On loving from afar, and on rejecting conquest
On the horizon, there are shadows of the mountains in the north. We can’t see clearly. Driving back from a city in the south, hundreds of kilometers away, the mountains are just shadows hidden behind the curvature of the earth or the smog of the city at the foot of the mountains. I wonder which one hurts me more in the future. The yearning for what is on the other side of the earth or having breathed the air that place for too long.
I am pulled toward those mountains. But not to conquer them. Climbing to the peak, putting a flag up, camping. None of these brings a fragment of love for the mountains. They are about humans, not nature. In a documentary - misleadingly - called “mountains,” it demonstrates and records attempts to conquer these vasts entities. It boasts about humanities strength and history of challenging itself for excellence and greatness. This depiction is not about mountains. It is not about the love of nature. It is about human conquest of them. It is a remnant of a white man’s burden, to demonstrate the greatness of a few men. What part of this conquest suggests a love of mountains?
I don’t want to be close to that place so I can climb to the top of the mountain. Neither to breath the fresh air as we go above the city’s polluted air. My yearning is for the sight of those mounts. To be grounded by their sight. The comfort of knowing such places are timeless, comparing to my short lifetime. To see a metaphor of stability right in front of me. To be unmoving and unyielding. And to love like that. And to fight like that.










