I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, “This is what it is to be happy.”

Sylvia Plath, “The Bell Jar”

In part 3, I…

• Bid Tainan a final and delicious farewell
• Luxuriate in my first mud hot spring
• Visit Alishan, known for its misty woods and local specialties
• Hike Yushan, the tallest mountain in Taiwan and all of East Asia
• Sleep in a mountain lodge, watch the sunset, stargaze, and watch the sunrise from the peak
• Consider what has changed and what hasn’t since doing the same in Korea in the summer
• Reach a definitive conclusion about the contract between love and pain
• Realize I have grown to welcome emotional anguish

9 March 2024

• Tofu pudding for breakfast @ Anping
• 1h ride to north Tainan prefecture
• Huoshan Biyun temple (15m)
• Fire and Water spring (10m)
• Mud hot spring @ Guanzihling (2.5h)
• 30m ride to Chiayi
• Dinner @ Democracy Turkey Rice

Farewell to Tainan, the most delicious place in Taiwan. Everything was sweeter here than in the rest of the island. My palate understood why people from the north came here just to eat. In my opinion, Sapporo posed the only competition.

For breakfast, Teddy took me to a famous tofu pudding eatery in Anping, where I savoured both a red bean variant, and a mung bean charcoal variant.

Huoshan Biyun Temple

After a one-hour ride to the northern outskirts of Tainan prefecture, we visited Huoshan Biyun temple, high on a mountain, overlooking a misty mountain range; followed by Fire and Water spring, a cavernous rock face with an eternal flame. Underground natural gas and hot spring water ascending through cracks in the rock were feeding a thin flame, which danced continuously on the water. A phenomenon as slight as it was miraculous.

Guanzihling Mud Hot Springs

In the afternoon, Teddy and I continued to Guanzihling, a mountainous region known for its mud hot springs. Not even in Japan had I encountered this.  

There were too small baths. One was full of soakers that sat huddled like in a rush-hour train. None of the hot springs I’d visited in Taiwan had enjoyed sparse attendance, like in Japan. There, the baths were larger and less populated; whereas here, they were teeming and smaller.

Then again, no one was talking or stretching for a change. Complete silence.

Teddy and I entered the empty cold bath. I was shaking like a leaf. Once more visitors filled it, hot water was being pumped, to my relief.

The bath was charcoal grey, just like my pudding this morning. Half mud, half spring water. Disgustingly aromatic, it smelled like flowers picked from muck. But the sensation…

Then the coffee-coloured indoor bath. At night, it looked like black coffee to me. Except the water wasn’t see-through. It felt marvellously smooth, and slightly more congested than plain water. Very liquid-y, but somehow more silky. Like liquid silk.

I rested my head against a wall and relished this sensation. This onsen was caressing my skin the way no spring water had. Actually, my skin had never felt smoother. What was in this water?

We went outside to the rotenburo and took a break on a couple of chairs. The air was cool in a pleasant, autumnal way. We chatted for quite some time, until he went to the sauna, and I entered the rotenburo.

It was an immediate contender for my favourite rotenburo in Japan. The water was maddeningly silky. Steam in the air was fogging my glasses – a first for an outdoor bath. It was that hot.

I picked up some spring water with a basket to wash a chair to rest on between soakings. The water resembled tea inside the white basket. I imagined coming here in winter during the day. Surely, the water would be bright and coffee-like, especially against the snowy landscape. Silk and magic.

“Red, Yellow, and Blue” (1 October 2023)

Guanzihling’s muddy water out-silked Hokkaido’s coffee-coloured hot spring. I had never luxuriated in such delicacy.  

Chiayi

After two and a half hours, we drove to Chiayi. Turkey rice was the local specialty, so Teddy took me to a popular locals’ spot. There was a long line, and rightly so: everything was divine. Stir-fried rice with finely chopped turkey and pickled turnip; spinach with a thousand islands dressing; a sunny side up with a brown sauce; a milkfish balls soup; tofu and century egg.

I relished this meal so much, that I began to miss Taiwanese food more than Japanese. Showing up to an artless eatery, marking my desired dishes on a pink paper menu, watching the food being prepared by a staff who did everything – taking orders, cooking, serving – because there wasn’t a host, a waiter, a chef, or a kitchen in another room, just a metallic station with a pan. Everything was exposed and barebones, which ensured that the dish cost less and came faster.

Whenever I saw an eatery like this, with red Chinese characters against a white background and a metallic kitchen station by plastic tables, my mouth watered. Restaurants were the lay of the land in Japan and Korea, the former always with waiting lines. I adored Taiwan’s delicious unpretentiousness.

At night, Teddy dropped me off by my accommodation, an enormous, Japanese-style hostel spread across multiple floors inside a skyscraper by Chiayi station.

“I will be sad after saying goodbye to you,” the translation app read.

He invited me to stay with him during my next visit. He wanted to visit me in Israel. He brought up a future together.

I couldn’t stop hugging him.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I translated. Only Cowboy had pampered me as much as him.

He didn’t hug me back. Perhaps he felt too embarrassed. I extended my embrace, knowing I would miss this moment.

Today’s highlights: tofu pudding for breakfast; Fire and Water spring; mud hot spring in Guanzihling; turkey rice for dinner; goodbye to Teddy.

10 March 2024

• 13:00-13:40 Chiayi station (rear station, not front) to Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum bus number 7212
• Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum (1.5)
• 15:50-16:25 Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum to Chiayi station (rear station, not front) bus number 7212
• Dinner @ Democracy Turkey Rice AGAIN

A Puzzling Text

I woke to a message from Cowboy. We’d dated for two months in fall, and even lived together. Last night, at a Taylor Swift concert, he’d finally got his wish: she’d sung Cowboy Like Me.

It was his favorite song, which he’d sung to me upon our first meeting. The reason why I’d nicknamed him this.

I replied as if the last thing he’d told me back in November wasn’t, “I’m just really happy that you’re out of my life.” We texted for a long time; he kept gushing to me. Then he asked for my well-being. After a few sentences about me, we stopped talking.

Not a day had gone by since meeting him in September where I hadn’t thought about him. Throughout winter, I’d been forcing myself to accept the idea that he had forgotten about me. Just like last summer with the Korean student.

Then, out of the blue, both had contacted me. I felt flattered and confused. Didn’t they hate me? Delight in my absence?

The Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum

I racked my brain over this change of heart on the bus to the Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum – a sleek, modernist building in the middle of nowhere. Masterpieces on temporary display included a Bronze Ding cauldron that was displayed during the Qing dynasty as a centerpiece in the Hall of Mental Cultivation in the Forbidden City in Beijing; bamboo carvings of the Eight Immortals of every social strata (allegedly. They all looked like old men to me); and Boshan incense burners, adorned with mythical creatures.

The Buddhist gallery included gold statues of baby Siddhartha pointing to the sky and proclaiming himself the World Honored One. Then there were some interesting depictions, such as a miniature, emaciated Buddha, or a Kannon wielding swords. A demon Boddhisatva eating a human. These violent statues were, for better or worse, refreshing: I’d never glimpsed this side to Buddhism. 

Asian rugs and textiles, porcelain and animalistic vessels, tea vessels, gaming scroll paintings, and calligraphy completed the museum’s collection.

I returned to Chiayi, rested in my hostel, and recreated yesterday’s dinner at the same eatery. Taiwanese food… like ecstasy.

Today’s highlights: the Buddhist gallery at the Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum; turkey rice again for dinner.

11 March 2024

• 7:10-9:50 Chiayi station (front station) to Alishan transport station bus number 7322C
• Exploring Alishan (2.5h)
• 13:00-13:30 Alishan transport center inside 7-11 to Shangdongpu bus number 6739

Mt Ali-shan

I woke a zombie after five hours of sleep, right before three days of hiking.

After stocking up at 7-11, I took the long-distance bus to Alishan, up a mountain range with green tea field valleys and cherry blossom trees. The colder climate (always ten degrees lower than the average in Taiwan) allowed later blooming.

The road was narrow, a plunge into the lush abyss was within one wrong steer of the wheel, and I recalled how, when planning my Taiwanese itinerary, the next three days were the most anticipated on my list.

They began with Alishan, a mountain known for its misty forest. With only three hours to explore it, I ran to the main trail, past Alishan Train Station, and descended a wooden staircase to Shouzen temple.

Turning left by the temple led me to the biggest tree in Alishan, too monumental for my camera. Turning right led me murky woods canopied by giant cypress trees, home to the Sisters Pond – two dirty green and mystically serene pools.

The water was quite low. In the summer, the ponds were actually fuller. Flies were sprinting on the water. Crickets and bird chirps completed this atmospheric scene, until a hoard of loud, elderly Taiwanese joined me.

Japanese people never yelled or played music audibly when hiking. Taiwan shared this with Korea.

Back by the temple, I tried some local specialties. A tea egg (delectably salty); Aiyu jelly drink (with tiny and delectable seeds, instead of tapioca). I wasn’t a fan of jelly, but the seeds added an incredible pop of texture. Finally, a dried tofu sandwich, stuffed with vegetables, egg, garlic, and wasabi.

On my way back, it started drizzling. I bought oolong tea, since Alishan was the best place in Taiwan for it.

I took the bus to Yushan (AKA Jade Mountain), which departed only once a day, at 13:00. A 31-year-old Singaporean guy alighted with me. He was a hedge fund manager who had just quit his job, come to Taiwan for a month, and applied for a working holiday in New Zealand.

Dongpu

We would both sleep tonight in Dongpu, the only lodge by the entrance to the hiking trail (elevation 2,600 meters), and in Paiyun tomorrow, the only lodge atop the mountain (elevation 3,400 meters).

Today was an early March weekday, with subfreezing degrees and snow on the peak. I thought – and hoped – that I’d find myself solitary.

Back in July, I’d hiked Seoraksan (1,700 meters), watched the sunset and stargazed, slept in a mountain hut, and watched the sunrise from the peak. It was my first time doing this. I was the only foreigner, and no one spoke English. I’d climbed more than I’d drunk, eaten, or slept; felt enamored and lonely; gone on a digital detox; crashed on hardwood floor; got bitten by bed bugs; pushed my stamina harder than ever; and reached new heights.

It was a formative experience. It had enervated my body, and nourished my soul. After hiking Fuji-san with friends at night without sleeping, back in September, I’d resolved to conquer the tallest mountain Taiwan – and all of East Asia – next.

Yushan was Taiwan’s biggest, highest, and most inaccessible national park. Deaths and disappearances had prompted the government to restrict access to hikers. A permit ought to be obtained at least one month in advance. It required an applicant, a group leader, an emergency coordinator, a copy of one’s passport… a full itinerary of the designated trails and their order… some people joked that entering the mountain was more complicated than climbing it.

Paiyun, the only lodge atop the mountain, was Taiwan’s most difficult-to-book accommodation. It allocated beds to foreigners on weekdays.

The Singaporean and I froze outside Dongpu lodge for two hours, under rain and thick fog, because guests weren’t allowed in until 15:30. A thirtysomething Tunisian guy, a remote teacher and digital nomad since 2017, arrived with the same itinerary. They informed me that there was no food to buy here. Two full days of hiking, and not a single shop in the vicinity.

Then I discovered that I’d forgotten my iPhone charger this morning in Chiayi.

I’d been so responsible in preparing for this trek. The lodges, a sleeping bag, three meals, and the bus from Alishan had been booked weeks in advance. Bus schedules and trail times, duly noted. The last two days, I’d been taking altitude sickness medicine for prevention. Now, I felt as ill-prepared as in Seoraksan, compared to all the Koreans from the hut with professional hiking gear, UV straps, walking sticks, blankets, pillows, sleeping bags, portable cooking supplies, and bountiful meals. They’d grilled meat by the summit, while my only food was HBAF almonds.

As soon as I checked in, I bought instant noodles. The only food at the lodge.

My meal from 7-11 would have to suffice for Yushan: a seafood onigiri, a blueberry pastry, and a cheese sandwich. I’d ration them with two fish snacks Autumn had given me a few days ago for hiking.

As the sun set, many young Taiwanese guests arrived, both twentysomethings and kids. They made too much noise for me to relax. My body was aching from lack of sleep, but also aching to join them, talking loudly in warm friendship. Even though I wasn’t the only Westerner here tonight, I felt out of place.

The Singaporean guy went to buy necessities at a nearby village with an elderly couple who had arrived with a car. Too bad I couldn’t join them.

At 18:00, I went to bed. The futons were so laid out so closely, that sometimes my legs touched my neighbors’. I was the first guest to go to sleep.

Today’s highlights: Sisters Pond trail; Alishan specilaties.

12 March 2024

• Yushan – registering at Paiyun mountaineering station
• Shuttle bus to the hiking trail (10m)
• Yushan’s Paiyun lodge – going up (3.5h)
• Yushan’s west peak – round trip (2h 15m)
• 17:00 dinner @ Paiyun
• 18:00 sunset

Climbing Mt Yu-shan

I woke at 6:00, ate instant noodles, and put on a t-shirt, two long shirts, a jacket, a beanie, gloves, and hiking pants. My winter coat was in Tokyo.

After a short walk uphill, I paid for my permit at Paiyun mountaineering station, registered at Tataka police squad, and took the shuttle bus to the beginning of the trail (otherwise it would’ve been a 45-minute walk up a road). When I set off at 7:30, my left knee started to hurt.

Yushan was shaped like a cone. The exposed trail spiraled right by the edge, overlooking an endless mountain range. It was wide enough for just one person.

After yesterday’s snowfall and zero visibility, today the sky was clear. The mountain was silent, apart from birdsong. Dew was dripping on me from trees.

Half an hour into my ascent, my hands started tingling. Ants spread to my forearms. Why was I experiencing these physical sensations? I had to clench my fists to bear this.

I was alone on the trail. In the absence of any interesting features, my mind wandered. I was 29. What had I accomplished with my existence? No book published, nor a lasting relationship. I couldn’t get another person to appreciate me as a writer or as a lover.

At 8:45, at a pace too fast, I reached the midway point. Puddles on the ground became frozen. Wet, wooden platforms extended over gaps in the trail. My first encounter of another person was when people started descending two hours into my ascent.

I allowed myself to take a break. Leaning against my bag on a boulder in a shaded spot, my shoulders sore from carrying too much weight – eclipsed by towering cypress trees and tall reed, with no living being around me – I bit into a seafood onigiri and a blueberry donut, slowly with frozen fingers, while focusing on my chewing. It felt primal. It felt simple. It felt natural.

A minuscule bug was crawling up my pants. I lived for moments like this.

Fifteen short minutes later, I reluctantly continued. Many hikers were descending now. I had to stop every minute to let them pass.

Then I slipped on a wooden plank and hit the left side of my body, from my buttocks to my shoulder. The left side of my back still pricked from my hiking injury three weeks ago. I forced myself to walk it off.

At 11:00, I reached Paiyun, a lot earlier than expected. So far, the trail wasn’t too bad.

Yu-shan’s West Peak

With six hours until dinner and too much time on my hands, I set off towards the west peak at 11:45. This trail became a lot more demanding. Rock climbing, confusing twists and turns – I spent half of it on all fours, crouching on boulders.

The left side of my body hurt was more and more by the minute. My ears started ringing. My body seemed to be sending me a message.

But I was on par with the clouds, with nothing but mountains filling the scenery, and not one sign of human civilization. Alone on a precipitous trail, on the edge of an abyss. This was my reason for coming here.

After one hour, I reached the peak (3,500 meters). The view was pleasant. There was a tiny Shinto shrine built by the Japanese. I mulled over my dating life and realized I was more perplexed than distressed. How had mutual liking ended in silence?

I didn’t feel any emotion at that moment, just a cerebral puzzle. Maybe that was the problem.

Paiyun Lodge

At 14:00, I checked into Paiyun. There was neither a shower, nor wall sockets. In Seoraksan, there was a charging station.

Back in July, I’d sweated so much, that I hadn’t peed once the entire day. Now, I drank frequently without sweating, and urinated every hour.

I lay on a secluded bench outside the lodge and listened to Frank Ocean’s Blonde. An album that explored his otherness. The group of twentysomethings from yesterday was having a rambunctious lunch. Other guests had brought crampons, winter jackets, and ample provisions.

“I came to visage ’cause you see me like a UFO,” Ocean sang, “and you made me lose my self-control.”

My stomach rumbled in hunger as temperatures dropped.

“Wish I was there,” the song went, “wish we’d grown up on the same advice.”

I wished I were born a local who fit into the East. I hadn’t enjoyed Asians’ convenient societies and genes.

Diner at 17:00 was the buffet that I needed. Bok choy salad, cauliflower, bean curd, mushroom soup, vegan sausage, fried tofu, and rice of course. The three meals and sleeping bag in Paiyun were justified and affordable.

I ate by myself in a corner and continued to reminisce over Korea.

I exited the mountain hut to watch the sunset. It was too cold, even with my rain jacket on. Sitting on handrails, listening to Midnights and watching the clear sky turn pink, were worth my despondency.

The freezing breeze; the rock formations, so emblematic of this country. I felt alone in the world, a mortal being in nature. I liked getting away from everything. But in this moment, I longed for a friend.

No. That wasn’t true. What I pined for was someone more than a platonic companion. Someone who would stand out from the rest.

“Oh, no,” Swift sang, “I’m falling in love again.”

Tears streamed down my face. Mist was kissing mountaintops. It was yet another moment on this trip I knew my mind would never forget.

“New Heights” (20 July 2023)

An Emotional Sunset

At 18:00, I watched the sunset from a platform outside the lodge while trembling uncontrollably. The cold was nipping at my toes inside my wool socks and hiking boots.

A clear, yellow line divided blushing orange and timid blue. Pink like rosy cheeks and a sea of clouds beneath me, lazily drifting in the wind. It was like gazing at a bashful sky.

“No matter how I try to, no matter how I want to, no matter how easy things could be if I did…” Ariana Grande sang in her newly released album, “I wish I hated you.”

Maybe the problem was that I didn’t detest beaus who had distressed me. I might have moved on by now if I had. I wished I extinguished old flames instead of longing to rekindle them. I wished I loathed this world, as wonderful as it was ruthless.

I recalled my last night in Korea, spent with the hanok owner.

Trying to recreate the dialogue of our 2.5-hour dinner was not something I even dared. He was wise and happy, always focused on the bright side. With him, the glass was never half empty. Every hardship, he took with stride. Every struggle I shared, he told me to accept.

“Yes, it hurts,” he said. “But this is part of life.”

I recounted how angry I’d felt at that moment.

“This is good,” he smiled. “If there is anger, there is love.”

“Annyeonghi Gyeseyo” (1 August 2023)

I was still angry.

I thought about Buddhism. Desire was the root cause of suffering. Monks sought to rid themselves of desire. By doing so, didn’t they also sacrifice the opposite of torment?

If I thought and acted rationally, I could skate through life. I would choose a profession that paid for an adequate quality of life; I would choose people that populated an adequate social life; I would choose a partner that contributed to an adequate romantic life. But I would also lead a very dull life.

The sky turned blood orange as I went to bed at 18:45. I dressed in almost every layer I had in my suitcase: two t-shirts, two long shirts, two jackets, and two pairs of pants. In Seoraksan, I’d curled up on hardwood floor while listening to Ariana Grande’s “Thinking about You”. Now, inside my sleeping bag, “I Wish I Hated You” by her played on loop.

Today’s highlights: the view from the trail to Paiyun; brunch on the trail; rock climbing on the way to the west peak; dinner at Paiyun; watching the sunset.

13 March 2024

• 2:00 breakfast @ Paiyun
• Yushan’s main peak – going up (2.5h)
• 6:00 sunrise
• Yushan’s main peak – going down (1h 45m)
• 9:00 brunch @ Paiyun
• Yushan – going down to the trail entrance (4h)
• Shuttle bus to Paiyun mountaineering station (10m)

Yu-shan’s Main Peak

Everyone in my room woke at 1:45. My left knee and buttock were aching. Breakfast at 2:00 was challenging to eat, because my fingers kept shaking from the cold.

I headed outside with a face mask and a neck warmer. The stars looked like silver linings in a ceiling of darkness. They were many but miniscule, not unlike human existence: a vast continuum of suffering, sprinkled by shining, fleeting joys.

I chuckled. Tears welled in my eyes. Just like on Seoraksan. The night sky seemed to me like the natural embodiment of life.

At 3:00, the Singaporean and I starting toward the main peak. He was tall and athletic, with a ponytail and thick frames. Still, his pace was unexpectedly slow, especially after twisting his ankle on the trail to Paiyun yesterday.

The mountain was pitch-black. Our flashlights were the only source of illumination. Silence. Neither animals, nor other hikers.

It was like traversing a frigid vacuum. Rock slides yesterday had made the terrain difficult to surmount. We climbed very slowly, stopping every now and then to catch our breath. The temperature was freezing, and the altitude was above 3,500 meters. My nose was running underneath my mask.

After an hour, we reached an exposed terrain. A frosty breeze was blowing; icicles started forming. Mountain silhouettes were indiscernible in the landscape, like a black mass.

Then the trail got steeper, almost vertical, with ice and remnants of snow on boulders. The more it became blustery and slippery, the more I grew scared.

“I don’t even know where to put my feet!” I said. Climbing on the west side of the mountain, the sky was still dark. I held onto a chain with one hand and to my flashlight with another, freezing under all my layers. Snot was damping my mask, while my body was throbbing from my recent injuries.

Had I lost my wits?

I’d always deemed myself smart. Top of my class in school, graduated summa cum laude from uni. Now, I wondered if I’d become a nitwit.

The Singaporean seemed even more apprehensive than me. We progressed ever so slowly; my heart wasn’t even beating in effort. At 5:30, we reached the cone-like peak as dawn was breaking.

A yellow line was illuminating a sea of clouds deep beneath us, stretching all the way to the horizon. Just like on Fuji-san, except with snow.

Birds broke into song. It astounded me how quickly the sun rose. In the blink of an eye, the orange complexion of the sky was gone.

“That wasn’t that hard,” I said, compared to Seoraksan and Fuji-san.

“I think it’s more scary than hard,” the Singaporean said.

I had zero trouble breathing, thanks to my altitude sickness pills. Wind was making me shiver. But the view was worth it. Perfect visibility of an endless mountain range and green valleys. I was on top of the world.

At 7:00, we started down, until brunch at Paiyun at 8:45. A helicopter flew past the lodge to rescue the corpses of a Taiwanese couple who had gone missing last week. They’d never returned from the south peak.

Back to Dongpu

After a short rest, we left Paiyun at 10:00. The Singaporean’s pace was so snaily, that it took us four hours to descend what I’d climbed yesterday in three and a half. But I had too much time to kill until check-in at Dongpu at 15:30, and preferred his company to a reckless hurry.

The way down felt infinite and boring. We passed porters climbing with dozens of boxes on their backs.

At 14:00, the torture ended. My shoulders had crumbled; my left knee was outraged. I despised carrying all this weight on my back, despised humdrum trails. My muscles were begging for a smelly onsen.

Dongpu lodge was shrouded in fog. Rain and zero visibility were forecast for the next few days.

Just as well. I had enough of mountains. And, after five temple stays in one year, including volunteering and living at one, I had enough of Buddhism. I could safely say that I would never join this religion.

I Hurt, Therefore I Live

In the 17^th century, Descartes had changed philosophy forever by declaring: “I think, therefore I am.” Thoughts verified existence. But as I lay on the thin futon at Dongpu, huddled with tomorrow’s hikers, my entire body protesting in exhaustion, I realized that agony verified living. Today, after pushing myself beyond my limit and reaching my highest altitude ever, I had done that.

23 March 2023, the day I’d crashed on top of a mountain alone at dusk – I was bleeding, I was afraid – I was alive.

27 July 2023, the day I’d cried myself to sleep for the first time in nine years – I felt deceived, I felt lonely – I was alive.

Many more days from the past year of heartbreaks and scary, life-threatening moments shared one thing in common. They had all followed bliss and ecstatic, life-changing moments. Blessings had made way for pangs; trauma had birthed adventure.

If someone broke my heart, it would be after galvanizing it. If someone enervated my body, it would be after animating it. If someone dejected my soul, it would be after buoying it.

It dawned on me like the sun atop Yushan: “I hurt, therefore I live.”

I decided that from now on, I wanted to ache. I wanted people to grow close to me, at the risk of shunning me away. This dangerous game was the only way to experience intimacy and affection.

Was it foolish of me to self-inflict affliction? I’d done it to my body in high school, and now, I was doing it to my psyche.

Pain was the aftermath of love. No – pain was the fate of love. If I didn’t love, I wouldn’t hurt. If I didn’t hurt, I wouldn’t love.

Round two in Shodoshima and Iya Valley wasn’t as tumultuous as the first. Both felt like a full circle moment, a dangerous place I’d returned to wiser and less inept.

It felt absurd to admit so, but I pouted at the lack of action. My future, I wanted to be secure, but my present, I encouraged to go astray. I ached to worry about food and accommodation for today. It negated all concern for tomorrow.

I bid the mini vine bridge inside Oboke station goodbye and realized that I’d become a thrill seeker. Temerity clouded financial anxiety and unrequited emotions.

“The Thrill Seeker” (12 December 2023)

Three months ago, I had come to the above realization. Now, it hit me: I’d become a pain applicant. Love, like hiking, was worth the strain.

Emily Dickinson had once written, “Till I loved, I never lived”. For me it was “Till I published, I never lived”. Becoming a published author had been my biggest dream since I was little. Some people dreamed of a big house, a large family, a closet full of designer clothes; dinners at fancy restaurants, and a gazillion friends. I dreamed of being home alone and writing. I dreamed of playing my music in front of people and directing my screenplays and sharing all the stories in my head with the world, before they made me explode. I’d give up anything in exchange for that. Anything but my soul. It just pained me that I couldn’t. It wasn’t only up to me.

“To Be Alive, Part 3” (20 March 2023)

A year had passed since I’d written this. The last day of hiking the Kumano Kodo pilgrimage in Japan had remained one of the most important days of my existence.

I still maintained that publishing would transform my life. But I had grown to agree with Dickinson. I never lived till I published; nor until I loved.

Today’s highlights: stargazing; climbing the trail at dark; sunrise from the main peak; resting on a futon after hiking.