Day 1, July 22: The Ascent Begins

My first solo hiking trip.

I remember standing at the Timpohon Gate, holding my hiking pole in one hand and nerves in the other. There was no turning back. Alone, I began my journey upwards to Panalaban Base Camp.

Surprisingly, the hike up wasn’t the monster I had imagined. My legs kept up. My breath found rhythm. The lush green and crisp air were comforting, and every step forward felt like proof that I had prepared, physically, at least. I reached Panalaban in about 5 hours and 10minst, feeling proud but quiet. There’s a stillness when you hike alone that no playlist or camera can fill. It’s just you, the weight on your back, and thoughts that grow louder the higher you go.

Day 2, July 23, 2:00 AM: Into the Dark

The summit push.

I layered up in silence, clipped on my headlamp, and joined the line of hikers, strangers with the same ambition, marching into complete darkness. It was pitch black except for the narrow beam of my light. The wind whispered louder than anyone spoke.

And then, came the solitude.

It’s hard to explain what it feels like hiking alone in that kind of darkness. It’s not just your body you have to fight. It’s the voice in your head. Mine was relentless.

“You’re alone. You’re not strong enough. Why are you torturing yourself?”

And then came the physical toll.

As I was making my way up toward the summit, I vomited. Twice. Once, in the middle of pushing forward. Again, just before reaching Sayat-Sayat checkpoint. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was altitude, nerves, fear, dehydration, all swirling into a kind of inner collapse.

Still, I pressed on. Step by trembling step. My hands froze. My breath shortened.

But I kept going…

Sayat-Sayat Checkpoint: The Turning Point

I made it to Sayat-Sayat, the final checkpoint before the summit. Just 1km more. Just a little more.

But the wind didn’t let up. It howled at around 17km/h, growing stronger, meaner. The rangers deemed it unsafe to continue. We had to turn back.

I stood there frozen, more from disbelief than cold.

So close. So unfinished.

Internally, I wanted to cry. I really did. After all the effort, training, and solitude… the summit slipped out of reach. I felt like I failed.

But then another voice rose inside me, quieter and kinder. “You showed up. You fought. The mountain didn’t defeat you. It just said, ‘Not today.’”

7:45 AM – The Descent

After resting and collecting my thoughts at Panalaban, I began my descent at 7:45 AM. My knees felt each downward step. My feet, ankles & quads screamed. But strangely, I kept going.

I even vomited once more on the way down. I had almost no solid food left in my body. Just some water and energy gels. And yet, my body still moved. It amazed me. My body had more fight in it than I ever thought possible.

And yet, something inside me had shifted. I wasn’t walking down with disappointment. I was walking down with a strange sense of respect. For the mountain. For myself. For what it means to fight alone and still keep walking.

At 1:10 PM, I finally reached Timpohon Gate. Exhausted. Weather-beaten. But alive. Changed.

What the Summit Couldn’t Teach Me

I didn’t get the colored certificate. I didn’t get the summit photo.

But I got something else.

I received a black and white certificate, a symbol that I hiked, I climbed, and I reached as far as the conditions would allow. I didn’t expect to receive anything, honestly. But when they handed it to me, I smiled. A soft, “you-did-your-best” kind of smile.

It was my first solo hike.

It was daring.

It was scary.

And it was healing.

The Summit Within: A Conversation With the Dark

The real summit wasn’t the top of Kinabalu.

It was that moment, in the pitch black, when I stood alone, scared, “sick” (probably AMS sets in), and still kept moving.

Not every hike is about reaching the top.

Some hikes are about finally hearing the voice inside your head, and choosing to believe the one that says:

“You’re enough. Even now. Even here.”

My Final Reflection

“Sometimes, the most powerful hikes are the ones where we don’t seek to reach the summit, but to heal our souls.”

This journey wasn’t just about Kinabalu. It was about learning how to sit with fear, with failure, and with the version of myself I usually keep hidden.

And that, to me, is the summit I’ll carry forever.

It seems so relatable to real life.

There are moments in life when we pour everything in like our time, energy, heart, only to fall just short of the “summit” we envisioned. We don’t always get the happy ending, the recognition, or the outcome we fought so hard for. But that doesn’t mean we failed.

Sometimes, the lesson is in the climb. In choosing to keep going when your body says stop. In learning to sit with discomfort, fear, and disappointment without turning away.

That Kinabalu trail reminded me: not all victories come with fanfare. Some arrive quietly, in the form of resilience, grace, and growth. Some show up as a single step forward, when everything in you wants to give up.

And maybe… that’s just life.

Not everything we want will be ours, no matter how hard we try.

The summit doesn’t always belong to the strongest or the most prepared. Sometimes, it’s simply not the right day. Not the right conditions. Not the right timing. But what we do in those moments, how we respond to the “almosts” and the “not-quites” so that’s what defines human.

And if we can learn to carry ourselves back down with courage, with humility, with heart, then maybe we’ve already climbed something far greater.