However, at that time, I really believed that we would make it together. The thing was, it didn’t work out, and the trip to Tibet, together with other promises, became something that we could never mention anymore.

    But I still wanted to go to that place, in fact, more than ever. I did not want to give it up and decided to do it myself. Tibet was not only a promise to each other but one I made to myself long ago. I needed to prove to myself that even without the other one, I could still do it. If I just kept this dream on the mouth this time, then every dream I might have later would all end up like this unfinished trip. Till then, Tibet was not only a dream, but rather a faith to me.

    I was going to Tibet.

    I bought the cheapest ticket and took the train down the Qinghai-Tibet Railway to Lhasa, altogether 56 hours, sitting. It was extremely tiring but I had nothing to complain about compared to the real pilgrims walking and kneeling to Lhasa. The scenery outside the window along the railway was picturesque — the emerald of Qinghai Lake, the dark gray of Hoh Xil, the aqua blue of the sky on the plateau, the crystal white of the glacier and the khaki brown of the grassland around Nagqu Prefecture. I felt a bit afraid. After so many years, finally, I was going to my dreamland and I was so afraid that maybe this place was not the same as I had imagined and this journey might end in disappointment.

    Altitude sickness caught me right out of the Lhasa Railway Station. I had to lay in bed for three whole days before I could walk on the street. It’s a bit ironic, like you’re trying hard to open a door, but finally you realized you’re using the wrong key. On the fourth day, I managed to go out to see the sacred Potala Palace. That was a cloudy day, with sharp sudden hail in the afternoon. The palace was not as solemn under the gray sky as it looked in pictures. But it’s really splendid and grand. I could see the marks left through hundreds of years, the mottled paint outside, the renewed wall and the dark old color of the wood. All of this just reflected its struggles and endurance through changes in history.

    At the foot of the palace, I saw some pilgrims. Their faces were rugged and dirty, but their eyes were pure and solemn, gazing at Potala Palace. Their clothes had turned into ragged cloth with holes here and there, especially on the knees and elbows. I watched them kneel down, bend their backs, touch the ground with their heads and then grovel down on the ground, murmuring something only the Buddha could hear. They were praying on the side of a busy street but nothing seemed to distract them, like they were actually in another world, a world that’s filled with Buddha’s light and blessings. The looks on their faces were nothing but determined. Standing there and watching all of them, suddenly I thought I understand what kind of faith they had, but I didn’t know how to describe it. That feeling was like you were looking for some place for a long time, for so long that you didn’t even know where you were; then suddenly, you realize, from the bottom of your heart, you were there, in the middle of it.

    I did not stay in Lhasa for much longer, nor did I go to see the Himalayas or Lake Nam. I left the next day for Nepal. To be honest, I did not see much of Lhasa but I found what I was looking for — a new belief. Tibet used to be a beacon to me, a destination I was running toward, an answer I tried so hard to find. But when I was really standing on the ground in Tibet, I came to know that it was not the destination of my dream, it was a beginning of a journey extending to somewhere I could not foresee.