Still about shoes

I remember when I was first grade, the fashion among my 7-8 year old crowd were them kung foo shoes: you know, the black felt ones that had a strap and buckle that fastened on the outer side of the foot? They were adorable! At least I thought they were. And they looked so comfortable. Most of my classmates had them. Some of them were making plans to buy theirs in the middle of the year.

Me? I had on those chunky-looking boys' shoes.

I pleaded my mother to get me those shoes, but she wouldn't hear of it. "Your shoes fit you. They look fine. They're matibay. They won't wear out easily. So stop asking me to buy you another pair you don't need."

Matibay. That was a death sentence. That meant walking around in those horrendous flaps of leather for the next nine months. There was nothing I could do. I was brought up by a mother who sported the philosophy "When I say no, I mean NO!" and "makuha ka sa isang tingin!" Which simply meant that no amount of whining, pouting and tantum-throwing will gt you anythng--except perhaps a spanking.

So with a heavy heart, I bowed my head, let the tears run down my face and my lower lip hang, as i trudged off to school in my heavy leather loafers.

I watched my classmates run around the hall ways in their kung foos. They seemed so light, like they were perpetually frolicking and soaring through the playground. I watched them run around, kick their feet high up in the air on a swing, jump into the sandboxes and out again, all in one breath. I promised myself then, that when I got the chance, I would only buy the shoes I wanted, and I would never buy those boy shoes again. I did not want to be in something prescribed for me. I wanted to be in a pair of shoes that made me feel pretty and light and free.

I wanted to be free. Free from those heavy leather shoes with their heavy rubber soles and the way the hard leather cut into the skin of my feet. I wanted to be free to choose what I wanted. And I wanted to choose my own shoes.

Now that I can afford to do that, I made sure I bought shoes that gave me neither cuts nor corns. I made sure my toes could breathe and the back side of my foot would be free from those dark peeling callouses . I made sure they were pretty and sexy and pointy and colorful. Most of all I made sure they made me feel good, they gave me freedom, they allowed me to be me.

But I soon realized there was another price to pay for all these.