Boundless and Unfiltered

Author: SM

  • From Everest to everyday just like Superman to Clark Kent

    It’s been a few weeks now since I returned to civilisation – to cars, noise, and people who don’t find it acceptable to trek around in the same pair of pants for days on end. Life after Everest Base Camp (EBC) has brought me a lot of things: Appreciation for flush toilets, a continued addiction to ginger-lemon-honey tea, and… a bizarre case of the blues. Apparently, this is a thing. Who knew? Certainly not me, as I was too busy congratulating myself on completing something I thought was impossible.

    For context: I am not – or rather, was not – a lifelong athlete. My fitness journey only started a few years ago, when I decided that “being able to walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing” was a worthy life goal. Fast-forward to me standing at Lobuche, the penultimate tea house stop before EBC, feeling both exhilarated and vaguely terrified because, as it turns out, not everyone makes it.

    You see, Lobuche is a kind of an emotional airport terminal. It’s where those heading to Everest cross paths with those heading back – sometimes triumphant, sometimes defeated.

    My husband Donal and I were seated there, inhaling our weight in Dal Baat and sipping yet another round of ginger-lemon-honey tea (a mountain staple that tastes like a hug in a mug), when we overheard a group of Brits discussing how altitude had cut their EBC dreams short. They weren’t the only ones. Lobuche seemed full of people who had to turn back, and as I listened to their stories, I had two realisations:

    1. Holy crap, this is actually really hard.
    2. I should probably stop taking my ability to keep going for granted.

    Suddenly, the weight of what I was doing hit me. I had been so focused on the simple act of not collapsing that I hadn’t fully processed how monumental this trek was. But there, in that tea house, the enormity of it became glaringly obvious. I felt a mix of fear (because I still had another day to go) and pride (because, hey, I’d made it this far!). And when I did finally reach EBC, it felt like I’d gained a superpower a shiny, glorious badge of “You did the thing!”

    But now, back home, I’m feeling like Superman post-Kryptonite exposure. That superpower? Gone. I’ve traded the thrill of mountain air and heart-pounding summits for the humdrum of emails, grocery shopping, and trying not to murder my houseplants. It’s like I’ve reverted to Clark Kent mode – glasses on, blending into the crowd, just another person with a Garmin and a to-do list.

    Don’t get me wrong; my life is wonderful. It’s rich and fulfilling in all the ways that matter. But once you’ve had a taste of flying, walking around on solid ground feels, well, a bit meh. I miss that soaring feeling – the metaphorical cape flapping behind me as I pushed my limits, one step at a time.

    So here I am, back in the ordinary, dreaming of the extraordinary – dreaming of climbing mountains and of feeling invincible again. And while I can’t go back to the Himalayas tomorrow (mostly because my bank account is still recovering), I know this: that superpower isn’t gone. It’s just resting, waiting for the next adventure to wake it up. For now, running is still there as a backup little superpower, keeping me grounded and giving me a small taste of that soaring feeling every morning. Until then, I’ll keep sipping my ginger-lemon-honey tea, lacing up my running shoes, and pretending my suburban streets are Himalayan trails. Because, let’s face it – once you have been Superman, the Clark Kent life is just a waiting room for your next adventure. And trust me, the cape is ready and packed.

  • The Dumpling Diaries: Why Chi Bao is my Chinese New Year Heaven

    Ah, Chinese New Year! That glorious time of year when we have a socially acceptable excuse to stuff ourselves silly with dumplings at all hours of the day (and night). Seriously, is there anything better than the annual license to indulge in these little parcels of joy? I think not.

    As a proud Melbournian, there’s one thing I hear over and over: “The best Asian food is in the south-eastern and eastern suburbs – places like Box Hill.” Now, having called various parts of Melbourne home over the last two decades and now residing in the western suburbs, I’ve got to say –this is where I wave my chopsticks in disagreement.

    Enter Chi Bao in Yarraville. This unassuming spot, hidden in the now-trendy streets of Yarraville, is a masterclass in understated excellence. But let’s not get caught up in labels – Chi Bao is all about one word: consistency. It’s understated, humble, and consistently knocks it out of the park with its food, especially those mouthwatering dumplings.

    The Dumpling love affair

    Let’s start with the showstopper: The Xiao long bao. These soft, pillowy soup dumplings are tiny pockets of pure joy. If you’ve ever struggled with the delicate art of eating them without a volcanic eruption of soup, you’re not alone. Shoutout to Anthony Bourdain for teaching us the ropes – poke a little hole, let it cool, and then savor that heavenly mix of broth, chilli, and vinegar before devouring the dumpling itself. It’s a ritual, really, and one that leaves you craving the next dumpling immediately after the first.

    But Chi Bao doesn’t stop at soup dumplings. Their menu is a parade of deliciousness – chilli dumplings, wontons, and a variety of other Eastern delights that you don’t need to fully understand to enjoy. You just need to eat. And eat. And eat.

    Chilli oil: The Dumpling’s soulmate

    Let’s talk about chilli oil – the MVP of the dumpling world, what turns a great dumpling, into a magnificent dumpling. The perfect yin to the dumpling yang. Chi Bao’s chilli oil is the perfect blend of heat and flavor, a spicy sidekick that takes your dumpling experience from delightful to downright divine. It’s the kind of chilli oil that lingers in your memory long after the last dumpling is gone, teasing you to come back for more.

    Service with quiet confidence

    Now, onto the service. Friendly? Absolutely. Attentive? Definitely. But what I love most is their quiet confidence. Honestly, I’ve been there so many times they could probably recite my order in their sleep, but they still treat every visit like it’s the first. No over-the-top theatrics, just a gentle nod and a warm smile. It’s the kind of service that makes you feel welcomed but never overwhelmed – a delicate balance that Chi Bao nails every time.

    The trifecta of happiness

    In a world where consistency is often underrated, Chi Bao shines. They’ve perfected the holy trinity of dumpling delight: Delicious dumplings, killer chilli oil, and impeccable service. It’s simple, really – ‘consistency’ is the new ‘perfect’.

    So, as the Year of the Snake kicks off, you’ll find me at Chi Bao, indulging in my favourite tradition of all: Dumplings, dumplings, and more dumplings. Happy eating, and may your year be as satisfying as that first bite of a perfectly crafted Xiao long bao!

    Restaurant website: https://www.chibao.com.au

  • Embracing my inner nerd: A lifelong journey through comics and beyond

    As a kid, my happiest place was a world made of ink and paper. No, it wasn’t an alternate universe (well, kinda), but the vibrant, heart-pounding world of comics. Picture this: a mountain of snacks (or fruit, depending on my mood), a towering stack of comics taller than me, and me, happily diving into stories of Tintin, Marvel, DC, and Disney. I was set for hours – sometimes even days –living my best life in a world where adventure, danger, and heroism were just a page-turn away. It was my perfect escape, and honestly? I didn’t need anything or anyone else.

    But here’s the twist –this love for comics didn’t just fade with time. It grew, evolved and transformed. As an adult I find myself more than often on the hunt for those rare, vintage editions tucked in quaint little book shops that you might miss if you blinked. Nothing like those hidden gems that are near impossible to find. It’s not just about the paper and ink anymore; it’s about the deep connection to the stories and characters. From Star Wars to Star Trek, these worlds have become a lens through which I view life itself.

    Comics aren’t just escapes, they’re life lessons

    Now, let me tell you something: Comics aren’t just a distraction. They are life coaches in disguise. If Batman and Superman can drop their egos and team up, then surely I can get along with the people who drive me a bit crazy. And who could forget Asterix and Obelix? Their relentless spirit – thanks to Getafix’s magic potion—reminds me of my own secret weapon (recently found): Running. Every step is like a dose of that magical brew, pushing me to face my fears, tackle anxiety, and crush my insecurities like a couple of Romans getting steamrolled by the duo.

    But my absolute favourites? The small, mighty heroes. Take The Wasp, for example. She’s proof that size doesn’t define strength. Then there’s The Flash. Oh, The Flash. If ever there was a hero who knows the power of speed, it’s him. And let me tell you, there are mornings during my runs, especially when I’m pushing through the 10k mark, when I feel the need for his mental speed boost. If only I could channel those lightning bolts of energy…

    And then, there’s the Joker…

    Now, brace yourself – this is where it gets interesting. We all know The Joker. That freaky smile, the one that gives you the chills and makes you laugh nervously. But here’s the thing: he’s one of the most beloved villains of all time. Why? He’s a psychopathic, nihilistic murderer, and yet –there’s something undeniably magnetic about him. I’ll never forget reading The Killing Joke – it was a game-changer. And let’s not forget Heath Ledger’s mind-bending portrayal in The Dark Knight. I mean, he brought madness and brilliance to life in a way that was equal parts haunting and poetic. The Joker is everything you should love to hate, but somehow, you can’t help but love him. Weird, right?

    Comfort in chaos, magic in the mundane

    These comics, these characters – they’re more than just entertainment. They’ve been with me through every life transition, like when I moved countries and needed something familiar to cling to. Whether it’s Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, or The Little Prince, these stories have expanded my mind and filled my heart with wonder.

    To all the brilliant creators and writers who’ve brought these worlds to life, I salute you. You’ve added the kind of magic to my life that makes every day just a little bit more interesting, a little more colorful. And embracing my nerdiness? It’s not just about loving comics and movies. It’s about celebrating the joy, wisdom, and creativity they bring into my life.

    So here’s to the nerd in me (and in you!) – the one who finds strength in superheroes, solace in stories, and a never-ending fascination with the worlds created by brilliant minds. Life is richer, more vibrant, and a lot more magical because of them. May the Force be with you, always.

  • Finding purpose in the peaks

    A few nights ago, I did what I’ve done a hundred times before – I watched 14 Peaks: Nothing Is Impossible featuring the indomitable Nims Purja. Each time I watch it, I feel this itch to live better and to the fullest, pushing me to believe that we are capable of so much more than we think. Nims didn’t just climb mountains; he shattered limits, conquering all 14 peaks over 8000 meters in record time (6 months and 6 days!). If that isn’t superhuman, I don’t know what is.

    Climbing out

    Rewind a few years, and I was in a dark place. Personal issues had me spiralling, and I remember clawing my way out, one small step at a time. Eventually, I reached a point where the darkness lifted, and I could see a positive path ahead. But something was missing – a spark, a purpose.

    Despite a fulfilling life, I felt something was amiss. Life seemed to be slipping by, leaving me merely going through the motions.

    Waking up

    Then, fate intervened. I stumbled upon 14 Peaks, and watching Nims Purja with his fearless determination and boundless ambition stirred something deep within me. It was as if he reached through the screen and handed me a lifeline – a reminder that life is short, and fleeting, death is inevitable, and there’s no time to waste – so, we must seize every moment.

    That documentary was a wake-up call, a voice screaming inside me, “WAKE UP AND START LIVING!” It reminded me of a quote from Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (an excellent read, by the way): “There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss… Clearly, it is this second part, the missing, which presents the difficulties.”

    For me, this translated into throwing myself fully into life and letting go of fear. I decided to plunge into the unknown, to say “yes” more often, and to embrace life with the same fiery passion I saw in Nims.

    Embracing the journey

    I started pushing my boundaries, meeting new people, learning new things, and saying yes to adventures I’d once shied away from. This culminated in a life-changing journey: trekking to Everest Base Camp. The experience was both, humbling and exhilarating. The mountains have a way of calming your spirit while reminding you of your insignificance. They strip away the illusion of control and ground you in the present moment.

    The present and beyond

    I will forever be grateful to Nims Purja for igniting a fire within my spirit, allowing it to take flight and soar. I dream of the day I’ll return to that snow-clad terrain, surrounded by the majestic peaks of Everest, Lhotse, and the mighty others. It’s among those towering giants that I feel closest to the divine, enveloped in pure bliss. If that’s not standing in the presence of gods, I don’t know what is.

  • The unsung elegance of 7/11 sandwiches

    Picture this: You’re hungry, on the go, and in dire need of something quick, satisfying, and, dare I say, elegant. Enter the humble yet iconic 7/11 sandwich – a culinary savior, wrapped in a tidy little package of joy. Whether you’re strolling through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, navigating Melbourne’s laneways, or waiting for a Tube in London, these little beauties are there, patiently waiting to make your day just a little better.

    Let’s take a moment to appreciate their genius.

    Elegance in Simplicity

    Unlike the chaos-inducing, hipster-approved sandwiches that seem to require a toolbelt of napkins, a mirror, and a quiet corner to consume without public embarrassment, the 7/11 sandwich is a masterclass in restraint. Wrapped pristinely in its plastic cocoon, it’s mess-free, fuss-free, and entirely drama-free. You can eat one standing, walking, commuting, or even mid-conversation without looking like you’ve just survived a food fight.

    While those Melbourne giant sandwiches boast artisanal sourdough and layers of obscure fillings, they also come with a side of existential dread. How do you even begin to tackle a sandwich the size of a small planet? No such concerns here. The 7/11 sandwich is a snack-size masterpiece that whispers, “I’ve got you,” without demanding a single paper towel in return.

    Versatility at Its Best

    Feeling peckish but not starving? Perfect, grab one. Want a full meal? Easy, grab two – or three if you’re feeling adventurous. The flavors are endless: the universally adored egg and mayo, the reliable katsu chicken, and even dessert options that cater to your sweet tooth. And because they’re perfectly portioned, there’s no guilt in sampling a few in one sitting. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

    A Global Phenomenon

    Whether you’re wandering the aisles of Lawsons in Japan, FamilyMart in Malaysia, or your local 7/11 in Melbourne, these sandwiches transcend borders and culinary traditions. They’re the quiet overachievers of convenience store snacks, delivering comfort and satisfaction no matter where you are at a very reasonable price.

    The Anti-Hipster Sandwich

    Sure, fancy sandwiches have their place, but let’s be honest: they’re high-maintenance. By the time you’ve wrangled one into your mouth, half the filling has escaped, your hands are covered in sauce, and you’re questioning every life choice that led you there. The 7/11 sandwich? Pure, unadulterated convenience. No mess, no fuss, just pure sandwich bliss.

    So next time hunger strikes, skip the artisanal chaos and head straight for your nearest 7/11. Trust me, that neatly wrapped pocket of joy will remind you that sometimes, less really is more.

    In Conclusion

    What’s not to love about 7/11 sandwiches? They’re cheap, cheerful, and always there for you—like the best kind of friend. And while Melbourne’s sandwich scene might be having a moment, I’ll take my humble egg mayo over an overpriced, oversized, and overwhelmingly messy sourdough spectacle any day.

    Because sometimes, elegance comes in small, plastic-wrapped packages.

  • Howard Roark calling: A Love letter to the Petronas Towers and the power of great architecture

    What is it about great architecture that moves us? Why does a particular structure – a seemingly lifeless arrangement of steel, glass, and concrete – spark emotions so profound they leave us breathless? This week, as I stood before the Petronas Towers for the first time, I was reminded of these questions. Love at first sight? Absolutely. The towers rise like a pair of ethereal diamonds suspended in the heavens, their symmetry and brilliance so enchanting they feel almost unreal.

    And yet, as my eyes traced their soaring lines and intricate latticework, another figure loomed large in my mind: Howard Roark.

    Yes, that Howard Roark, the brooding, brilliant architect from Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. Roark, with his steel-like resolve, is the man who shaped my view of architecture – and, let’s face it, life itself. I was a wide-eyed preteen, barely 10 or 12, when I first picked up the book. I didn’t know it then, but those opening pages would alter the course of my thinking forever.

    Roark wasn’t just a character; he was an idea made flesh. A quiet, unyielding force who saw the world through a genius lens that defied convention. His creations weren’t just buildings; they were poetry in steel and glass, unapologetically modern, and stubbornly original. Through Roark, Rand didn’t just describe architecture – she immortalized it.

    So, as I stood in the shadow of the Petronas Towers, I found myself transported back to the pages of that life-changing book. Was it Roark himself, with his unshakable individuality, who had captured my imagination? Or was it the architecture – the way Rand described it as pure, challenging, and transcendent? Perhaps it was both.

    What I do know is that Rand’s words were a revelation. Her writing was as groundbreaking as the structures she described, a miracle of philosophy and prose. She taught me to think in ways I hadn’t known were possible – to question, to push boundaries, and to embrace the pursuit of excellence, no matter the cost.

    Now, decades later, the sight of the Petronas Towers rekindled that spark. Their design – modern yet timeless, bold yet harmonious – is nothing short of magic. They reminded me of Roark’s relentless pursuit of beauty and functionality, his belief that architecture is not just about shelter but about aspiration.

    Perhaps that’s what great architecture does: it elevates us. It pulls us out of the mundane and reminds us of the heights we can reach. It’s a love letter written in steel and stone, addressed to anyone willing to look up.

    And so, as I gazed at the towers, I smiled. Howard Roark was calling again, and this time, I was ready to answer.

  • An ode to the creamy queen: Mayonnaise

    Ah, mayonnaise. That velvety elixir of life, the silky embrace of happiness, the unsung hero of my fridge. Sure, people talk about ketchup or barbecue sauce, but let’s be honest – they’re mere jesters in the condiment court. Mayonnaise is the true queen, sitting regally atop her throne, ruling our taste buds with her rich, tangy reign.

    Let’s break it down: fries? Elevated. A burger? Transcendent. A salad? Transformed into a work of art. It’s not just a condiment; it’s a culinary magician. One moment, it’s a humble spread on your sandwich, the next, it’s a key ingredient in the world’s fanciest tartare sauce. Add a few capers and cornichons, and bam, you’ve got something so gourmet, even the French would applaud.

    Feeling fancy? Whisk mayonnaise with a touch of mustard and a splash of Worcestershire sauce, and suddenly your Caesar salad becomes the Beyoncé of greens. Feeling lazy? Just dollop it on some fish and chips, and you’ve got yourself a five-star meal without lifting a finger.

    Let’s not forget its versatility. Mayonnaise doesn’t discriminate. It mingles with everything and makes everything better. Need a creamy base for your coleslaw? Mayo’s got you. A secret ingredient for your cake batter? Yep, mayo works there too (Google it, I swear).

    Meanwhile, ketchup, bless its heart, just sits there, all one-dimensional and red, while mayonnaise is out here living her best life, turning up with flavors and possibilities. Mayonnaise isn’t just a condiment – it’s an attitude.

    So here’s to mayonnaise: the creamy queen of snacks, salads, and everything in between. Long may she reign!

  • Why do we crave adventures that make us question our sanity?

    Having recently completed the Everest Base Camp trek, I find myself haunted by a few burning questions: What is it about seeking risk, danger, and extreme conditions that makes us feel alive? Why do we voluntarily throw ourselves into situations where comfort is a distant memory, and sanity seems like an afterthought?

    I mean, I just spent weeks trudging through some of the most unforgiving terrain on Earth, battling subzero temperatures and the smell of my own unwashed self (we’ll get to that), and yet… here I am, already planning my next misadventure. Because apparently, climbing a mountain that doesn’t even have a shower at the end isn’t enough for me.

    Limits, Schlimits

    There’s something about pushing yourself –physically, mentally, emotionally – to the absolute brink that makes you feel more alive than ever. It’s like life pulls back the curtain and says, “Oh, so you think you’re tough? Let’s see how you handle frostbite and a desperate need for deodorant.” And somehow, you thrive.

    But it’s not just about the personal challenge. No, trekking to Everest Base Camp also brings some philosophical ah-ha moments. Like realising how hilariously insignificant you are.

    Picture this: you’re a tiny speck on a spinning rock in an infinite universe, worrying about your patchy lawn or that pimple on your chin. Meanwhile, the Himalayas don’t care. They’ve been standing tall for millions of years, laughing at us mortals and our silly little problems. It’s humbling. It’s mind-boggling. It’s also slightly offensive when you realise that, yeah, your grass or your pimple really doesn’t matter.

    The Cold, Hard Reality

    Now let’s talk about what really pushed me to my limits: the conditions.

    • Nightly temperatures: a brisk -25 to – 35°C.

    • Daytime temperatures: still very much below zero.

    • Showers: Oh wait, what showers?

    • Toilets: Let’s just call them “character-building exercises.”

    There was no warmth, no fireplaces, no heaters, no electric blankets. You’re cold? Tough luck. You layer up and pray that your thermal socks don’t betray you. I spent over a week in this freezing wilderness, realising just how little we actually need to survive. It’s the ultimate crash course in needs vs. wants.

    And honestly, I survived. We all do. Humans are surprisingly resilient creatures when there’s no other option. But let me tell you, there’s nothing like coming back to civilisation and rediscovering the joy of a heated room, a proper shower, and – bless the universe – Japanese toilets. Warm, magical, high-tech wonders. I wept.

    The Takeaway

    Adventures are amazing. They push us, challenge us, and give us a high that can’t be replicated. But let’s not kid ourselves – coming home to modern comforts is chef’s kiss.

    So, here’s my advice. Go seek adventure. Chase the treacherous paths, the lofty summits, and the questionable hygiene standards. But when it’s all said and done, embrace the soft towels, hot meals, and yes, that life-affirming button on a Japanese toilet. Because sometimes, adventure is about realising how great it feels to come home.

  • Khichdi: The alchemy of comfort

    Ah, khichdi. The golden, mushy marvel that deserves its own place in the pantheon of life’s great comforts. Not just a dish – it’s a state of being. A molten lava-like concoction of spiced rice and lentils that quietly heals and revolutionises your soul, one spoonful at a time.

    How does one exist without khichdi? Seriously, I’d like to know. Because for as long as I can remember, khichdi has been the backbone of my survival strategy. Breakup? Khichdi. Thunderstorms? Khichdi. Wallet thinner than my patience on a Monday? Khichdi. Open fridge, echoing with emptiness? Khichdi to the rescue.

    This humble, unassuming dish is the mothership we all return to when life’s chaos threatens to send us hurtling into the void. Joyful moments, too – though let’s face it, khichdi thrives in crisis situations. Like a wise maternal figure with a ladle in hand, it soothes, nurtures, and slowly nudges you back to hope, humanity, and the quiet conviction that everything will, somehow, be okay.

    And let’s talk economics here. A bowl of khichdi costs mere pennies to make, yet its worth? Absolutely priceless. It’s kitchen alchemy at its finest—turning pantry staples into a meal that feels like it was sent from the heavens. Rice, lentils, maybe a pinch of spice, and voilà! Breakfast, lunch, or dinner is sorted. Khichdi doesn’t discriminate – it’s there for you, 24/7.

    So, next time you’re teetering on the edge of existential despair (or just staring at an empty fridge), let khichdi be your guide. It’s not just food – it’s sustenance for the body, balm for the soul, and proof that sometimes, the simplest things in life are the most profound.

    Alchemy? Maybe not. Khichdi is the philosopher’s stone.

  • The sauce of life: Why sauces deserve a spot on the pedestal of culinary greatness

    Let’s be real: life without sauce is like a party without music – a sad, flavourless affair. Whether it’s the fiery zing of Hungry Jack’s spicy sauce or the velvety richness of béchamel, sauces are the glue that holds our meals together (literally, in the case of lasagna). And if you disagree, well, I suggest we settle this over a very dry, gravy-less roast.

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Aren’t sauces just condiments in fancier clothes?” Wrong. Sauces are an art form, a philosophy, dare I say, a religion. The French understood this when they crowned béchamel, espagnole, velouté, tomato, and hollandaise as the mother sauces. Not “aunt” or “second cousin twice removed” sauces – MOTHER sauces. That’s the level of respect we’re talking about here.

    Take the English roast for example. A quintessential classic, yes, but without gravy? It’s just a collection of well-intentioned ingredients looking for purpose. It’s a team with no coach. A symphony with no conductor. The gravy, my friends, is the soul of the roast. It turns a plate of meat and potatoes into a full-on experience.

    And let’s not forget the unsung heroes of the sauce world – those little packets from fast-food joints. Who among us hasn’t dunked a fry into a suspiciously orange sauce and thought, “This is what happiness tastes like”? Hungry Jack’s spicy sauce could probably broker peace treaties if given the chance.

    But sauces aren’t just about taste. Oh no. They’re a lifestyle. A philosophy. A declaration to the world that you demand better from your meals. That you won’t settle for “meh” when “magnificent” is just a drizzle away.
    So, to all the sauce sceptics out there, I say this: embrace the sauce. Let it runneth over your roasts, drizzle down your burgers, and smother your pasta. Because life is short, and meals without sauce are just… sad.

    In conclusion: sauces maketh the meal. They maketh the experience. Heck, they maketh me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some béchamel to perfect.