Glad to be disappointed

It's 6 in the morning. I open my eyes to the snow-capped mountains. With it, I smell the leftover resentment. Resentment that has been rotting away from the previous night; leaving the taste of disappointment lingering in my mouth.

Victor brings out his running shoes. I pretend to go back to sleep as he slams the door behind him almost pausing the river stream outside the window. As paused as the air between us that stood still; ever since we watched love leave the room. Stinging bitterness encircles me as his furious footsteps fade away. Suffocating.
Too suffocating to stay in the same room that quietly screams of unsaid arguments. Too upset to do nothing about being upset.

Soon, I find myself navigating a rather never-ending route to the waterfall. And with me, ready to cover the miles, is my gloomy mood. As we reach the panoramic base of the waterfall, the sun surfaces lighting up the wild. But in my heart rests a starless night clouded by self-pity convincing me to return from the base as most people do. Pathetic.

I can forgive the nervousness before the first-ever climb but what if it is the feeling of discomfort in my own company? Get Moving. Now.
So what lies ahead is a solitary hike through the lush green forest trails and rocky patches, fearing for life in the steep parts and running into dead ends with not a soul in sight. An hour goes by as I make my way through the pine forest, every step echoing in the silence. Then, faint murmurs cut through the stillness. Four crewmen appear in the distance. I hold their gaze. The earth skips a rotation. And the eyes, Chico, better be lying this time. Caution.

My fashionably late brain intervenes: Just casually turn around and start descending. Instinct says: Uh-ah, we are too deep into the path to abort the mission now. Maintain eye contact, keep your pace intact and continue walking.

So I walk until they are out of sight. The leaves rustle. Or is that footsteps? I don’t turn back to check. Enter delayed hunch: Run, Molly, Run. Tumbling and tottering, I finally stumble upon bouts of laughter blending with the thunder of crashing water. Hope.
And then I see it; a hundred-and-sixty-foot waterfall, crashing over the mighty mountains. Goosebumps.

Not because I made it to the top but because it is unpredictably cold here. Oh, wait, but I did make it. Pure Joy.

You can do anything, today, I think aloud as my overwhelmed self walks in the stream to take an eyeful from right under the fall. And now I stand here with my foot stuck between two stones brushed by the constant flow of water.

This is it, you stay stuck now until the water carries you down into the stream. I must scold myself in times of crisis - a survival tactic, maybe. ‘You’re not stuck’, a calm voice assures me. ‘You are right where you are supposed to be.’

I turn around to find this mind-reader, standing tall in the group of seven. His arm extends to pull me to the other side. What follows next is an instant connection with people I otherwise barely know. The only thing that we share is a feeling of accomplishment that we are still soaking in, lounging under the cloudy sky, many feet above the ground. Liberating. At this moment, all my bundled-up disappointment evaporates. I turn into a feather. Maybe that’s what makes the descent swift. Or is it these people who have unwittingly lifted off the heaviness in my heart? Grateful.

As we hike down, someone groans, ‘This trail is brutal. Imagine climbing up this way.’

‘Wait, there’s another trail?’, I blurt out, blinking in confusion.

‘Of course. No one climbs up this route.’, says the localite in the group.

He studies me for a beat before asking, ‘No way! How did you make it up here alone?’

I laugh, breathless. ’Ignorance is bliss indeed!’, But even as I say it, I can’t help wondering the same thing.
‘What did you have for breakfast, woman?’ he chuckles.
Disappointment I retort with delight.

- Moulika Danak (Moulika writes ads for a living and, writes everything else to recover from that.)