I won't make this long. *note to self: don't freakin' ramble*
November 2 to 4 was the fulfillment of yet another of my to-do's. Another item ticked off in my List of Things To Do Before I Die. I went on a 3-day trek up Mt. Pulag, the 2nd highest peak in my country.
It was a long time coming. I was practically neighbors with it. It was right in my home province. Two thwarted planning attempts in the past year, and finally it came into fruition.
One word. FANTASTIC.
Hella tiring but utterly fulfilling. The trek itself, the summit. It was all about climbing. Dealing with all that camping gear on your back. Grab at whatever handhold is available, try to find secure footholds (unsuccessful more than half the time). We're talking about a trail (aptly named Enchanted Trail) which was never trodden before. It was a new trail, a new route up the mountain. It took a good 8-9 hours trek. And even that was moderately fast. (Because the last ones up took almost 14 hours).
But I digress. I'm not to talk about them, this is about ME. (Yeah, edeeot me, selfish me.)
The park superintendent early on said that climbing the mountain is a test of character. Damn if mine wasn't tested. But there were stuff I learned about myself through it, and that's what I will talk about now. (After all, if I were to describe the trek itself, then this piece would be really long, and the best way for you is to experience it firsthand. Ah. Now I am rambling.)
I confirmed one thing. My masochistic tendencies go deeper than I thought. Right. I paid to torture myself for hours on end. At the top, we probably looked like some scraggly creatures with mud around our shoes, up our pants, our palms not unscathed. I am such a glutton for punishment that I begin to wonder what I've done in my past life to be like this now.
But I love it. Every minute of it. Even when the oxygen was thinning as we rose higher, even as I wanted to just toss my camping gear down the side of the mountain. Which, thankfully, I didn't, because that would be the best way to commit suicide come nightfall and dawn at the campsite. (My masochist self has not gone so far as to commit bloody murder on myself.)
Another thing I learned. I love the company I have now. The two best friends I went with are going to be my best friends for life. All friends can go, but these two, I am keeping. Those people in our group, virtual strangers at first but fun buddies as the elevation rose higher, I wish to meet them again in future mountaineering jaunts. Because, come hell or high water, this won't be the last time I'm gonna do this.
At the summit, staring at the silhouette of the setting sun, I was thinking one thing. I could die right now, and I'd be the at my happiest. It's the closest to heaven I will ever be while I breathe, and I felt so at peace.
Screw those beaches where you see nothing but sand and miles and miles of water. Go up a mountain, lose yourself in the untouched forest and wonder at the Creator's genius for creating such beauty that many of us fail to see and appreciate for the glory that it is.
I rambled. My deepest apologies.
But I am feeling hella good!
All friends can go, but these two, I am keeping. 
