When I was growing up in Kidapawan, Cotabatoʍa jump-off point to the country’s highest peak, Mt. Apo — I was fascinated by the stories I heard about spectacular sunrises, stunning views, indescribable feelings recounted by climbers who had successfully scaled the mountain. Although I occasionally got sad news like climbers becoming ill or meeting accidents, I dreamed of being one of those who could say “I conquered Mt. Apo!”
God, in His abundant generosity, more than met my longing. I was able to climb Mt. Apo seven times, plus Mts. Pulag, Kanlaon, Hibok-Hibok, and Matutum. (Not bad for someone called “lampa” as a young girl!) Edmund Hillary, the first man to successfully scale Mt. Everest, said “It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.” I completely agree. It was not the external mountain I overcame, but the mountain of fears and doubts within myself.
There are also mountains of the figurative or metaphorical kind. I have climbed many of these in the various seasons of my life. Some mountains, no doubt, were more challenging than others. Dealing with the death of my first-born son in 1987 was a huge, seemingly insurmountable one.
Mountains, both literal and figurative, are excellent teachers, revealing deep truths. This COVID-19 pandemic is a formidable mountain, a mountain like no other, and can be a teacher like no other.
Lessons from Mt. Apo parallel those I am learning from Mt. COVID-19. The first lesson is that I need to have the sense of proportion to know what is essential and what is not. The “travel light” mantra of mountain climbers goes beyond putting only important things in my backpack, or reducing my ecological footprint. It is also answering the question: “What is important for achieving my life purpose?”
Day one of my first Mt. Apo climb in 1978 was way beyond my comfort zone. At sunset, I told my companions that I was so exhausted I could not go on. “Dream as you put one foot in front of the other,” they encouraged me. “We’ll pace you!” I realized that when I persist long enough and patiently just keep climbing, I would be rewarded with second-wind strength to move forward. And yes, pain and discomfort can be befriended.
It is said that mountains have a way of dealing with misplaced self-reliance. In 1983, I was newly married to a fellow mountaineer and we organized a Mt. Apo climb for a group of out-of-school boys. As we descended, I noticed that the tired first-timers needed frequent rests. I told my husband, I would like to hike ahead of the group, reassuring him that it was my sixth Mt. Apo climb. Very unwise move! I got lost for two hours, suffered the terrible pain of being out of control, and had to be rescued. I learned the “stronger together” lesson the hard way. Having collaborative companions and being a caring team player are invaluable in this adventure called life.
Climbing Mt. Apo was a spiritual experience for me. I was overwhelmed by the wonderful sights and sounds of nature, all proclaiming the Creator’s beauty, truth, and goodness. I was filled with gratitude for how He sustained my every labored breath and step. My main sobering realization was that God, my ever-present, inexhaustible source of strength, is wonderfully in control. He showed me that my transformed character was more important than my comfort, and that I could trust Him fully, for He alone is both all-loving and all-powerful.
In 2015, my husband and I, as senior citizens climbing Mt. Apo with our daughter, were a curiosity to some young trekkers: “Sana po, kasama din namin dito ang aming parents!” they said.
My 69-year-young lungs and legs are still raring to see action in the mountain. Until then, I will be content to carry on with wholistic self-care as I climb Mt. COVID-19 and the other metaphorical mountains of my life. And for sure, I want to continue learning, because the mountains do not stop teaching.
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Paulita C. Sorongon, 69, resides in Davao City with her husband and children.