My fondness towards nature bears no repeating. It’s pretty obvious, you may tell. Having lived in cities throughout my entire life has deepened my fascination with earth’s sculptures. I only get to experience nature a few times in a year and whenever I do, the whole deal feels like a trip to the moon. But as much as I admire nature, there are times when I become fearful of its unpredictability.
Take the
quake that hit our side of Borneo, for example. Nobody knew that would or
could happen. We were on our way to Kota Kinabalu to visit my mom when the grounds of Ranau district violently shook. My mom was alone in her apartment when the quake strikes and she ultimately experienced the intense tremors. Her apartment remained unscathed yet she was, pardon the pun, shaken by the whole ordeal. We were glad to be there for her as the grounds remained fragile.
That’s the thing about nature— its emotions are as volatile as human’s. There must be some sort of threshold, a limit rather, to what the earth could take one at a time. We initially planned to take a road trip to the foot of the great Mount Kinabalu and spend the night at the tea plantations. Since our plan was thwarted by the possibilities of another quake (and Sabah did experience ‘mini’ quakes following Friday), we drove out of the city to the nearest highland retreat known as Kokol Hill instead.
Kokol may not be as famous as Ranau but it was definitely a good substitute after all. We craved for some downtime in someplace chilly and the place boasted breathtaking views of Kota Kinabalu and the tiny specks of islands near its bay. The narrow road uphill coiled throughout, surrounded by lush forest. We saw, once in a while, a few village homes perching on the cliff and children playing nearby. What a sweet way to live! Imagine waking up each morning greeted by the brilliant display of red and orange light streaming across the valley.
We stopped by near a
resort and sat for tea in one of the coffee houses that were once British colonial bungalows. We had cups of teh tarik to warm ourselves with while drinking in this spectacular view of the valleys. The entire terrain appeared like a massive green carpet covering the earth. We also caught the mist swirling in out of nowhere like a ghost; it shrouded the entire road with a thin sheet of whiteness and vanished immediately after. The sight astounded me. The lady who served us tea simply shrugged and told me that she’s so used to the mist. “It comes and goes anytime it wants,” she said. “It’s a pretty typical sight.” Well, not for us city folks. We’re so used to smog instead of the fog!
After tea, we strolled around the area and enjoyed the crisp afternoon air. We took all the sounds in— the birds singing and the cicadas shrilling. There were many stray dogs guarding the road but none barked at us. They simply watched us taking photographs of one another, just making sure that nobody is hiding any tricks up their sleeves. We met a cat that tugged our hearts with his handsome face. My mom played with him a little before parting ways.
The climb down was even more scenic with all that light from the golden hour. My love affair with
sunsets stays endless. They’re never enough to sit through and be mesmerized by. We passed by an old chapel downhill and though the building was nondescript, the sunlight seemed to glorify Jesus and the giant crucifix. The blaze of color— reds, yellows, what-have-you-nots— touched the valley and the distant city ahead like creeping fire. This was nature as its most calming state, all docile and beautiful. Like a woman, all warm with passion, resting her head on the chest of a lover.
The quake was perhaps a love spat. Beyond that, all she possibly needs is just a lil’ attention from us all.
