Trekking Tà Xùa (Phu Sa Phìn 2,865M)

There are journeys not meant to conquer a mountain peak, nor to see who goes up first and who comes down last, but simply to return to nature and to oneself. This trekking trip to Phu Sa Phìn is like that.

We crossed through mossy green forests that seemed to step out of a fairy tale, walked on the legendary dinosaur's spine, wove through the bright yellow canopies, and looked up at the deep blue sky with clouds racing by as if playing tag. Beneath our feet were tiny purple flowers whose names I didn't have time to ask, but just looking at them brought an unusual peace to my heart.

This time I walked very slowly. Slowly to hear the birds calling each other in the forest, the sound of the stream trickling through the rocks, the wind rustling through the leaves, and even the laughter of the Hmong porters speaking in their native language. I didn't understand what they were saying, but seeing everyone laugh made me laugh along; maybe they were saying, "This girl is walking really slowly," too.

Walking slowly allows you to sense the smell of the mountains: the scent of tree resin, the smell of decaying leaves, the smell of young grass, and the very distinct scent of morning dew. Especially in the morning from the hut down the mountain, I kept walking while taking deep breaths of that clear air, feeling as if each breath was washing away all the dust, car smoke, and the clutter of city life.

This time, everything tasted surprisingly delicious. From black chicken, grilled local pork, to a simple meal in the mountains, everything tasted so much better. We even bought a bag of wild ginseng and a bag of ripe hawthorn at the end of the season, hanging loosely on our backpacks. Occasionally we would stop, take a few fruits to dip in chili salt as a snack, and if we got a sour one, the whole group could only stick out our tongues and laugh. Those tiny joys became the most memorable moments of the trip. I walked so slowly that I reached the hut when it was already dark, and came down the mountain too late. One of the younger members teased, "Hey, why are you walking so slowly when you've climbed before?" I just smiled.

Perhaps only those who have experienced injury, who thought they would never return to the mountains, can understand that feeling. For me now, every step is a precious opportunity. I no longer want to walk fast to reach the destination, but just want my body to remain healthy and peaceful so I can return to the forests, the slopes, and the sea of clouds many more times.

These past years have brought many changes for me, not without difficulties and pressures. But looking back, my family and I are still healthy, the people I love are still safe, I still have work to strive for every day, and I am still trusted and loved by my clients. Just that alone makes me feel very lucky. Now I no longer care too much about whether I should walk fast or slow. Because perhaps, when growing up, what is valuable is not arriving at the destination sooner than others, but still having the strength to keep walking, still having the opportunity to admire the beautiful things along the journey, and being grateful for everything I have.

It's okay to be a little slow, as long as I am still moving forward and my heart still beats with the beauty of the mountains.