to Mt. Aminduen." a local said. 

I've lived in this city for more than a decade and I have never been to the mountains, I thought to myself.

We chose a middle of the week day. We hoped the sun would finally come out as our good, old, reliable weather forecast system predicted it would. But of course it didn't. Torrential rain drenched us to the core.  

"Leave no trace," the sign right at the bottom of Site D was spelled out in bold letters, but barely visible because of the fog everywhere. We trudged onto the peak. Mt. Aminduen, there you are, I breathed. The rain continued to beat on our backs, our faces, our ears. The wind gusts were strong, tremendous, painful even like needles pricking our skin. We had to stay low on the ground or else we would be swept away.  White density embraced the air. All we could see was each other's faces if we we were close enough. I closed my eyes and turned my face up, breathed. There are no words to justify how it was soothing even as it was painful, beautiful and glorious.

Isaiah, our guide told us amidst the roaring atmosphere, "This wind comes from the Pacific." 

Ah, the wind that is not from here but comes here, arrives here, belong here, I thought. 

 

"I've lived here for as long as I can remember and I have never been to Mt. Aminduen," the local had said. 

I've lived here for more than a decade and I have never set foot in this place. I came here, arrived here close to 14 years ago. And for the first time in a very long time,  I finally feel, I belong here.