I just got back from this insane trip. Like, the kind everyone back home would brag about for years. My parents definitely already told everyone about it, how I’m so independent, finally seeing the world… typical stuff. It was a big deal. Climb this famous peak, catch the sunrise over the clouds. The whole nine yards. I sent them a bunch of pics. They loved them. My mom said I looked so happy. But honestly, the actual climb was brutal. Not like, physically impossible, but just… long. And cold. We started in the dark, headlamps bobbing, slipping on rocks. My guide kept being like, "Almost there! Think of the view!" And I was thinking, yeah, sure. Whatever. Just get me to the top so I can stop freezing my butt off. My friend, the one who convinced me to do this, she was SUPER excited. Bouncing around, like a golden retriever on espresso. Made me feel even more… flat. We finally got there. Right as the sun was breaking. And it was GORGEOUS. Seriously, like a postcard. Clouds below us, all pink and orange. Wind whipping my hair. My friend starts tearing up, saying it’s the most AMAZING thing she’s ever seen. And I stood there. Looking at it. And… nothing. No big feeling. No "I conquered the mountain!" rush. Just… it’s pretty. Okay. Can we go back down now? My toes are numb. It’s been bugging me ever since. Everyone expects this whole "life-changing experience" thing. My family especially. They push so hard for me to DO things, to achieve. This was supposed to be a HUGE one. But I just felt empty. Like, is there something wrong with me? Am I broken? All that effort for… what? A nice picture? I keep replaying it in my head, trying to find the awe, the accomplishment. But it’s just not there. Just cold hands and a pretty view. That’s it.