Memories of Mongolia
When I got the chance to accompany my father on a visit to his Mongolian friends
last summer, I was over the moon with excitement. My imagination was racing with
images of horses galloping across rolling green hills and icy white stars shining
against a velvet night sky. I could already taste the succulent lamb meat and feel
the warmth of a crackling fire in a traditional Mongolian ger. I was even allowed to
bring a friend. I started packing weeks in advance and began taking horseback
lessons with my father. All was going well until just three days before the trip.
That was the day my father fell from his horse when we were practicing, shattering
his collarbone and a rib. That was also the day I sat in the back of an ambulance
for the first time, staring dully at nothing and wondering how everything could
have gone so wrong.
I had three days to decide whether to go or not. I knew that I should stay with my
father during his recovery, and I was horrified at myself for still secretly hoping to
go to Mongolia. I drifted listlessly around the house for the next two days, sadness
and guilt weighing down my footsteps. It was my father who eventually made my
decision for me. He said that since my friend and I had already paid for the plane
tickets and that his friends had spent a long time preparing for our visit, it would
be best for me to go. Thus I began the journey that would forever leave its mark
on me.
Mongolia was not exactly how I expected it to be. No one ever told me that
Mongolian horses can have very bad tempers and have the uncanny ability of
knowing exactly when to bite. Cloudy nights obscured the stars for most of the
time we were there, leaving only a few for us to see. I also learned that
Mongolian gers can house huge spiders and that summers there can get freezing
when it rains, especially during the night.
These discoveries did not stop Mongolia from casting its spell on me. I can still
feel the hooves of my horse pounding the ground beneath me as I galloped across
an endless sea of grass. The cloudy nights made a sighting of the full moon, larger
and brighter than any I had ever seen, leave me breathless. Gers do have spiders,
but they also contain warmth and laughter that fill you up from the inside,
protecting you against the cold lurking just outside. Most importantly, I could find
reminders of my father everywhere I looked.
Everything, from the horses and the traditional Mongolian food to the temporary
bathhouse had been prepared before my father’s arrival. My father’s friends treated
me like family and insisted on calling me “daughter”, saying that my father was a
brother to them. I still remember the warm smile of my father’s closest friend,
the corners of his eyes crinkling softly as he told me, “If you ever have need of
anything, just tell me. I want to do anything in my power to make my brother’s
daughter at home here.” I felt like I was learning of a new side of my father, one
that I had never bothered to think about before. This side of my father had forged
friendships deeper than I had ever experienced. I felt a sense of respect and awe,
marveling at how a mere friendship could connect complete strangers in a bond of
familial acceptance.
My trip to Mongolia was neither a dream come true nor a nightmare. Looking
back, I can say that it was a large stepping stone on my path to adulthood.
I learned to live in the moment and to cherish new experiences as they are.
I also began to reflect on my own friendships and to become a better friend.
Most importantly, I learned about a side of my father that I would never have
known about otherwise. I now refrain from taking anything for granted. Everything
and everyone has an unseen side, just waiting to be discovered by those who
dare to look.