At the Summit of Unnamed Feelings | by tika.w | Jul, 2025

Grief and gratitude met me on my very first mountain hike — with two women who reminded me what love looks like in silence.

Some of the first steps toward Mount Ijen weren’t just about walking over soil and stones.
They were also steps into something invisible — feelings I kept quietly tucked deep in my chest.

It was my very first mountain hike. I was with two of my closest girlfriends, women I’ve known for years and trusted with pieces of my life. We had pitched our tent, shared laughter under the stars, swapped stories, and planned to reach the summit before sunrise.

But that night, something shifted.

While we were asleep in the tent, I was woken by a message that shattered something inside me:
A classmate of mine — someone I hadn’t known for long, but who had quickly become dear — had passed away.

So sudden.
So soon.
And I would never get the chance to say goodbye.

I lay there, crying in the dark. My chest felt tight with grief, the kind that leaves no room for breath. But even before I could whisper a word, one of my friends wrapped her arms around me. The other reached for my hand, holding it firmly, as if saying, “You’re not alone.”

And I let it all go.
I cried — not from the cold, but from a quiet pain that only loss can bring.
And in that tent, surrounded by silence and stillness, I was held. Truly held.

That night taught me something no book ever did:
Life doesn’t always come with warnings.
People enter and leave our lives without permission.
All we have — truly — are the moments. The laughs. The embraces. The memories.

To you — my friend who left too soon —
Thank you. Even in the short time we knew each other, you became part of my story. Your laugh, your light, your kindness — they linger. I never got the chance to say goodbye, but I send you love in every quiet prayer I make now.

And to the two women beside me that night —
Thank you.
For showing up without needing to fix anything.
For holding me when words failed.
For being steady when everything else felt uncertain.

Mount Ijen witnessed it all:
The ache.
The love.
The quiet power of female friendship.

That night, I lost someone.
But I also rediscovered the strength of the women beside me —
and the beauty of being held in both sorrow and sisterhood.

Life doesn’t allow rewinds.
But it gives us memories — raw, real, and unforgettable