Five (Yes, Now It's Five!)- Inch Heels

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!

Paths

Ooh! Burn!

Many people have this mindset of what life is supposed to be.

You know. Get into so-and-so university. Graduate. Work all day and night to increase that already huge bank account. Marry rich. Wallow in money…and misery for a life without, well, life —-joy.

They feel like if they don’t conform to the obvious path, they will never really succeed in life.

But, perhaps, the less beaten path offers something a whole lot more like, well, life. Perhaps, the reason why it seems a lot more dangerous or risky is because the rewards after are a lot more fulfilling. Anyway, it’s usually the things that are worth it that you have to fight for more.

Go ahead. Turn left!

P.S: Whoever came up with this quote, thanks for the laughs!

Your Choice, Your Attitude

This is the second part of my "22 Things I've Learnt Before 22" Series. This time, it's all about good, evil and how we are choosers as humans.

Yeah, sorry for the mental block and slight incoherence! Haha!

Shower Time, Philosophy Time

No, it's not going to be one of my usual "mundane thing turned magnanimous due to my overactive imagination fed by philosophy" posts. I must admit that this one is (comparatively) short. This is just a bunch of reflections I had running in my mind as the cool waters of my shower were washing away the Pantene. I just had to put it on paper (Well, cyberspace), for some reason, so there.

Anyway, please tell me your thoughts.

1. This is exactly the reason why I think teachers are undoubtedly heroes. I truly think it’s noble the way they inspire kids to dream big and to do what they can to achieve that said dream. They give hope to those deamed hopeless. This man sort of embodies what a real teacher should be, a “kuya/ate” —- a cheerleader, guide, and role model in one.

And yes, I want to be part of that world.

2. The greatest award I could receive is not a Grammy or Oscar or even a Nobel Peace Prize. To me, the greatest awards are another person’s huge smile and pair of eyes that brightened up because of me —- to know that I inspired and touched that person, to be able to say I helped this person to become what he or she is, to make them happy and make their lives a little better.

Yes, this award doesn’t have monetary value. Hey, it’s not even tangible. But, this is the core of why we should do things excellently —- because, ulimately, you need them and vice versa; because our skills are not meant for us alone; because it is human to help.

This is an award I choose to receive again and again.

****

I never knew that showering can induce deep thought! Haha!

Alone (Not really!) But Not Lonely

This is one of 22 things I know before I'm 22, a series of vlogs I plan to complete by my birthday (1 February).

Yes, it's my first vlog, so please besar with it, I suppose! Haha!

Semi-Aquiline

As per usual before heading off to Sonoraland, I face my bathroom mirror. I look at that image on that piece of glass, that same visage I stare at every night, whilst washing away the Clean and Clear. But for some reason, a brief sentence uttered that afternoon pops into my head. Its weight washes over me, and I just had to heed it. That's when I focused, and I noticed it. I tilted my head this way and that to prove those words right. This was when I realised, "OMG! Dad was absolutely correct. My nose now has a semblance of aquiline-ness!".

That's right. I'm dedicating this entry to my nose.

Now, before you go off and think of me unusually and exceedingly peculiar, let me explain.

As I've mentioned in previous entries, I'm actually multi-racial. I'm an international pastiche of Filipino, Caucasian American, French, Indian, Hungarian, Spanish, and who knows what. It's something quite apparent in my looks. I've always carried proudly my big, deeply-set Indian eyes and my French-ish cheek bones. And of course, I love them. There is, however, one part of my face that I admit to loathing.

When I was young, my nose squatted. Yes, literally. It was one of those big, flat noses without a prominent nose bridge. Yes, I do realise now that it's nothing but a normal, Southeast Asian nose, but for someone who grew up with siblings whose Indian and Caucasian roots were very much apparent, this was a malady. I kept asking myself why my nose isn't the "matangos" (Tagalog for "aquiline", for my international readers) standard my brothers and sisters had. I kept wondering why the Australia-purchased sunglasses my aunts gave me never stayed on (since they were made for Aussie nose bridges). Yes, I grew to hate my nose.

So, I did everything to make my nose bridge a little more accommodating of foreign eye wear. I massaged and pinched my nose bridge, sometimes, to the point of getting long scratches on it due to fingernail abrasion. Those big cuts on it, I reasoned, were the price to pay if I wanted one of those Caucasian aquiline probosces. One time, I even incurred a little scar on the side of my nose from pinching it too much before going to bed. Thank God for anti-scar cream applied to that little area.

It got to a point that I considered buying Cleopatra (that home TV shopping spring device you put in your nose to make it sharper). Of course, now I realise that it was ludicrous, but to a little girl with image issues, it made perfect sense.

Last week, whilst having coffee with my parents, my Dad suddenly asked me to tilt my head up. I promptly did so, and that's when he uttered those words that resounded in me in front of that bathroom mirror:

"Allie, ang tangos na rin pala ng ilong mo!" ("Allie, your nose is aquiline now.")

Wow! I've waited 21 years to hear those words uttered by my Mediterranean-nosed father. Finally, it has happened!

Yeah? What was that? Who cares? Well, good! That was my point.

Who cares? No matter how your nose looks like --- flat or aquiline, small as a button or very much apparent --- it looks lovely simply because it's your nose. Like I've been hammering in many a blog entry, every person (and so, every person's nose) is beautiful. Sure, it may not be standard, model-carried features. But, who says that is the only definition of beauty?

Now that I finally have a nose that reflects my multi-culti roots, I have to say, that I love it. But at the same time, I also realise that even back in my Southeast Asian proboscis days, it has always been beautiful.

I just failed to see it because of those Cleopatra ads! Ew!

Murag Alibangbang

"Alexis Araneta is murag alibangbang."

That was exactly what my Facebook status said a week ago. Murag alibangbang. "Like a butterfly" in some of my beloved friends' native Bisaya. Yes, indeed, I actually had a status message in yet another language that's not my own.

I suppose it was inevitable for me to eventually write a status in Cebuano from the moment I first met Charlie (who's from Cebu, as I've been mentioning here). In a way, I knew that I'd end up trying to learn Bisaya simply because I had a friend (and a very good one at that. He's my soul brother!) who spoke it. My wannabe linguist self just had to ask every single word of Cebuano I couldn't comprehend. Then, Alexa, Karen, Monea, and Jessah came into the picture, and there was even more posts and comments I just had to decipher like an anthropologist trying to crack some ancient code (Too much Discovery Channel, Allie!) . Gradually, more and more lovely people from that beautiful, historical Visayan city began to befriend me. Of course, the desire to learn more of their language was even more fueled.

The enormous leap in linguistic learning came about when a dear friend of mine were talking to each other on Plurk. Lucille instantly noticed my "Prof. Pangga" display name and my greetings of "Maayong buntag", about one of the few sentences I could churn out in the language. When she asked me why I was using her native Bisaya (She's from Dumaguete) for my Plurks, I told her of my current, rather insatiable desire to learn it. And that's when she showed me something I now check out every now and then.

Seriously, thanks, Lucille, for that online Bisaya phrasebook! Okay, so of course, it doesn't contain all the words I'd love to know in this lovely language. So, yes, I still need my wonderful Cebuano friends to tell me what certain words mean (if you guys are all right with it, that is.). But hey, now, at least I could simply replace a few words and construct sentences. Let me repeat that --- construct sentences, something I was never able to do in Cebuano.

So what's a girl who has just cracked the "secret code" of her friends' native tongue to do with her new-found knowledge? Why use it as a Facebook status message, of course! It got a few smiles and comments from some of the aforementioned buddies, and that's always brilliant.

I suppose trying to decipher each other's language --- figuratively or literally --- really is a part of any relationship. We're all different; we have our own tastes, opinions and ways to view the world around us. This is why it's imperative to understand each other to avoid miscommunication.

And yes, it takes effort. After all, these mindsets are sort of conditioned in us, ingrained in us. But, as Newton's 1st Law of Motion says, "Something at rest shall stay at rest unless a force is acted upon it for motion". You can not understand people without taking that first step of trying to. Yes, whether that takes listening to why your best friend likes cricket, a sport you're sure only he understands. Yes, whether that takes being that shoulder to cry on when your lovesick gal pal breaks up with her boyfriend. And yes, whether it takes brushing up on your Bisaya every now and then.


P.S.: By the way, why am I murag alibangbang?

1. Like a butterfly, I'm not afraid of change.
2. Like a butterfly, I choose to fly and spread my colours.
3. What? I like butterflies. They're cute! Enough said!