Part 1. Realization.
Two days ago it happened again. I woke up in a dream that was bugging me for almost two months. I was again in the middle of nowhere. Amidst these huge and small boulders that somehow comprises who i am now. In a place where I can find that little peace i yearn from day to day struggles. This is my sanctuary. My little piece of paradise. My own playground.
I am somebody here.
I am a boulderer. I climb those little rocks. Sweated, bled and will die to keep on climbing them. Maybe im a bit melodramatic about dying but that's the way it is for me. Bouldering is my passion, life and the food of my soul. In fact, It is what keeps me from running away from everything else in my life. It's the biggest detail of who i am. In fact, it is Me.
This place is heaven.
The place never ceases to amaze me. It's simply beyond my capability to describe it in words fit for a place like this. I've yet to learn the vocabulary for it. There are times when i am away from it for too long that i often forget the magic and ecstasy i feel everytime i'm here. And everytime i come back, it never fails to make me feel a little ashamed of ever forgetting what this place really means to me. The world is really a beautiful place. If you only know how to see it in a way others do.
Bouldering is an art.
Yes i like arts. Any medium, anything others consider as art. I like to think of myself as a frustrated wannabe-artist. Someone who appreciates arts but never had the talent or skill to create anything like it. Im a left-brainer, if there is such a word like that. Hell, i grew up dreaming of becoming a pilot, an architect, scientist and finally a chance to be an engineer. Technical stuff and the like. But i never did. Fucked it all up big time. Had your chance. Sayonara smartass! Now i'm no one, just a boulderer who struggles to stay alive, to keep on climbing and still is lost. Lost along the way. Even if there's a glimmer of light towards the horizon, i dont have the slightest idea where it's leading me. Only knew i'm a boulderer, who believes he can take everything life throws into his path. Who believes he still got so many things to do and so much more to give.
As i stare on my latest project. It's a problem consisting of a few crimpy moves to the top of this somewhat dingy but solid boulder. A powerful lay-back from an open crimp to a side to side bidoigt/crimp to the right with bad footsies for a start. Then to a micro sidepull with your left before throwing to a crimp a foot from the bidoigt/crimp. Then a few more moves on crimp before manteling to the top. I'm tired, fingers and core muscles screaming for blood. I sat contemplating on the crashpad. It must have been a "monaliza picture" of me if someone takes a picture of it right that moment. Sitting there with boulders and friends around me, it suddenly hit me. What i'm doing is an art. And i don't care what others might think if they heard me say it out loud. They can laugh or agree with it. I won't give a damn. Now i finally realized the true beauty of what i love to do. Bouldering is an art. It's like composing a song when you're conceiving the moves of a problem. It's like stroking a brush on a painting when you're up doing those moves in a manner that it's got to be precise or you can't pull it off. Its like performance art when you're in it connecting those moves in graceful or explosive way like an actor on stage. And like any medium, it can be frustrating somehow. Like what im feeling now. Like an artist, a boulderer must be motivated to create something like a sculpture or a problem. Also, you got to be honed by experience and yes, the talent and skill to unlock and sent a project. Like a photographer with countless photographs under his belt. If you can't stick a move, you either lack mental, emotional or physical strength like an artist in a fit of depression. These realizations smacked me right in the face. I am what i always yearned to be. You must be an artist to create something meaningful out of the ordinary. It was written all over the rock, this is a piece of artwork. It has its own composition, its own story and its own meaning.
I am a boulderer. I am an artist in my own right. And i don't care.
Laughing and truly having fun. I relish what peace my passion is giving me. It's not everyday i have the opportunity to experience this. Somehow i need to get back to the real world. I can't run away from it. And i will not. Well, i know i cant send this problem today. As i take a drag from my cigarette, i calmly told myself, at least you gave everything you can. There can always be tomorrow for it to yield to you.
I am somebody here.
I am a boulderer. I climb those little rocks. Sweated, bled and will die to keep on climbing them. Maybe im a bit melodramatic about dying but that's the way it is for me. Bouldering is my passion, life and the food of my soul. In fact, It is what keeps me from running away from everything else in my life. It's the biggest detail of who i am. In fact, it is Me.
This place is heaven.
The place never ceases to amaze me. It's simply beyond my capability to describe it in words fit for a place like this. I've yet to learn the vocabulary for it. There are times when i am away from it for too long that i often forget the magic and ecstasy i feel everytime i'm here. And everytime i come back, it never fails to make me feel a little ashamed of ever forgetting what this place really means to me. The world is really a beautiful place. If you only know how to see it in a way others do.
Bouldering is an art.
Yes i like arts. Any medium, anything others consider as art. I like to think of myself as a frustrated wannabe-artist. Someone who appreciates arts but never had the talent or skill to create anything like it. Im a left-brainer, if there is such a word like that. Hell, i grew up dreaming of becoming a pilot, an architect, scientist and finally a chance to be an engineer. Technical stuff and the like. But i never did. Fucked it all up big time. Had your chance. Sayonara smartass! Now i'm no one, just a boulderer who struggles to stay alive, to keep on climbing and still is lost. Lost along the way. Even if there's a glimmer of light towards the horizon, i dont have the slightest idea where it's leading me. Only knew i'm a boulderer, who believes he can take everything life throws into his path. Who believes he still got so many things to do and so much more to give.
As i stare on my latest project. It's a problem consisting of a few crimpy moves to the top of this somewhat dingy but solid boulder. A powerful lay-back from an open crimp to a side to side bidoigt/crimp to the right with bad footsies for a start. Then to a micro sidepull with your left before throwing to a crimp a foot from the bidoigt/crimp. Then a few more moves on crimp before manteling to the top. I'm tired, fingers and core muscles screaming for blood. I sat contemplating on the crashpad. It must have been a "monaliza picture" of me if someone takes a picture of it right that moment. Sitting there with boulders and friends around me, it suddenly hit me. What i'm doing is an art. And i don't care what others might think if they heard me say it out loud. They can laugh or agree with it. I won't give a damn. Now i finally realized the true beauty of what i love to do. Bouldering is an art. It's like composing a song when you're conceiving the moves of a problem. It's like stroking a brush on a painting when you're up doing those moves in a manner that it's got to be precise or you can't pull it off. Its like performance art when you're in it connecting those moves in graceful or explosive way like an actor on stage. And like any medium, it can be frustrating somehow. Like what im feeling now. Like an artist, a boulderer must be motivated to create something like a sculpture or a problem. Also, you got to be honed by experience and yes, the talent and skill to unlock and sent a project. Like a photographer with countless photographs under his belt. If you can't stick a move, you either lack mental, emotional or physical strength like an artist in a fit of depression. These realizations smacked me right in the face. I am what i always yearned to be. You must be an artist to create something meaningful out of the ordinary. It was written all over the rock, this is a piece of artwork. It has its own composition, its own story and its own meaning.
I am a boulderer. I am an artist in my own right. And i don't care.
Laughing and truly having fun. I relish what peace my passion is giving me. It's not everyday i have the opportunity to experience this. Somehow i need to get back to the real world. I can't run away from it. And i will not. Well, i know i cant send this problem today. As i take a drag from my cigarette, i calmly told myself, at least you gave everything you can. There can always be tomorrow for it to yield to you.
posted by boybi sarmiento at 10:36 PM
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