Nganong sige kag saka?

I was asked again — for the seventh time, actually — “Why do you keep choosing to climb? Why not just do something more fun, something easier? You can still see the world, right?”

Why do I keep choosing to climb? I keep asking myself that too, especially when someone points it out — like, why not just do something more fun, something easier? I mean, traveling should be about relaxing, right? Seeing the world without making it hard for yourself?

But every time I think about it, I realize… I don’t just climb for fun. Honestly, climbing is exhausting. It’s tiring in every sense — legs aching, breath heavy, mind screaming to stop. But there’s something in it I can’t explain fully — something I feel when I hike, or even when I run. It’s like life shows itself more clearly when I’m on a trail, struggling upward.

Because this is how life feels sometimes, isn’t it? You don’t always get to choose the easy way. You don’t get to quit halfway just because you’re tired. You keep going, because you have to. And somehow, being on that mountain reminds me of that truth.

Sure, I could travel more comfortably, see the world from the windows of nice hotels or guided tours. But this? This is seeing the world at its rawest, its quietest, its hardest. And that makes me see myself at my rawest too. When I’m there — tired, dirty, sore — I’m completely present. I’m stripped down to the parts of me that know how to survive, how to keep walking even when I don’t want to anymore.

Not everyone needs to feel that. Not everyone wants to. But for me… it’s not even about pride. It’s about meaning. When I reach the top, it’s not just a view I’m looking at — it’s proof. Proof that I made it through the struggle. Proof that I can endure.

And honestly, when I think about life — isn’t that it? It’s not always pretty, it’s rarely easy, but it’s always asking: how much of yourself are you willing to give to reach what matters?

So maybe that’s why I climb. Not because I have to prove anything to the world. But because in those moments, I find parts of myself that I don’t get to meet anywhere else. And that makes everything in me feel a little more real… a little more alive.

Because at the end of every climb, when I stand there — worn out but standing — I realize I’ve never really been after the summit itself. I’m after who I become on the way there. That slow, painful transformation from someone who almost gave up to someone who didn’t. That’s the reward.

And honestly? I’d rather be exhausted with meaning than comfortable with emptiness. The climb breaks me, yes — but it also builds me. And that’s a trade I’ll always choose.