Have you ever been slapped in the face by a mass of fluttering chickens, been chased by a gang
of pugs, or been deathly afraid of spring onions? I bet you didn’t see that coming, and there’s
more to come. My life has been a bucket list in reverse of phobias. I’m going to tell you about an
experience I’ve had which nonetheless stands out.

This incident happened during the summer break of 2011 on a family vacation to New Zealand.
Summer in Hong Kong was winter in New Zealand, and I’ll never forget how stunned I was by
the natural landscape so far south on Earth. At that time, I was only four. Now, maybe you don’t
believe I would remember a crisis from such a young age. Surely I had no worries, then, right?
But that’s why I was unprepared for what happened to me - and us. The first week of the vacation was smooth. We stayed at a family friend’s farm. I clearly remember snuggling in front of the blazing fireplace with a warm cup of hot chocolate, it’s head a fluffy white cloud of
marshmallows. I loved the sight of huge flocks of unique kiwi birds, migrating over the endless Pacific for the season.

I remember waking up one morning, finding myself waving the sheeps goodbye. We had to head
to Queenstown. The snow beneath my foot was so thick that it crunched with every step, like
diamonds in a bucket. The car ride was extremely chaotic and uncomfortable, bumped and
buffeted along by the snowstorm. My grandpa was sitting next to the driver’s seat, directing my
dad with the GPS in his hands. Behind them were my grandma and my mom. They sat calmly on
their shaky seats, expertly peeling oranges on a huge napkin for all of us, whilst sharing
household tips. I sat in the last row, between my brother and my cousin. Beneath the din of the
drive and the howling wind, I could just about hear the buzzing voices of a weather report on the
car stereo.

We unsuspectingly wound our way up a mountain slope. What we didn’t realize was that one did
not drive just like that up this mountain - we were supposed to attach snow chains onto the
wheels of our cars, because once we climbed up onto the plateau, our car was stuck in the thick
snow. We were alone, on the top of an unfamiliar snow mountain, with no service. Our engine
needed to stay turned on, it was our only heat source left. But in less than two hours, it gave out. The next few hours would be the most terrifying of my life, as, stuck in the rock, surrounded by the beautiful white hell, we had no idea how to get back down. There was no help to call. All we could do, it seemed, was to sit inside our slowly freezing car.

The clock was ticking, we knew we couldn’t stay there any longer. So my dad did what every
responsible dad would do. He turned his body towards the rest of us and bent down reaching for
his black dawn jacket on the floor. Silently, he gently threw the jacket over his shoulders and
zipped it up. My dad took a deep breath, turned back around, pressed his pale, white lips against
each other, then looked each one of us in the eye.

“I’m going to walk down this mountain and look for help. You guys stay here. If something
happens, know that I love you.” Despite the firm, brave voice of my dad, it was obvious fear
undertook.

“Please stay safe,” my mom whispered as she put her hand on top of his.

“I will.”

“Promise me?”

“Promise. Love you guys!” And then like that, my dad pushed open the car door. The six heads in
the car watched as the distant figure disappeared. Apart from prayers my mom muttered, the car
was silent, like the pitch dark night.

We were ultimately found and towed back down the slope by a kiwi family. If they had not found
us, I dread to think of what would have happened next. Although this incident occurred nine
years ago, I can still feel the fear and hopelessness, when I think about it. It has not only taught
me to always persevere even during tough times, but it has also enhanced my trust in God.