Home at last


I always fly away carrying my home.

Born in a poor family, I have materialized every dream that I imagined as a child. I have achieved greatness and stepped away from it. However, wandering for many years, my search for meaning in life is still at large. Yet again, I long for fulfillment. A sense of relief upon turning dreams into reality, finding a home away from home.

The sound of clinking steel flasks interrupted my contemplation of the peak. I took a sip of hot tea while starring at people cheering and celebrating around the bonfire. Pain was flowing all over my body and I was dead on my feet. But my heart was set on living the moment on the hillside. Taking support of rucksack, I kept the flask down and got to my feet. The weight of my gear and weary body made the walk nearly impossible. But the fear of never coming back brought forth the last drop energy left within me. Even the gravity of snow on the hill, putting me down every time I took a step couldn’t stop me from going to the hillside one last time.

The strong breeze was now colder than ever. While I sat on the little rock which nearly felt like resting on ice, the mesmerizing view of sky certainly put me into a trance state. I have never seen so many colors in the sky. The glittering stars were lighting up the dark sky. I could hear whispers of million stars that night. While I looked down, I could barely see the camp site down the slope. I thought they would probably be anxious about the one last climb they have to make on the first light.

I could only imagine, how strange people form different corners of the world mash up to pursue that one purpose that they dreamt their whole life. The only motivation to work a little more, save a little more in their lives. A dream home. But what happens when we catch that dream? Can we hold on to that pleasure ? The only difference between my crew and their was that we had already been to the end of the road and they were looking forward to it.

Looking at those lights, I quite remember the story my grandfather told me once, and now sitting at nearly 29000 feet above sea level, I finally figured it out. Probably the saddest thing one could imagine at such an amazing place. He told me about something he saw when he was a boy, he and his brother wanted a dog, so their father took in an old greyhound. A greyhound is a racing dog. Spends its life running in circles, chasing a bit of felt made up like a rabbit.

One day, they took it to the park. Father had warned them how fast that dog was, but… they couldn’t resist. So, my grandfather’s brother took off the leash, and in that instant, the dog spotted a cat. He imagined, it must have looked just like that piece of felt. The dog ran like a bullet. Never saw a thing as beautiful as that old dog… running.

Until, at last, he finally caught it. And to the horror of everyone, he killed that little cat. Tore it to pieces. Then he just sat there, confused. That dog had spent its whole life trying to catch that… thing. Now it had no idea what to do.

After three hard attempts, the chapter of reaching to the peak of Mount Everest finally came to closure. Closing my eyes, I asked myself the same question again - What is your vision of home? Is it a place that you live in? Or is it a place that you dream of? A place where you have all the money and fame in the world? Perhaps a place isolated in the woods far away from this materialistic world? Or is it any place contingent on sharing with your soulmate? Standing against all odds and conquering my fate, will I ever say “Home at last” or just embark upon another journey?