It
has been a pretty good day. So a little dirt on me is fine. It’s
fine. Not that it matters much anyway, with four days passed since my
last bath. I grimaced slightly without looking down on my feet. They
felt damp and cold. Tufts of muddy grass must have taken a grip in
between the spaces of my toes. I wriggled them discomfortingly and
hoped they hadn't touched anything more unpleasant. Clearly, tracing
the vast fields of Altanbulag Sum in Ulaanbaatar at ten degrees
celsius in flip-flops was not a very good idea. That extra time to
tie the pair of shoelaces on my red Everlast sneakers now seems worth
all the while. Still, I trudged on ahead in search of the water. The
flat green landscape continued to stretch before me, tinted by a hue
of orange across the horizon as it joined effortlessly with the sky.
My mind slowly settled to clarity and eventually it recollected how
my Mongolian hosts never put on any other footwear except boots.
Including their baby.
Ida
had invited me for a walk that afternoon. There is a nearby stream
she was told where we could get some water. But being her roommate
for nearly a month, her mischief is palpable and I knew this is more
than just a simple chore. Water has been an extremely precious
commodity for the past week. Each of us was given five 500ml bottles
of pure clean water for drinking and personal use. Just a few steps
outside our ger camp stood a large barrel as another water source. It
takes cooperation and conscientiousness on everyone’s part to
carefully ration their own store of water for different uses. Once
the water in the barrel had been used up, the men would travel by
bike or van to fill it up again. Having tasted the nomadic life, we
gradually became more accustomed to living beyond comfort. But our
roots as city girls are as deep as the sound of hoomii,
the
throat singing Mongolians are famous for. I looked at Ida approvingly
and we both grabbed our towels and set forth.
Sloshing
through the mud and grass, the air above was also perturbed by our
presence as our foreign voice emanated from the tête-à-tête
we had about life. Perhaps it’s the glow of the setting
sun that begins to wash the sky deep apricot, or the great plains of
the Tuv Province that spreads and widens in nothingness, but at times
we both sound like aged, contemplative elders. Sometimes we stumbled
during our conversation, not just of tripping on the uneven ground
and stones lying, but due to searching for words we both understand,
or if failed, trying to act out the gestures. Back in Macau, Ida
speaks mainly Cantonese, Mandarin and Portuguese. She grew better in
English at university and strives to improve and reach fluency, which
she believes could open her to more opportunities after graduation.
Pondering together about the many different languages and cultures
that exist in the world, we wonder if we will ever get to know and
explore most of them. But the flow of conversation is always
mysterious and we ended up having a humorous discussion about the
entertaining German sitcom we watched back at the dorm.
Things
may look closer than they actually appear to be. That message
engraved on the passenger-side mirrors of every motor vehicle seems
rather haunting now. Neither of us wore our watches so we could not
be sure how many minutes had passed. Glancing to our backs, our gers
looked miniscule. Lonely, like tiny, curved, white lego blocks left
by a child on a grassy playground. I turned around and then gazed far
north, wondering about the things we desire and seek for. Many times
in life we see our dreams moving closer to us when moments later,
they seem to be drifting away. As if a buoy bobbing in the middle of
the sea, playfully pulled by the currents towards and away from the
shore. Meanwhile, that line of water is still within our sight but
out of reach.
The
stream must have pinched off the Tuul river, which flows across the
heart of the Tuv province. It appears more vividly now and I could
feel my pained legs regaining a surge of energy. My head rebounded
from the edge of gloom and cooperated with every part of my body to
push me forward and quicker. My heart beats faster, my hands start
sweating, my legs form bigger strides and I start walking rapidly.
The
water feels gentle. I swayed my hands inside back and forth, trying
to make out my reflection on the surface, and failed to do so,
attempting to peer inside into the darkness of the water for anything
interesting and moving. We have finally arrived at the stream. Our
towels took a dip and became soggy. In preserving our decency and the
sacredness of the place, we ran the wet towels across our body with
our clothes on. It’s a special skill for open-air baths in the
wild. Having wiped ourselves clean, we rest on the ground with our
feet left in the water.
The
sky, now burned in terracotta, reminded me of the unforgettable sight
this morning. For the past three days, all of us have struggled to
wake up early so we vouched for one another that today will be
different. Even if it means dragging each other out of our sleeping
bags. Me, Tracy and Ida succeeded. For the first time since our stay
in Mongolia, we watched the sun rising from the east. The sky beamed
as the sun coloured it in bright yellow and orange, and never has
anything been so beautiful and blinding. We huddled together amidst
the herd of sleepy goats, shivering in the morning cold as the
sunshine fell softly on our jaw dropped faces. There in the middle of
the fields in Eastern Mongolia stood me in my varsity jacket, Tracy
in her black hoodie, and Ida in her blue sleeping bag. If you can’t
drag yourself out of bed, bring it along.
Snapped
back into the present by Ida’s call, I took my last splash of
water on the face and we soon made
haste to return to the camp. I hung my towel on my shoulder, water
dripping down the back of my already damp shirt. We have found what
we seek for. We have achieved what we aim for. We have struggled and
persevered along the journey. Yes, we have walked for miles to find
water and wash up. The road is bumpy, tiring and exhausting. But now
the journey felt different than the first half of it. Just as the
sunshine in the morning brings a renewed sense of the day, the water
in the stream reinvigorates and brings a renewed sense in us. We
returned, not truly the same person we were when we set off. We
discovered something about ourselves, about each other and a little
bit more about the world. Intriguingly, the Mongolian word for new is
шинэ,
pronounced
as shine. Water is ys, the y reads
as u. I spent the walk back reflecting, and thinking about dinner.
A
sweet, wonderful
smell wafted in the air. We were greeted by bowls of hot milk
porridge at the door of our ger. Blowing impatiently at the food, I
succumbed instantly and sipped a spoonful, slightly scalding my
tongue in return. The liquid streamed down my throat and glided into
the gut, to release comforting warmth throughout my body. I felt warm
and fuzzy. Maybe it’s the feeling of home away from home. Like
many travels and journeys, after much soul searching and discoveries,
we all seek that place to retire, to feel protected and loved. Just
before we inevitably head back out to see again the sunlight that
shines the day and the water that makes us whole once more.
I am an aspiring writer who writes poems and short-format
articles on the blogging platform, Medium. My writings usually
contemplate on everyday life and seek to explore what makes us human,
with a creative twist. When not writing, I would usually illustrate
or think of a new DIY project to work on.
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)
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