My Roughest Terrain Yet

Hiking is a hobby that I have always kept close to my heart. It is a hobby my beloved dad absolutely loved. I remember crying on my very first hike. Dad “pep talked” to me throughout the whole 10 km of that dreadful experience. After it, I promised I would never hike again. 

While I was so certain of never torturing myself like that, I swallowed my words that very same week and went on to hike another hundred times. It was a little ritual for me and my family. We would hike every weekend, and, while absolutely tiring, it was our little way of bonding as a family. 

While my mom and I enjoyed hiking, my dad absolutely loved it. He reveled in the challenge it gave him and made sure to bring us along with his new, profound hobby. Dad went on to join 30km trail runs in the rain and heat, weekly day hikes to Mount Apo, daily 20 km runs, and more. 

He was his happiest when hiking, and it became a source of release and escape from his busy life. I have always looked up to my dad for that. It always amazed me how he could deal with the suffering that comes with the demanding hobby he so enjoys. While hiking was a new interest for him during quarantine, he has always been that way. My dad has always been a fighter. 

However, on the night of a very special day, I arrived home feeling anxious, knowing I had received a pair of Guinea pigs as a gift despite my dad’s constant NOs against them. As I braced myself for a scolding, with my planned speech practiced, I could have never been prepared for what awaited me that night. It seemed that a hundred of his scariest scoldings could not compare to never hearing his voice again. My dad passed away that December.

Since that night, the number of hiking shoes he left behind always seemed to bother me. I don’t want to throw them away. I don’t want to sell them either, so I find myself clinging on to the clutter of shoes he's left as if a part of him still remains. I would often wonder if hiking and the fulfillment it once brought me would still be the same. I wonder if hiking without my dad would still be the same. I would find myself still struggling to accept his death, and when told to write about a topic like “hiking,” I found it harder to do so with the pain that now comes with the hobby I used to enjoy. 

While looking for inspiration in writing this article, I ran into an essay I wrote four years ago, during the peak of my addiction to hiking I called “Hike Your Way to Life.” “When I started hiking, I learned a very important lesson, I realized that just like hiking, life is never going to get simpler. No matter how old you are or how great you’ve become, you’ll always stumble and fall once in a while. The trail is never perfect on the way to the top of the mountain. There will always be steep paths and scary terrains that sometimes almost seem impossible to pass through, but just like all the other hikers before me who accomplished it, I will too.” 

This line touched a part of my heart even more now than it did when I wrote it. I remember making this essay for Hillstar and basing it off of the stress and struggles of online classes and the endless assignments I had to pass that day, but as I read it now, more broken than before, it feels as though it’s myself pushing me to move forward, no matter how scary and impossible this new part of my life seems. I think hiking has taught me a lot of lessons, not just the importance of perseverance but gratitude for the people around me too. 

In October of 2023, my friends and I went on a hike to a small trail in Toril called Vipers Peak. Out of all the mountains I've hiked, this was by far the easiest. It wasn’t because it hurt less or was any less tiring, but it was because I had my friends smiling and crying with me throughout the entire thing. We hopped big and slippery boulders, climbed a waterfall, crawled up muddy walls, and walked through cold running waters, but the smile on our faces never faded away. 

Just two months after that was the day I lost my dad. The same people that made something so exhausting like hiking less painful were the friends that made something like losing a dad more bearable. Dark nights in the funeral home seemed less lonely when they were there with me. Waking up felt better knowing that I wasn’t alone. While perseverance has been a big part of my journey through the endless struggle of mourning, I could not have gotten through it without the people that stood by me when life seemed too dark to live in. I’m thankful for these girls, and I know my dad would be too. If there is one thing I take from hiking all those mountains, it is that, “We shouldn’t look at life the way I used to look at hiking, something that will get easier through time, but rather look at it the way I see it now, something that will never get easier but will make me stronger.” 

It still hurts. Just like hiking a 10 hour trail, the fifth hour doesn't hurt any less–but you slowly learn to deal with the pain. I know decades won’t be enough to heal the ache that comes with losing a chunk of myself, but slowly by slowly and day by day, it will get better. Surround yourself with people that can make hiking seem like a stroll in the park. Push through the rough terrains of life like how we pushed through the slippery slopes of the Viper Peak trail. 

To whomever might need to hear this, keep going, keep climbing, and persevere! I know life can be tough, especially as high school students are approaching the harsh reality of adulthood. But just like all the others before us, we will get through this too. 

When hearing the ambulance wail through my street and finally feeling the reality of the situation, it felt as though the life I’d come to know was beginning to end. It was a pain like never before, but nonetheless, through the terrifying terrains, I still persevered. A lesson I know I can take from what I’ve experienced is if I got through this, I believe I can get through anything. And so can you. 

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