you don’t need to think about space or the stars to wonder how small you are, a tiny human on a tiny speck of a planet; just go for a trek. stand on the edge of a fort and look down at the beautiful white clouds and how quickly they will engulf you if you take a step ahead.
i have not been on many treks before. but all i have realised is that my camera or my limited vocabulary and the realm of music cannot ever help me put a finger on the feeling that goes through my mind. one step after another, squeezing my feet carefully between two huge stones or carefully stepping on a muddy footpath while the raindrops cool down your body; you just take one step at a time.
deliberately choosing a tougher, more slippery path at times just for the adrenaline rush, and the moment you reach the final destination, some idiot will definitely brag and say, “i have climbed much tougher mountains than these. i still remember that day...” in times like these, just listen to the wind that advises you against pushing that person off the cliff.
once a friend of mine was somewhere in the mountains completely draped in clouds. “tu agar yaha hoti toh poem likh hi deti.” two days later, i was on a simple, easy-to-climb trek too. and no, i could not pen down a single line. all i remember is the pink-coloured raincoat i wore and made my mother wear the same one while we walked through the clouds. the mesmerizing shade of white. i remember how my footwear broke the moment i took my first step. the muddy path where i almost slipped. and the canopy of trees under which there was a bench where i wanted to sit and read, but it was drizzling and i had no book on me. i remember how cold those rocky steps felt barefoot.
i loved looking at the sky through that small, black-stoned window, wondering how people walked on this path every single day, through all kinds of weather, day and night. how fearless and devoted that person must be. i could not write a word on that trek nor on the one with my friends.
and i wondered why we chose to climb these tougher paths and love them more than concrete roads filled with potholes that give the same kind of back pain every night. at the top of the mountain, you can see nothing, just the lush green forest, misty weather and endless ocean of clouds, standing between the broken remnants of history.
staring at the sky in awe and trying not to think... what if i fall? why do we choose to walk the same paths again and again with different patterns and changing history? and the same old insta stories about hill time heal time are posted by the entire group. the same song, the same poses and the hurry to post it on insta immediately. the worst part is editing those moments using ai and bragging about your nonexistent photography skills.
i won’t forget feeling absolutely speechless while i climbed those steps. how being drenched in rain does not feel inconvenient and a scratch on my palm while i held on to a rock does not hurt at all. how small i felt when i was looking down from the edge. how my existence felt meaningless. the problems i had did not matter.
i just wanted to look around and listen to the raindrops hitting the dark black rocks, the brown soil. i felt like a side character, a simple girl in a completely unaesthetic but comfortable outfit, feeling out of her body while she was eager to stand at the highest point of this mountain that holds history in each stone and gusts of wind that made me feel fully alive every step of the way. the insignificance of existing felt quite necessary to me. in a way, i left behind everything for a few hours.
i did not come back with a clearer head, a new perspective or an insta-story-worthy photo. i have not changed in any way or found solutions, i am the same person with a moment to remind her that you need not be in a rush all the time. things can wait, and sometimes the feelings i cannot put down in words, someday i will.
honestly speaking, screaming loudly at the top of a mountain does not feel lighter either. those feelings need to be voiced someday, somehow. they will fill the void, the one where i feel like i am the observer forever.
when i could not sleep the night before the trek, wondering if i should go for it or not. how i say “no” to things immediately and it does not bother me how much i have missed out on throughout my life.
how difficult it is to explain that to someone, so i shrink down to the labels they have made for me instead. how much i hate going against my loved ones and the stubborn need to make them understand me no matter what, when i always had the option to lie to them and save my tears.
how i can never be as fearless as those people who tread those paths every day, i drop my pen the moment i feel i am writing too much. every moment cannot be caged in poetry. i cannot explain any of this and so much more.
those thoughts swirl around in my head every day and i needed a day away where the gale of wind quietened those feelings and the view from the edge mirrored the acuteness of life itself.
but through all of this, being a tiny human on a tiny speck of a planet, i will remember the moments i spent doing funny poses while taking a few photos. my friends who looked after me while taking the difficult path. the sheer stupidity of carrying a raincoat and still not wearing it. and the constant question,
“what if i fall?”
-K
(that is teeny tiny me .)
Beautifully written, especially the “A tiny speck on this planet”. It stayed with me throughout the article. Because the memories we create here are often too intricate for time and space to comprehend. ✨
I felt like it was a walk beside you through those clouds and muddy paths, I loved how you didn’t try to turn the trek into some grand life lesson, you simply let it be what it was. And that last “what if I fall?” somehow, it says everything. 🤍