If there’s one thing that this trip taught me before it even started, it’s that I have this natural talent to overthink things. It’s fucking genius.

First, I worried about parking on the day. With pick up location at Glen Waverley and Glen Waverley famous for its rich Asian vibe and parking fines, there was no way I was going to risk $96 of ticket just because I went over the 5 hour time limit.

So I worried. Came up with Plan A, B, and C just to cover my bases, you know. I had a contingency plan to my contingency plan. I was anal as.

But before that, I worried if the whole booking was a scam. Almost deactivated my card because of it. Had a bit of a panic attack when I couldn’t find my invoice on the website page nor was it sent to my email. Heaved a sigh of hesitant relief when it was in my spam folder all along but freaked out again if it was, indeed, a spam for the mere fact that it landed right there.

“I’ll call them tomorrow,” I told Jeff.

Two days later, on my lunch break, I finally did.

Automated prompt. Please hold the line…

Oh shit, this can’t be good.

I only had about about five minutes left of my lunch break but I waited anyway.

A guy with an Indian-ish accent picks up my call which wasn’t really much of a comfort, no offense. But I said what I needed to say and asked if my transaction went through and if it was legit. He confirmed that it did and it was, but he also asked why I asked so I gave it to him straight up.

“I thought it was a scam,” I said sheepishly.

“Why would you think it’s a scam?” he asked. Again, with that accent I couldn’t quite put a finger on. “We’ve been in the business for more than fifteen years…”

I laid out my presumptions. Strangely, they started to sound a bit stupid, but not when you just attended a cybersecurity lecture the day before so fresh off that knowledge, my paranoia was somewhat reasonable, I reckon.

And so, all’s well that ends well. The bus that would take us to Mount Buller pulled up at the Glen Waverley Train Station Bus Stop Number 10 (even though it said 11 on the booking instructions) at 6:15 in the morning and we found free all-day parking nearby.

I don’t know why I do it to myself, to be honest. All that worrying for nothing. If anything, I should’ve worried more about whether there was still snow up there. Or better yet, about Raven having had the flu that week and was still not a hundred percent.

She was still down for it, though, so off we went.

It was about four hours of travel, one way. Outside, the sun rose through a white foggy morning that obscured the gum trees but promised a bright sunny day.

After a 30-minute bum break at Mansfield, it was another 45-minute to an hour’s drive up the mountain. The bus carefully negotiated the two-way road, made narrow because of its size. Raven got so excited looking at the dirty snow on the sides of the road as if it’s already the real thing.

“Look, Papa, look at the snow!”

Bless her heart. It doesn’t take much to impress this kid.

Mount Buller was actually quite a big area. I had only been to Mount Baw Baw and Lake Mountain and those two snow destinations pale in comparison. The main area was called ‘The Village’ where most of the tourists converge to do whatever tourists do in the snow which gave me a slight headache because I’m allergic to crowds and as a fellow tourist myself, I’m also a hypocrite.

First thing we did was eat. Jeff and I shared an overpriced steak with extra surcharge on account that it was a weekend. It was alright but it wasn’t worth it.

And as we were already in Rome, I closed my eyes and booked us an impromptu scenic chairlift ride. Because why not. You either go broke or go home.

It turned out to be the best decision ever.

I LOVED the chairlift ride. I loved the butterflies in the stomach that it gave me. The thrill of the descent that makes you hold on to the rail as you guestimate, for a split second, how high the fall would be and how much bodily damage you could possibly sustain should you manage not to hit your head on a rock and actually survive.

I think I watched too much Rescue 911 it’s giving me PTSD. Seriously.

But, yeah, morbid thoughts aside, I enjoyed the cold wind on my freezing face as I hung on to the equally cold safety steel bar with my bare hands because I didn’t want to rummage for my gloves in my bag and risk them joining the rest of the fallen gloves and water bottles down below.

The ride ended on the top of Northside mountain, where the snow was thick and soft. Even better, there wasn’t that much of a crowd. It was perfect.

The northern slopes were good for beginner ski lessons but as I’m not into that, Krisfaye and I were happy to make do sliding down the baby slopes and taking a thousand selfies because unlike the other three Filipinos nearby, we didn’t prepare a choreography for TikTok.

I watched the sun rise and set through my bus window that day. The sunset making me particularly melodramatic as it painted paddocks brown and created mirrors out of lakes.

I thought about how, as beautiful as Australia is, it can also paint a lonely landscape. Not just with the long stretches of fields dotted with silhouettes of trees, but also with the houses not dotted with lights at night. As if, at 7pm, everyone had already gone to bed.

Once again, it made me realise how precious life is. The dark night and deserted roads in the remote areas can do that to you. I played with Raven’s hair sleeping on my lap and thanked the universe for such a wonderful journey.

*Raven at 8 years old