What girl does not love shoes? I am no exception. I don't know if this penchant for shoes is inherent to the female species but personally, I do think my passion for shoes has a deeper root --- deprivation.
I never owned more than one pair of shoes and one pair of flip-flops at a time when I was a child. The shoes would be worn to school and the flip-flops to everywhere else. We usually would get a new pair of shoes only during Christmas or when the school year started. Some of the school shoes I had were hand me downs from cousins. I remember wearing those shoes out until there were holes on their soles and then still keep using them because there was no money to buy a new pair. I used to stuff them with folded newspaper to keep the ground's dirt or rain water from getting to my feet.
It was an embarrassment, especially when I became a teenager. We know at that age, it was all about impressing people and avoiding becoming a social pariah and a laughingstock. Besides, I was an honor student, a high achieving popular figure in my school. I was surrounded by my rich and famous school friends. I didn't want them to know and discover my impoverished circumstances. I would always hide the bottom of my shoes so no one would see the holes. I avoided any situation that would cause me to lift my feet up. I adjusted my stride to ensure my feet hardly left the ground. Looking back, I don't know how successful my attempts were. Maybe my classmates knew. If they did, they never let on. Maybe they didn't care but for me it was a big deal.
I lived with my aunt in my teenage years. She had several pairs of shoes for different purposes...formal wear (with heels), sneakers (sporty), and varied colors to match her outfits. However, her feet were about a size or two smaller than mine. There were a couple of times when there were important occasions like church dances or school activities that I didn't want to miss that I "borrowed" her shoes despite the discomfort and eventual pains they would cost me later. At that time, they were worth it. Well, that probably would explain why my feet are not the best-looking ones you would ever see. They were battered from all that abuse.
Comfort or fashion sense were never factors in the shoes I wore then. It was all about what my parents could afford or what our well-intentioned benefactors chose to give away. Oh, how well I remember the blisters! And when the shoes were bigger than my feet, I remember stuffing them with paper to make them fit and to avoid them slipping off my feet while walking. I cringe now when I look back and imagine how horrid I must have looked with the clashing colors of my different clothes and only pair of shoes. At least, I remember now, that whatever footwear I had then were always neutral in color. It was only either black, white or brown. Oh, and don't let me forget...I never owned a pair of sneakers until I got here in the USA in my mid-twenties.
When I finished college and became employed, that's when I declared freedom from footwear bondage. Not by much, but enough to at least consider comfort, style and fashion in addition to cost. I no longer had to endure wearing holey shoes, or suffer through blisters or clashing colors, unless I want to.
So, with that in mind, does it come as any surprise at all that I indulge in shoes now? Not that I could come close to the imeldific collection that other women may have but enough to have several choices when I look in my closet.
Hmmm, what would I wear today? Stillettos (red, blue, black, print, etc), boots (formal, heeled, fur lined, mid-calf, knee high, etc) sneakers (puma, adidas, nike), pumps, wedges, open toed, flip-flops, crocs, etc, etc... Ahhh, I have nothing to match my clothes! I better go shopping!! ;-)
I am a middle child with an older brother and a younger sister. I was born in a small town in the Philippines to a young struggling couple who struggled to make ends meet ever since I could remember. My father worked for a rich neighbor who owned several businesses, one of which was a pallet production line. Back then these pallets were manually put together. Pieces of lumber cut, planed (smoothed) and nailed together by hand. That was my father's job and he made less than minimum wage.
My mother at first was a full time homemaker. Because of our growing needs and lack of finances, she tried to help augment the family's income by many different means that she could find. She did laundry for other people, did some babysitting, buy and sell of "barter goods"(food, clothing and other items imported from the neighboring countries, Malaysia and Indonesia), and had a mini sari-sari store. Years later she even became an OCW (Overseas Contract Worker) in Kuwait for a few months until that country's invasion by Iraq in 1990 forced her to return home. All failed ventures that didn't amount to much. These attempts probably helped at the time to just get by but not enough to elevate our financial status in any way.
We were dirt poor. We barely had enough money to eat three meals a day, if we were lucky. Needless to say, there was never any extra money to buy anything that can be considered "luxury" like toys, clothes, nice things, fast food, etc. Almost all the things we had were hand-me-downs from relatives who were well-to-do and were generous enough to dole out their cast-offs to poor old us.
To this day I remember the HUNGER --- not just the physical pang brought about by insufficient nourishment but even more so, the yearning for a better life. I was not contented with what we had. Surely I was born for something bigger, meant to make something better out of my life. Even as a little child I thought I was special and that feeling stirred enough in me to know that I had to do what I could to rise above that lowly station. I knew that someday, I would quelch that hunger.
At age four or five my paternal grandmother discovered that I was smart. She had a small store and she rented out Philippine komiks (comic books) and magazines. She said I stayed at her store for hours everyday devouring these reading materials even before I went to kindergarten. She also said they didn't even know until then that I could read. She said that I learned how to read all by myself. I had a thirst for knowledge and I was a quick learner.
The school system in the Philippines was (still is) very competitive. At the end of the school year there would always be a commencement program where academic and extra-curricular awards would be given to select students who excelled, not just in their classes, but in their grade levels. For example in the elementary school I went to there were about six sections (classes) in first grade. Each section had about 45 students on average, so the total number of first graders was around 270. This would be true for the rest of the grade levels. The "honor" section was where the smart and/or rich kids were assigned. At the end of the school year, the academic awards were given out and the recipients were ranked first honor, second honor, etc.
I was always in that honor section my entire student life. Furthermore, every year I was a recepient of an academic award, usually first honor. I also always received other special awards such as best in math, best orator, quiz bee champion, and so forth. This destitute child who went to class in faded uniforms, who couldn't afford to buy food at recess and who had to scrounge around and even beg classmates for pencil or paper to use during quizzes kicked her classmates' butts academically!
I knew then that if I were given this intellectual gift, perhaps this would be my vehicle to get out of the hovel in which I was born. It would prove to be a long and arduous journey and I'm still on that ride.
My subsequent blog entries will depict my sojourn via memoirs, lessons I learned, philosophical musings, and maybe even senseless ramblings. Read along and come journey with me.
