Peaks I Did Not Climb

What is more precious than to reach the peak? You could view the entirety of the world you’ve wandered, move mountains you once thought so rigid. You could sail skies that once clouded you with rain.

What is more prestigious than a ball of the elites, a festivity so demure yet intimidating, a gathering of people far away from each other when at home.

I guess nothing is more valuable than to feel the world. To live in it the way it should be lived. To venture its nature, its people.

But for me, what is more beloved than reaching the top is to be able to live on the ground. To view the world as a garden of lovely bougainvillea.

When the time comes when I could move mountains, I would still keep them there. I won’t sail the skies either, but rather, I would let the world remain in its own flow.

For I saw it as lovely before I could see it whole.

If I got invited to a ball, I bet I would not be able to enter. For I would go in those Hawaiian shorts my mother sewed. For what is more elite than to wear a limited-edition piece of cloth woven by a heart I’m so familiar with?

I guess nothing is more valuable than to feel my world. To live in it the way I wanted to live it. To venture myself more than any other.

The more I know myself, the more I know the world I’ll make.