By Mithushan Surendran
Whether it be through the panes of a prism or the cells of a prison, the exploration of one’s identity can be both arduous and adventurous. Yet the quest for self-discovery, whatever that means, can seem eternal should the destination be settlement instead of self-realization. Admittedly, my endeavours so far have been marked by the former as my desires for the outdoors have had to be settled by enthralling experiences of the natural world. However, as recently as my hiking trip in Europe earlier in the summer, I began to wonder what all this was really about. What is it that I am seeking? What is it that I am hoping to find? In light of current seismic shifts in the global political, social and environmental order, is the burdensome retention of awareness more worthwhile than the light-headedness of ignorance? If ever there was a simple explanation to such questions, it would probably lie atop the peak of the most unscalable mountains found exclusively in the rugged fault lines of the human mind. Luckily, I did not have to suffer such a feat during my trek up the Slovenian mountains where I supposedly ventured far closer to the periphery of my inner world than I can ever hope to imagine.
A close friend of mine once adoringly put it, “I seriously do not get people who hike.” As far as I can tell from my conversations with experienced hikers over the years, the feeling, believe it or not, is quite mutual. Even with a rigorous training regimen and the assemblage of sufficient equipment, one can never be entirely prepared to encounter the obstacles that lie on the rocky, marshy and icy slopes which tend to conceal nasty surprises for the uninitiated and inattentive. Everyone, with feet that wobble among pebbles to the mountain goat-like hooves of veteran climbers, is stripped bare by the elements. Suddenly, everything you are, or at least assume to be, becomes irrelevant from your name, race, religion, gender, occupation, social status, and family. At that moment, like the surrounding flora and fauna, you are at the mercy of the mountain’s will. Depending on whom you ask, the ascent can either be a source of therapeutic liberation or soul-crushing enslavement.
Regardless of the uncertainty that accompanied my adventure up the mountains, the anticipation leading towards the trip bred a deceptive array of emotions. A cheerful prologue, marked by winning the ticket to experience the sights and sounds of foreign lands, followed by an uneasy impatience spiked by colourful imaginations of fun times and glistening smiles, soon simmered down to the troublesome ‘what ifs’ that plagued my mind a few days before the day of departure. Fear manifested within, unprompted and unexplained. Being nervous is quite natural when venturing into the unknown but being afraid was rather unusual for me. Even though my mind was put to ease a few days into the trip scouring the mountainous alpine forests with a childishly joyful crew, I still could not seem to understand why the darkened grip of fear overcame me before the trip. What was I really afraid of? Failing to make a good first impression on the others in the group? Tripping up badly during the hike that would inevitably ruin the trip for the whole group? Figuring out how to balance the deficit of experience against that of seasoned travellers? What was I really afraid of? Is it the fear of failure or the feeling of inadequacy? What was I doing six thousand feet above sea level among misty clouds and rocky gargantuan citadels anyway? What is it that I am trying to find or maybe escape from? Am I trying to be or shed that which I have become?
I attempted to peel off the layers of confusion during my visit to the waterfalls at the Mostnica Gorge in Bohinj. Even now, I can reminisce being hypnotized by the vibrant gush of life being tamed by the narrow gravely crevices funnelling a calm river inlet downstream. It was here that I got to witness an interesting interplay of war and peace. But water is neither violent nor peaceful. It only takes shape depending on how it moves and where it is. Water just is. Nothing more, nothing less. For some, the cradle of life. For others, a reminder of what life once was. Similarly, I tried to dissolve my confusion when hiking up the Triglav mountains. Before commencing my ascent, I was a young man with delusions of self-grandeur twice the size of the thirty-pound rucksack I was to carry eight hundred metres to the nearest lodge. In the course of my ascent, the mountains reminded me of my mortality where my existence was no longer confined to my body or mind but instead thawed into the seams of the Earth beneath my feet. Peace was by no means the way of this mountain. Every step presented the mountain with an opportunity to hurt and haunt the weary traveller as if to remind them of how puny their heavens and hells were compared to its home. But a mountain it just was. Both as a cauldron and a casket of life to be and what life once was respectively.
Like the waterfalls and mountains, if I just am, who am I? My fears, thoughts, dreams or the multitude of masks I have had to don to mould into the fabric of society I find myself in all seem to occupy the basis of who I am now. Would scaling a few more stony stairways to heaven or instead drowning myself in the rivers of ignorance bring me closer to who I am? Whatever needs to be done to make that arduous journey to self-realization, being alive is key. And for now, being alive is the only identity I intend on preserving for as long as the Earth beneath me permits.