NAME: HONG JIN MING
CATEGORY: YEAR 11
POSITION: FIRST PLACE
Q: WRITE A STORY WHICH ENDS WITH “PROMISE ME YOU WILL NOT TRY ANYTHING DANGEROUS AGAIN!”
It was freezing cold. The wind whipped and howled around us, making it impossible to hear anything. The three of us huddled together, trying to keep each other warm. I thought about my parents and began to cry. I shouldn’t have been so naïve.
I was still a young man in my early 30s. From a young age, I had become interested in mountaineering. This was no surprise as I was born into a family of climbers. At the age of 15, my parents, older brother and I joined a team that summitted Mt. Kinabalu. Watching the sun rise from that high up, over the plains below was something I could never forget.
From the day I graduated college, we would all go mountaineering every year. When my parents grew too old to climb, my brother and I went. We had scaled K2 without oxygen, traversed different routes up the Dyatlov pass and even climbed Everest once. That was until one day my brother went missing. He was on an expedition to chart the western face of K2. Reports speculated that he might have been swallowed by the mountain when a crevasse opened up.
From that day, my parents urged me not to continue climbing, as I was now their only remaining child. However, I was already scheduled to join an expedition to chart the southern side of Everest. We argued every day. I was too cocky, too naïve. I felt like I was unstoppable.
The day of the expedition came, and I left while they were still asleep. Throughout the climb up from base camp, I thought about my actions. I didn’t even get to say goodbye, would they be worried about me? I began to regret what I had done.
The expedition, however, went well. We summitted on schedule and began our descent. While we were still a quarter’s way down, we received a frantic call from base that a storm cell had unexpectedly altered course and was heading our way. I looked towards the horizon and saw a massive wall of grey clouds directly in front of us. We all knew that there was no way we could make it back in time.
Then the wind slammed into us like a brick wall. Through the whirling clouds of snow, I watched as five of the team got swept away, helplessly clawing at the snow. Light began fading fast as the storm cloud we were in blocked out the sun. It was freezing cold; the howling of the wind also made it impossible to hear anything.
I thought back to the arguments I had with my parents and began to cry. If only I had not been so naïve, they might still have a child to lean onto. The two remaining team members and I huddled together, knowing that we may never get rescued. I blacked out.
I awoke to clear skies with not a cloud in sight. I thought I was dead, before I heard the faint shuffling and felt the slow, tugging movements; I was being dragged. A voice then shouted, “Hey, he’s awake!” An unknown face looked down at me. “Don’t worry,” it said, “You’re going to be alright.” I felt weak again. The low hum of helicopter rotors beating against the air grew louder and louder. I blacked out again.
The next time I awoke, I was wrapped in thick blankets on board a helicopter bound for Lukla Airport, Kathmandu. I learned that the two other climbers with me also survived and had already arrived at the airport. I felt guilty about my actions. My eyes had been opened to how small I was in the world. I vowed to never again go mountaineering and instead, dedicate my life to helping others and spending the remaining time I have with my aging parents.
The helicopter touched down. My parents were waiting there for me. As I slowly exited the helicopter, they ran up to me and embraced me tightly. My mother, through teary eyes, said to me, “Promise me you will not try anything dangerous again!
Memories of The Way We Were 