A file photo showing a block of the Laban Rata hostel that was damaged during the June 5, 2015, quake in Mount Kinabalu.
IT was the morning of June 5, 2015. I was still asleep when my bed began to shake.
At first, I thought it was my niece jumping on the mattress. But when I turned, no one was there.
Moments later, the tremors returned – stronger this time, enough to set off car alarms outside.
Something was clearly wrong.
I grabbed my phone. Facebook lit up with posts from others who had felt the same. My thoughts immediately turned to Mount Kinabalu. If this was an earthquake, what about the climbers?
Without hesitation, I called a friend. We drove straight to Kundasang – the epicentre of what would become Malaysia’s deadliest quake in recent memory.
The 6.0-magnitude earthquake claimed 18 lives, left 137 climbers stranded and sent shockwaves – both literal and emotional – across the nation.
I’d only expected a day trip. I was in a cardigan, t-shirt, jeans and sandals. But as the situation unfolded – trapped climbers, relentless aftershocks, whispers of casualties – I knew I had to stay.
Chan (right) and the writer managed a selfie after a day of hard work.
I had no change of clothes. Just a gym bag in the car with a t-shirt, tracksuit, socks and trainers. That was my wardrobe for the next few days.
Kinabalu Park’s drop-off point became our makeshift media centre. Journalists scattered – some heading to villages to speak with grieving families, others waiting at Timpohon Gate, the only route to the summit.
I was reporting solo for an online portal, working through the cold, chaos and aftershocks.
Thankfully, I wasn’t alone for long.
Julia Chan from Malay Mail Online arrived later. We teamed up – two solo reporters, now a duo in the thick of it.
“I woke up on the sixth floor of my condo to see my ceiling lamp swaying,” Julia recalled. “I filed a quick story, packed a shirt and my laptop, and headed straight to Kundasang.”
We had little – just phones, laptops and the resolve to report.
“It was tough at first. We were solo reporters among big media teams. Limited Internet, limited updates.
“But by day two, once the media centre was set up, it got easier to manage, we had access to victim lists and rescue updates,” Chan said.
Still, the emotional toll was heavy.
“It was very, very sad to see such young victims. I remember constantly reminding myself to compartmentalise. I think on the last day, before I left, I broke down in front of one of the tribute pillars. Maybe from grief, maybe exhaustion.”
It was a steep learning curve.
“At first, we panicked at every aftershock. Eventually, we just shrugged them off like lightning. It taught me resilience,” Chan said.
She even carried a travel mascot – a stuffed giraffe named Travel Geoffrey – for comfort.
By day three, I was desperate for warmer clothes. I stumbled upon a thrift shop in Kundasang and found two jackets, some shirts and trousers. A tiny stroke of luck in the middle of chaos.
My colleague today, Stephanie Lee, had her own earthquake story. She was in Kundasang on a family holiday.
Jolted awake by the tremors and the sound of falling rocks, she knew exactly what was happening — she’d lived through an earthquake in New Zealand.
‘Travel Geoffrey’ peeping at Chan doing work.
She woke her family. From their homestay in Mesilou, they saw rocks tumbling off Mount Kinabalu.
Guests were crying, some praying aloud, and most of us just stood there, phones in hand, trying to figure out what had happened.
The quake lasted 30 seconds. But it changed everything.
Among the 18 victims were four heroic mountain guides: Robbi Sapinggi, Valerian Joannes, Ricky Masirin and Joseph Solungin. They died helping others get to safety.
The other victims: 10 Singaporean students, two Malaysians, one Japanese and one Chinese national.
Stephanie, torn between family and duty, chose to stay and report.
“As long as I was with my husband and son, I thought it would be all right,” she said.
In those early hours, it wasn’t government agencies but malim gunung, the mountain guides, who reached the stranded climbers first. Risking their lives, they brought people down the mountain they knew like the back of their hands.
Their bravery highlighted both the country’s unpreparedness – and its potential.
The quake became a turning point. Emergency protocols were strengthened. MOSAR, the Mountain Search and Rescue Team, was formed, with malim gunung at its core. Training and rescue drills became standard.
“It was a wake-up call. We now realise the importance of disaster training – even for children. Just like in Japan or Taiwan,” Stephanie said.
A decade has passed, but the memory hasn’t faded.
I don’t have many photos – but everything is etched in my mind.
What was meant to be a simple day trip became a two-week assignment. I returned home briefly, then came back to Kundasang, this time fully prepared.
That old cardigan and the thrift-shop jacket? I still keep them. Not for warmth, but as a reminder: even when the world shakes, small things – like warm clothes, kind strangers, and the courage to stay – can make all the difference.
And yes – I’m still friends with the thrift shop owner.
