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One the morning of interview-day, I was offered a Hobson’s choice by my Father: take Metro Bus rather than the only family-car. Brisk-walking towards the entrance of the metro station, I saw the bus approaching the stop. I switched to jogging as my mind, out of nowhere, said to me “your interview would be a disaster if you don’t catch this bus!”. The bus arrived a few seconds earlier than I did but its doors were still open. The driver had probably seen me running and waited until I was at the door only to close it on my face and drive away. Trying to pay no heed to what just happened, I waited impatiently for the next bus which arrived sooner than I had expected.

The journey started while I held on to a rusty pole in the narrow aisle of a jam packed bus. A tween started crying whose shriek pierced through my eardrums. Few seats ahead, two aged gentlemen argued to claim the seat reserved for senior citizens. The one who appeared relatively younger refused to give up seat by saying “Tery baap ki umar ka hoo, sharm kar!” (“I’m as old as your dad, have some shame!”). Amidst all this, a Bollywood song of 1990s started playing which turned out to be a ringtone of a cellphone whose owner picked up and started talking. Soon, the talking turned into shouting as the caller tried to resolve a family dispute over the phone call. A few moments later, the bus suddenly came to a halt and everyone collided with one another. Just then, the man in front of me turned back and said, “kaana hai?” (“Are you blind?”). Like a good and peace-loving citizen, I replied, “Sorry Bhaijaan'' as the “Bhaijaan'' was a choleric 6 ft. tall and muscular guy with a long and firm mustache. “Hato rasta dou” (“Get aside, give way!”), said another voice. Among all this commotion, I heard a faint yet soothing pre-recorded feminine voice calling out the name of the station I was supposed to get out.

These were the sentiments I felt during those seemingly endless hours of walking in an intrinsically known but practically undisclosed place: frustration, exhaustion and dizziness. Tired as I was, my body urged me to stop climbing but the words of my father resonated in my mind, “Never give in! Never give in...And go the last mile!” Nevertheless, I was pushed to my limit of endurance.

It was during those summer holidays that it all happened after my CIE O-level examinations when I went to Azad Jammu and Kashmir, my birthplace, with my parents as they needed to cast their votes in the Elections. “Peer Samari,” a place relatively unknown and an off-beaten track with stretches of lush green and many miles of continuous hike in the zigzag and undulating tracks, was our destination. Only young, physical and enthusiasts dare to join the corps going there as anything unexpected can happen in the absence of some basic facilities-radio signals for communication, road and medical assistance. Prior to the cause, my parents were reluctant to grant me permission for this voyage but my explanations of the cause, somehow, made me a valid argument and, finally, when my father knew that one of my uncle is also in the leaders of the unit, he allowed me to nail this task.

At 4:00 in the morning, we were woken up by the leaders in our watches, urging us to quickly pack up our essentials and prepare for the long journey ahead. By 5:00 am, the volunteers were all lined up neatly under the bottom of the summit with food and water. The day`s journey had begun. The air was buzzing with excited sequels and cheers as we pedaled up from the campsite. Leaders set up our movement in a particular formation-every hiker was given a numbered position with one of leaders at the front and back of line, who kept the entire squad in motion. Responsibility of the distributed workload was astonishing while the disciplinary and teamwork skills were worth to observe.

Just a short while after setting off, as we moved up the hill, I started to catch my breath. It was not like what I anticipated it to be: a short period of exhaustion; it was unbearable that lasted the whole journey. Every step I took was like a punch in my stomach making me feel like throwing up while the cold sweat trickled down my forehead and the tears of frustration actually streamed down my face and the worst thing was there was no stopping until the guide-my uncle-says so. I signaled him for a break, which he rejected right away and told me to move on. The situation, finally, was ameliorated shortly after when we reached the apex of heaven-touching nirvana quiet terrain and had a break there. Sitting beside me, my uncle offered me some water. He said in a cryptic way that the formula of life is as simple as this hike uphill: one must work hard and challenge his limits to move up the ladder of life otherwise one will find oneself below others. Developing a connection between his statement and hike took me some time but when I did, I lost the reason to complain him for not stopping earlier and, eventually, it gave me the strength to carry on this hike further.

By pre-planning, this trek was held in this particular season when there was no mist, so we had a vast vision of sky-piercing mountains shrouded in the ghost-green jungle. The contentment with nature was epitomized under the sparkling moonlight accompanied by the spikes of thin light of countless stars. The dinner that night was cosmic. This satisfaction with nature helped me in better understanding of the world around me and the curiosity of this glorious vision led me to my career selection of petroleum engineering: a field of study in which exploration and production of products of this vast earth is carried out.