Mount Kinabalu, Sabah
I remember a legend - it all begins from the foot of this mountain, where a sacrifice was made. One so bloodless and divine, that soon - vows were exchanged from the people to the Heavens above: a promise, that first birthed the ritual of a long march towards the doors of Heaven, and then birthed the beliefs for generations of Kadazans.
The march to Libabou, they called it.
I am a Kadazan. We worship the ancient Gods of the land. Kinoingan, my great-grandmother told me, is one of the five ancient Gods of Borneo. He casted a strong wind upon the land, and divided the world into three: Libabou and Kolungkud (heaven and hell), and Mount Kinabalu for the spirits of the deceased to find rest. I grew up with my great-grandmother at the foot of Mount Kinabalu; I called her mamak tua. We lived in a wooden house that was not too small, yet not too big for our small lives. And for many years before I was born, mamak tua had stayed there - at the same house, next to the same river, beside the same road.
There were many differences that came forth in her eyes, about the many parts of the mountain that made her seem to stay put; I found no differences then staying at any parts of the mountain: you still feel its same edges, stare at its same green valleys, at many parts you still see the river and taste the same water, you see the same sun rising, and maybe only at different times you feel not the same thickness of the air.
But to mamak tua it all seemed so incomprehensibly different. That to her, nature was not a cover book that you glance through with the same idle-happiness - there was cadence, subtle enigmatic nuances, much more to her eyes than in mine.
Then I learned from her that there is a gift to every kadazan man like me - a shooting pipe, skulls, or a journey into the mountain - one much different from the gift mamak tua perceived for her female kind. Bravery is at heart to what is to become of a kadazan man. Hunters, warriors, travelers; they all seek for distances, much less to the women who seek loyalty to their grounds. Just like me, my mother told me: a brave man right at the age of 14 travelled to distances, two-and-a-half hours plane ride across the South China Sea, with no relatives but strangers. I treaded walks of life I would not encounter in Borneo.
You see, months ago, I would be out-and-about, roaming and seeking unhealthy solace at every corners of the unsleeping city, with friends I could barely trust and had barely known; many more months ago, I would be sitting at the park with my smoking companions, only to waste our nights away; a year ago, I would be sitting at the couch of my lover's house, indulging myself in a period of exploration of my own sensuality and sexuality; and three years ago, I would be quivering in fear plastered, several times, by a middle-aged ogre - an unspoken physical harassment in trepidation of his superior authority. Life in new distances was not easy to live by at first. Yet later on, it became too easy for the wrong reasons.
But that was not the case for mamak tua, or any of my kadazan ancestors at large: they never felt that it was easy to leave in the first place. It often dawned on me, the reason for mamak tua to have the firmness grounded upon her life and her stubbornness to live at the mountain. Easily I thought, that perhaps it was because for too many years, she had only amazed at the green horizon of the land from the same edge of the mountain; and that she may not even have seen the vast seas, and the world that lies beyond them.
Little did I understand, that her loyalty for the mountain sprung closely from the kadazan legend she spoke of to me - the march to Libabou. That just like every kadazan, I was born with a promise, one marked in my blood and made to the God of my ancestors.
For it is where she and I had lived, at the foot of Mount Kinabalu - a sacrifice was made by our God, Kinoingan. Spared before the doors of Heaven, His beloved daughter Huminodun vanished; that Her flesh became the first seeds of the Padi Huma (hill paddy), Her blood became the water in the rivers, and Her existence vanished, only revered as the spirit of hill paddy, Bambaazon. And it is from such divine generosity, our ancestors laid a promise to find rest nowhere else, but near the sun at the highest point of their land, Mount Kinabalu no matter how far they have travelled - a loyalty to guard what was heavily paid for by our Gods: life in the land of Borneo.
And so, towards the sky, the long march begins. Grateful spirits of my ancestors follow a path along this mountain to the doors of Heaven; like passing ships in the dark sea - sailing blindly, but faithfully, towards the far-reaching lights of the lighthouse. And there, before the eyes of their Creator, they fulfill a promise which I must follow: an eternal vow to protect the mountain and a loyalty to safeguard our birthplace, our beginnings.
tinggi tinggi gunung kinabalu,
tinggi lagi sayang sama kamu.
Mount Kinabalu.
I remember a legend - it all begins from the foot of this mountain, where a sacrifice was made. One so bloodless and divine, that soon - vows were exchanged from the people to the Heavens above: a promise, that first birthed the ritual of a long march towards the doors of Heaven, and then birthed the beliefs for generations of Kadazans.
I think that you used break this up into simpler sentences. I know what kind of mood you want to set up, but it's kinda confusing.
her eyes than in my eyes.mine
I see what you are trying to do with the legend, but to someone who is not very familiar with the culture this essay can be a bit confusing, especially when you talk about your grandmother and the differences between the female kind and male kind???? I like the ending though when you talk about you being born with a promise.
