Birthday at 4700 Metres
On the 7th of March, at Thangnag, 4700 metres above sea level, I quietly turned a year older. It was our acclimatisation day and we had spent most of it out on the slopes, adjusting to the altitude in the sharp, dry air. The landscape was stripped of all clutter. Snowfields stretched into silence and the only thing that marked time was the movement of light on the mountains. I hadn’t expected anything. At that altitude, you think only of breath and warmth.
We returned to the lodge in the late afternoon, legs heavy and minds subdued. Pasang Sherpa behenyi was waiting. She had made a cake. Not a real cake of course. She had carefully stacked pancakes and layered them with strawberry jam. That was it. Just pancakes and jam. But I don’t think I have ever been more moved by a gesture. It wasn’t about the ingredients. It was the intention. The effort. The simple, quiet kindness of someone who had known me only a few days.
There was a candle. Pema smiled in that steady, grounding way he always does. I sat there, at the edge of the world, surrounded by people who owed me nothing, and yet gave me something so beautiful. A moment that felt pure and unscripted.
And in that moment I realised the contrast. So many old friends, people I had shared years with, couldn’t type even two words on a screen. Yet here, with strangers who had become something more, I found a kind of celebration that was sincere and deeply human.
My brothers, Kenneth Lim, Pema Dorjee Sherpa dai, Pasang Sherpa, Gi, Gelbu Sherpa thank you. That evening will stay with me. I’ve taken my time to write this because, to be honest, I’ve felt overwhelmed since coming back from Nepal. The memories of our Mera Peak climb have kept me going, especially on days that felt grey and heavy. I was in the process of changing jobs, changing industries from private-corporate to public service, changing cities, changing states and moving from Sydney. The induction exams and interviews, and the stress of it all took its toll on me. I felt unsettled, alone. There was something about that pancake cake at altitude that reminded me how real connections do not need grand gestures or long histories. Sometimes it’s just a spoonful of jam and a shared smile at the top of the world.
Life has a way of teaching us its most important lessons when we’re least prepared to receive them. At 4700 metres, with thin air burning my lungs and the weight of too many changes pressing down on my shoulders, I discovered that home isn’t a place, it’s the warmth of people who see you, really see you, and choose to care anyway. In that moment, surrounded by pancakes and jam and the quiet glow of a single candle, I understood that the deepest connections often bloom in the most unexpected soil.
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