The Story of Stong

Where should I begin my story of a most memorable trek I had up Stong? Certainly not at the beginning.

I'll begin with the narrative of my shoes: I finally said goodbye to my Timberlands which have seen me through 6 years of extensive use, including having taken me up Ophir - twice - and Mt Kinabalu, as well as across Scotland, UK, Australia, Cambodia and Thailand. It's finally seen its expiry date. I should also add here that I am impressed with Teva. I always thought it was merely a commercial brand but it's 'Spider Rubber' met its acclaimed status. It brought me up and down Stong in that muddy terrain with fantastic traction.

Every event leaves a memory, some deeper than others. I think the past 5 days have etched some of the most unusual and significant memories of hikes I have so far - largely because I hiked with a bunch of kids I'm fond of - and a bunch of kids who've never hiked before nor even had any experience with the outdoors (quite literally).

I'm quite certain they've learnt quite a lot from that short experience - from basic campcraft to learning to fend for oneself in the open wilderness. They've certainly learnt that walking isn't quite as simple when one is hiking up a mountain or crossing rivers (it was certainly most hilarious, observing from behind, how so many of them tried to keep their balance but didn't quite succeed on many occasions. I think some of them fell as many as twenty odd times or more for the entire trek). It's interesting for it makes one realise that something as basic as walking isn't that 'basic' after all when the terrain and environment changes. Likewise, time takes on a different dimension. The basic provisions like light and water become significant concerns. I think they realised that - at least I hope they did.

I'm also sure they've learnt much of each other too as I have of them. It is in journeying and travelling with others, and particularly in the face of adversity and 'suffering' that we see the true mettle of others. The trip revealed a lot to me, about some of them, and it confirmed my tw0-year understanding of these young individuals, albeit in a good way - and I'm glad it is so.

In all, I'm extremely proud of them for having overcome their own difficulties and fears, even unwillingness, to reach the summit (despite taking longer than anticipated). The desire to be there, and the perserverance shown in persisting till the top was what impressed me the most. Perhaps this generation isn't as 'unresilient' as we think it so. They may be inexperienced and reliant on many things (as I've observed throughout the journey) but they aren't certainly lacking in resilience.

As I asked them what where their learning points on the last night, I too had to ask myself what I've 'learnt'. The hiking experience, and that of being in the wilderness, isn't new to me. Stong was my easiest hike thus far. My most significant learning point is the realisation that it is extremely difficult to parent a child - to know when to let go and when to pull back. I readily admit that I was quite concerned for the entire journey - worried that they may fall (and there was a minor accident), be bitten etc. Yet I had, at the same time, needed to let go and allow some exercise of initiative. Initiative means action according to one's own better judgement, without instruction. But when safety is an issue, how does one draw the line? How does one tell a child 'go own, try it on your own, it's ok to fall' yet simultaneously draw boundaries and say 'no, do not move anywhere without informing me?'

I didn't quite find an answer to that paradox and still can't. I'm not sure if I every can. Observing what some of the kids brought up the mountain, how they behaved and reacted, and the farewell contingent they had at the train station, I could tell how protected some of them are. I abhor it, largely because I've always been fiercely independent, yet have come to perfectly understand why. Hhhhmmmm ...

I've also come to learn that as much as I'm fond of them and can quite safely say that I'm real close to the lot of them, this is as far as it can go. There will be some things that I can never do with them nor enjoy with them. There will be (many) conversations in which I would have little to contribute to; there would be moments I would rather sit alone. It's the maturity level - at the end of the day. It's not about who's more mature than the other. It's just about difference. In some ways it's a sad revelation but one which, I guess, I've always known. It matters not I guess, in many ways, for things don't always have to be perfect and it doesn't quite change the fact that we've all built something good together.