The Tunnels Of Kawaguchiko

Doreen Villanueva
Aug 9, 2017 · 3 min read

The mountains have provided hermitage for the lost. It was in the majesty of Mount Fuji and its surrounding five lakes that opened my eyes to splendor in times of misery. My friends and I rented mountain bikes to explore the lakefront of Kawaguchiko. The terrain was unchallenging, even for desk-bound employees like us. Standing at one side of the lake, could either mean, you can see where you are going or where you’ve been. The breeze hit my face, crisp and cold. The soft waves from the lake produced a swish that danced with my foot as it pedaled the bicycle. I rang the miniature bell attached to the steering bar every time I see birds resting on the path ahead. I looked around the mountain range, trying to discern which is the monumental Fujisan. But it couldn’t be seen that day.

There was a fork on the road. One led to the outdoor path and the other in a dark tunnel. This choice paralleled a similar predicament I was experiencing at the time. I could either select the safer choice or go with the bolder choice. Two of my friends did not even hesitate, they went inside the tunnel and raced towards the end. My other friend, stayed behind with a concerned look.

“Do you want to go through the tunnel?”

“I have night blindness, its dark, the bike has no light source, cars are coming from the opposite direction.” I replied. I already computed in my mind the probability of getting hit by a car inside the tunnel. According to my inaccurate and prejudiced computations, it was 80%. I was a wet blanket; I always am when I’m scared.

“Let’s just go around the sidewalk.”

My friends were already waiting on the other end of the tunnel. I was glad nothing happened to them. We didn’t have travel insurance.

“You should’ve gone through the tunnel!” My friend’s face was beaming with excitement.

I missed out on life because I spent too much time worrying about the unlikely odds of an unfortunate incident.

“Next time, I’ll go through it.” I assured them, confident that next time wouldn’t come anytime soon.

But 200 meters later, it did.

I went inside the tunnel, accelerated my bike to its full speed, constantly ringing the bell on the steering bar, hoping a car won’t hit me. The tunnel’s fluorescent lights were installed at reasonable intervals, properly illuminating the road.

The crisp breeze was now an intensified current of air, it gently hit my face and slightly parched my eyes. I put my hands up in the air and yelled inaudible curses at the current state of my life. I saw an actual light at the end of a real tunnel, a surreal sight. I was desolate no more, I was glorious.

I went through three of those tunnels, with each one generated a subtler response from my inner consciousness. At the end of that series of passages was a Buddhist temple on a hill.

The temperature was slowly dropping, it was late in the afternoon and the sun is beginning its westward track. Two rows of trees line up the passage inside the temple, white pebbles carpeted the ground, each one whirring as my shoes lightly pressed against them. I prayed inside the temple grounds, not knowing to whom I’d prayed to, I just did. There was a calmness in the way the space was designed, there was an exterior and internal calmness. For the first time in five years, my anxious mind was somehow tranquil. The apprehension was muffled by the outer peace of the grounds. I wondered how I could recreate this serenity on the outside world.

Doreen Villanueva

Written by

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade