Just when you thought my collection of stilts disguised as shoes couldn't get more, well, stilt-like, I now introduce you to this spectacular footwear marvel. Ladies and gentlemen, the newest addition to my shoe closet:
Oh, I can hear the screams and yelps of utter terror from here!
That, my beloved readers, is a pair of black sandals from Parisian, an in house brand of SM. If you've been following my blogs for quite some time now, you'll probably remember that that's the same brand of the 3 1/2 inch gold pumps I dedicated two entries to. Anyway, my parents bought them for me to wear on Christmas along with a lovely new dress from the same department store. Oh, yes, the heel? Well, it's not that tall. It's just a mere 5 1/2 inches.
Uhm, okay, I understand that right now you're gasping for air.
But yes, seriously, I can wear heels like that. In fact, most of my shoes are heels ranging in height from 2.5 inches to that newly-purchased 5.5 inch one. So yes, I practically live in heels. I've ran to the technical booth in them, jumped during praise and worship with them, and commuted from Magallanes to Alabang (including walking from the office to the MRT and trying to maneuver my way out of a crowded 6:00 pm Ayala station) wearing them. In fact, my heel obsession has gotten so bad, it now hurts my feet to wear flats and feel the abrasive floor than the usual other way around. Mutant feet? Perhaps!
So how can my feet endure incredible, self-imposed, tensile, blistery agony? Well, first of all, it isn't torture for me anymore. Why? This leads me to my second point. I can live and breathe in heels because I've been doing so already for fourteen years.
Upon my request, my parents bought me pairs of those "Cinderella glass slippers" with little heels on them as pasalubong for their then 7 year-old wannabe princess daughter. My eyes would light up after receiving them, and I'd wear them around the house until they broke. Not only that, but I kept insisting year after year that my "Christmas shoes" always have at least a little bit of a raised heel. As years passed, I trained my feet to handle higher and higher heels until it got to this point --- comfortable enough to wear black patent leather stilts.
Of course, that fourteen years of "intensive training" was wrought with a lot of falls, bruises (from falling. Sometimes, down stairs.), blisters, and feet pleading for me to make the ordeal cease. I can safely say that, yes, my feet are battered. But for some reason, I never thought of giving this addiction up. I love the feel of the height and the spring in my step that heels bring. I love that "clack-clack" sound they make whenever the hollow heel hits the floor (something that 14 years have taught me to eliminate whenever needed, FYI). But most of all, I simply love them. Period.
And you know what? That is the same attitude we should see life and all the little tasks we undertake in it with. Yes, we may fall due to wrong decisions and get bruised. Yes, we may get blistered by people who choose to be tough on you. And yes, we may hear voices in our head to want to give up whatever it is we choose to do -- whether homework, solutions to stop climate change or life itself. But we should look past that and see just how glorious the rewards are after.
Also, we should learn that excellence at something usually requires a lot of practice. Like I've said, one of the biggest reasons for my being able to handle 5.5 inches of heel is the 14 year training I've had before. So, if you want to be the best, say, teacher for your students in the future, you better start acting like it now. If you want to be able to make a difference to an entire nation, start reaching out to that seat mate. And yes, if you want to be able to wear 7-inch heels, I better see you wearing your 2-inch ones to school later.
Yeah, I know. I understand that you're still scared of my shoes! Haha!
