Heights

Rating:	★★★★★
Category:	Other

lost and found
by Jeneen R. Garcia
published in June 2004

In commemoration of the fourth year anniversary of lost & found, I am posting the eight essays that were published pre-Multiply. As it happens, these essays are also among my favorites so far :) Another post-break-up piece haha ;)

My father, he loves taking the elevator to the highest floor of the building. Any building. Almost as if it were a pledge, to view the world from the highest places he can find. He even has the distinction of getting his jacket blown off from the top of the World Trade Center, at a time when it was the tallest building on Earth.

As the eldest, and with the personality most similar to his, I think I’ve sort of picked up this peculiarity. I’ve scaled dozens of floors on my own, on various types of elevators, in hotels and corporate towers, out of habit, just to get a glimpse of the view from above. But my obsession with heights has developed its own twist.

Ever since high school, I have constantly dared myself to jump or dive head-first from the highest posssible heights without breaking my legs. Or my head. Of course, that means leaping not off buildings, but off cliffs or waterfalls into river, sea or lagoon. Because I like to travel, I’ve done it all across the country. My list of been-there, jumped-off-that is chalked up in my mind. I’ve had quite a number of near-hits, too, like that time I slipped off a waterfall in a mountain in Pampanga before I could poise myself to dive. There was a boulder at the bottom, and onlookers said they were just waiting for the water to turn red with my blood.

After college, I stopped doing it for awhile. I’m all grown up now, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone with cheap stunts, I told myself. But it was really fear, I knew, those moments I dared to be honest with myself. I was afraid to push myself further, to literally scale to new heights.

Recently I’ve taken up the challenge again. On my last trip, in Siquijor, I dove twice from a waterfall and jumped off a cliff into a brilliant, emerald sea. It hurt every time, I must say. Still I don’t understand why I do it.

Perhaps it’s how heights fascinate and terrify me at the same time, what one philosopher calls mysterium tremendum et fascinans. Staring below into what feels like infinity, it’s more than gravity that pulls me down, seducing me to take the leap. It’s an act of utter faith, stepping out into pure air, knowing there is nothing more you can do but let whatever must happen happen to you. For someone like me who’s used to making sure everything in my life is under control, there are many things more frightening than entrusting my body to the water below. Like my future to fate and circumstance. Like my heart to another human being as imperfect as I am. Like my words and feelings to people who may or may not care less about what I have to say.

One thing I know, though: the older I get, the harder it is for me to just let go and embrace the seeming nothingness of mid-air. A moment’s hesitation results into several minutes’ delay, or no leap taking place at all. Or maybe it’s just a matter of practice. Maybe, just maybe, given enough leaps and falls, I will get the hang of trusting only in God’s hand to keep me, no matter how long I am suspended in uncertainty, whether it be several feet of chilling air, or the fascinating, terrifying freefall of being alive.