Dear Bianca
I knew I shouldn’t have gotten too excited about my previous letters going easily for me. Today I’m venturing into the world of writing without an emotional prompt.
I’m just so content right now that I can’t think of what to say.
I also seem to be ridiculously exhausted. I’ve yawned 4 times since I began writing.
So this morning, my parents and I went to an exhibition of the Chinese Terracotta Clay Army. You know I’ve known about the army’s existence for a long time, but I had no idea why it existed.
So here’s the basic break down.
Some guy decided he fancied the idea of being an emperor. And he started calling himself an emperor and people kind of rolled with it, and suddenly you’re looking at the Greatest Emperor China had ever seen. And then he was legendary. And people fought for him, and stood by him. And just in general loved the idea of him being emperor. Well, those people who weren’t killed while he went on his conquering spree.
He ended up fighting all four kingdoms or whatever. He had his army fuck shit up. In any case, when he was all content with the wars he’d waged he calmly returned to his humble abode. But slowly this fear began creeping in.
Because he was petrified of all of his enemies coming for revenge… especially in the afterlife. So you know what this guy did?
He was like; “hey, you. Yeah, and you. Also your brothers and your children. Yes. I hereby decree that you will make me a massive army of Clay soldiers. Yes. I firmly believe clay soldiers will be capable of protecting me in the afterlife. Yes.”
And so… apparently the statistic is this: 270 000 people were involved in building the emperors army. The work is beautiful. Each soldier took time and effort. And was carefully painted.
The human race astounds me.
You get the Italians who carved cathedrals out of marble. You get the Egyptians who made slaves build pyramids that make no sense to modern day engineers. And you get the Chinese, who built a wall that spans a ridiculous length, can be seen from outer space, and then you get this guy who needed an army of Clay.
It was fascinating, although I got tired ¾ way through and concentrated less. Somewhere along the line when I finally got to the reason behind such an enormous task, I realised I couldn’t help but be amused.
Here is this seemingly great and impressive emperor. So strong. Such man. But deep down inside that guy was scared shitless of the ghosts of his enemies. I get it, death is scary and we still don’t know what’s on the other side of that last breath, so each of us has a coping mechanism. You know?
Some believe in reincarnation because why would you want to leave this existence, your loved ones and your home? Others have a deity. But like you don’t see anyone building an 8000 man strong terracotta army.
I also feel like he was over compensating for something.
I mean the guy also had clay statues made of his horses and carriages. Also his concubines.
In any case, Dylan picked me up and we went out for lunch and to hunt pokemon.
We started talking about my trip to Bali.
Did I ever tell you about the time I climbed a volcano?
I feel like now is an excellent time to tell you.
Because it was one of the coolest, and best and worst and unexplainable experiences I’ll probably ever have in my life.
So I went on a school trip to Bali. I think 40 people went? It was super affordable. I think. Back then, it was like 14 rand to the dollar. So my parents paid 1000 dollars for a return trip and accommodation plus stuff for me to go to Bali.
It was superb. It is a place everyone should visit at least once. You don’t have to experience the island if you don’t want to. But God. Everyone should be able to witness what life is like in Bali for the locals, coz those are people who literally don’t sweat the small stuff.
But that is for another time. This story is about my second day in Bali. It began at 2 AM.
It’s cold, and we climb into little taxi cabs. All of us. They’re more like minibuses. Not NYC yellow taxis. And in a sleepy haze we drive to the foot of mount vusuvias.
No I’m kidding its mount something or other but I’m too tired to google, and too forgetful to remember.
Its pitch black mind you, and we get separated into groups of 4 and local Balinese men grab a group, and a torch and we start climbing.
This is how these guys earn a living by the way, by guiding tourists up a volcano in the pitch black. And we’re climbing the damn thing at the devil’s hour because someone had the genius idea of us watching the sunrise from the summit.
I had made sure to wear in my hiking shoes before the trip. I had. Or so I had thought. I don’t think we’d walked for 20 minutes when I began experiencing that slow underlying chafing that creeps up on you like the cold creeps in when summer begins to fade to autumn.
And it’s dark. And I need to get fit, and its hard. And our little Balinese man has to keep stopping so we can catch up. But he is the only one with a flash light and I’m almost certain that this fucking mountain leads to some version of hell.
And there’s a shrine. And apparently local women make the trek to this shrine on a daily basis. Don’t know why they’d do that. I doubt I’d volunteer to do so. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Because I’m jet lagged, and I should be sleeping and if I fall one more time, I will skin my knee. If I stumble and fall one more time I might just stay down. Who needs the sunrise anyway?
So its over 2 hours of stumbling and moving, and we had some girl fall pretty bad but she was okay. Everyone woke up after that and kind of kept helped each other along. Kaela Sussman couldn’t handle the altitude changes, and truly I don’t blame her for puking what seemed like every meal she’s ever had. It’s so dark that you wonder if a sun still exists somewhere in the universe. Because you’ve been climbing closer to the stars, but you’re not seeing much.
And it was cold. When we first began, but it’s like any form of exercise. Once you start you begin to heat up and then even the single t shirt I was wearing felt like It could smother me.
And just when I cursed my lack of fitness for the umpteenth time, we finally reached the summit. It’s still dark. Mind you.
And now we’re all waiting for ‘breakfast’ – a cup of powdered milk and coffee with some sort of bread and sausage that were provided too. The meal did not form a lasting impression. I think most of us fed our share to the stray dogs all over the volcano.
Because the stray dogs are adorable and fluffy and all over Bali itself.
And then it gets cold again because now we’re stagnant and hungry and gravitating towards each other like magnets.
And then we figured out that there were little steam fissures, and the active volcano had a neat little gift for us, so we crowded around these little puffs, and took turns and basically made promises to never take warmth for granted.
And then.
And then.
And then the black faded to dark navy,
And then to a lighter shade of navy,
Dark blue,
Blue. And seemingly from no where…
There was the star that we call our sun.
Blinding and bright and powerful and all wonderful and so warm.
And you know what B? you forget the blisters and the bruises and the stick that cut open your palm.
You forget that the “meal” you just had wasn’t adequate for your spoiled ass. And you just exist.
You exist suspended in a sun beam, while you sit on the edge of a volcano, and just be.
And it’s like we were all connected in one big breath.
And its magic.
and like I said, it was one of those experiences that’s hard. Because it’s a tangible experience of fighting to get to the top, and really struggling. You live the metaphor of your life.
And it sucks. Because all hard parts suck.
But then, that sunrise. That sunrise proves the existence of your chosen deity. It proves whatever you want it to prove. It proves you’re stronger than you think you are.
And its so freaking pretty. It just paints the sky. And that’s super easy to say. But I hope you imagine it like its meant to be. Because those sunbeams steal the dark and expose those shadows. And suddenly theres hues of pink and green in the sky you didn’t even know existed.
And you realise you lived the metaphor. And you survived. And you acknowledge your space in the universe and at 17, it’s a pretty existential moment.
And you don’t even remember the pain of the 3 blisters you had. And the fact that walking down the volcano was a whole other evil. Because its worth it.
And you’re worth it.
You belong. You have a space in that sunbeam.
All of my love.
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