Three-Inch Heels

In recent news (in particular, news that probably only I care about), well, remember those mesmeric gold pumps that were beckoning and enticing me to buy them three weeks ago? Well, they’re finally home, safe in the arms (and shoe rack) of their Mum, mingling with new-found friends from Italy to Bangkok to Divisoria. Yes, I finally have them, along with the accompanying cork. Am I ecstatic? Oh yeah! I may finally enjoy all that sophisticated, shiny, gold footwear goodness and the three and a half inch heel attached to it.

Yes, I said that right, three and a half inches of heel. Indeed, those pointy stalactites are attached to the soles of those shoes. Yes, indeed those are stilt-like. And guess what. Those are not my tallest heels yet! That honour goes to these plum sandals my sister gave me. How tall are they? Oh, they’re just a mere four and a half inches. Hello, leg strain!

Oh! I can see many a girl’s face all aghast at my choice of footwear. I can see the mouths gaping open and the eyes all shocked. Well, you are not alone. The sales ladies at SM had a lengthy discussion with me about my then-about-to-be-purchased shoes before scanning the item, telling me how scared they are for me. Some of my female friends are also known to be all shook up and wincing at my foot raising devices. In fact, my dear friend Monea (who, by the way, sings praises of ballerina flats) has once told me that she’s going to die if forced to wear any of my shoes and subject her feet to the excruciating torture of super high heels.

And yes, I completely understand. After all, it did take years of practice for me to be comfortable in wearing the stilts I am now infamous for (I wore my first pair of heels at age seven, by the way. So yes, I've been wearing foot raisers for about 14 years.) Not a lot of girls are willing to put themselves through the burning, blistery, tensile ordeal that is wearing high heels, and well, the fact that I chose to power through the pain just makes me the exception. Even I have to admit it was most certainly uncomfortable at first.

But wait. Aren’t things of worth scary, painful and uncomfortable at first? Giving to a charity, for example, stings a little because of that money diverted away from your budget. Trying to get into the dean’s list hurts because of the time you have to spend not doing things that, admittedly, are way more enjoyable than studying. Reaching out to that person who needs you is uncomfortable because you run the risk of being rejected, ignored and losing face. But we still go for it and power on. Why? It is because we know that the pain is a tiny fraction compared to the rewards after. We know that after being uncomfortable lies the realisation that we actually did it for something significant, something that makes all the fear and torture worth it.. And that’s why we choose to do it, whatever it is that your heart is set to fulfill.

What’s that? It’s still not an excuse for my choice of heels-that-may-double-as-murder-weapons? Oh fine!