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The Mountaineer

Updated: Oct 18, 2024

How high do you have to climb to no longer feel loneliness?


The higher I ascend, the less often a smile crosses my lips. I no longer hear the screams, whispers, or calls of those whose voices echo from the lowlands. It’s not that I don't see them. I never forget people. I just can’t hear them anymore. I think I’ve lost my hearing and sense of touch. But I don’t miss them, not those who called out. I only miss those who didn’t want to ascend with me, even though I tried to carry them on my back. I am like a mountaineer. I carry three important people in my backpack: my mother, my father, and my brother. They climbed high on their own, but I love them so much that I’ll lend them my wings. How often does someone fly this fast? One per generation. Maybe there are five of us, but four drop out when the cliff gets steep or slippery.


I don’t know who I am. A swallow? How did I manage to fly at all when I had no wings? My strength has regrown. Maybe I’m just an airplane, not a bird? Am I a machine for making money, a compound interest machine, a machine incapable of love? Or maybe I’m just a human being? Moreover, one who is deeply lost. The higher I climb, the more lost I become in the mountains. A person, very lonely. I wouldn’t survive without my backpack. So, to protect me, it must be heavy. Even if I would climb faster without it, I don’t want to. I’m already lonely, relying on just three people. I won’t find happiness, not even on Mount Everest, without those three.


I fasten myself to the rocks with ropes, mechanically clipping carabiners and entrusting my life to the gear’s strength with each step, risking everything. The most important thing is to keep the backpack. If I fall, I’ll likely fall with it. That’s why, to survive, I have to carry it. If I decided to put it down and straighten my back, I might jump, just throw myself off. I don’t know why or for what purpose.


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