Walking Tall

We never grew up with a lot, we never knew what a lot was.

As children, you really have little comprehension of the monetary value on things.  You just get a sense of what the innate value of those things are to you.  And everything is subjective.

So a pair of branded sneakers may mean something to someone because of the brand, while a non branded pair could mean a great deal to another person just because they are a new pair of shoes.

When I was growing up, shoes were not luxury items.  They were necessities that were bought once a year.  And they had to play specific functions.

White canvas shoes were for school, and one other pair (usually a pair of sneakers) were for any other time you go out.  and that was that for the year.  Considering going out was at best, once a week on a Saturday for about 4 hours, the sneakers tended to have lots of mileage.

School shoes were another matter.  They were everyday use: 5 days a week, for more than 6 hours at a time.  These were also shoes you would wear to your physical education, or gym class.  Wear and tear was the expected consequence.  That together with the fact that our feet would grow pretty fast made it challenging to stick to the same pair all the time.

But we made do.

Creativity is born out of necessity.  And a little pride in our appearance made finding solutions even more imperative.

So we had liquid chalk, kiwi white we called it, that we would use to literally white wash the shoes back to almost as good as new condition.  Sometimes this was done without washing the shoes because water would just cause the shoes to wear out faster.  The kiwi white was sticky and sometimes if used enough could even cover minor holes in the canvas.  It was like having your own liquid paper to wash away any mistakes. Of course, a rainy day literally would wash away your cover ups. See, even at a young age, I learned the value of a good concealer. Prescriptives had Kiwi White to thank for my loyalty to them.

I never really saw that I was not 'fortunate' like the other kids.  Looking back, I was in school with kids whose parents lived in big houses and could not possibly understand the concept of having just two pairs of shoes for the year.  Still, I guess that may be one of the good things of having to wear a uniform to school.  All you see are the school colors on your body, you don't see variations in style, or manifestations of wealth. There was no real competition when it came to how you looked.

I guess we really were in the 'have nots' group of people.  Sure our situation was not as bad as being homeless, or orphaned etc.  But since everything is relative, you can only look at your environment and assess things that way.  

I have to say though that I am not sure if the other kids felt the same joy I did whenever it came around to shopping for shoes.

Once a year, just before Hari Raya, the celebration at the end of Ramadhan, my mother would bring us out to get our new shoes.  Seeing that she was making barely $400 in those days, shoes for three kids must have been a big investment.

Oh but the exhilaration!  To be able to pick your own shoes, subject to a budget of course which was probably mostly under $20, was nothing short of feeling like you are worth something as a human being.  The ability to put something new on your feet was like giving a kid wings to fly. It was the validation of your existence.

I remember we looked forward to shopping for shoes once a year.  It offered a sense of renewal, like whatever happened in the past year has been wiped clean.  The slate can be rewritten with a new script.

My self worth was never really about how much I had and the dollar value attached to them.  Back then I was just happy to have those shoes, that one set of  'going out' clothes and whatever hand me downs we could get.  Of course by the time I got to junior college and teen parties meant dressing up, I learned fast that I did not have the tools to be 'in'.  Borrowing from older cousins became something that had to be done. Not shoes per se, but clothes. Imagine wearing a blazer with the same pair of sneakers the other kids have seen you wearing to school...to a party. Luckily, it is an Asian custom to take your shoes off before entering someone's home, and luckily, almost every teen party was at someone's home. Oddly though, not having much did not affect my popularity in school and I was always invited for the 'in' parties. Somehow, not having too much, didn't mean not having a lot.

In a way, I miss those days. Relishing the little you have makes everything mean something. These days, in the age of consumerism, and in an age when almost every other Singaporean has a Louis Vuitton, somehow, the value of things have become, well...devalued. Misplacing or damaging things does not create the sense of loss you would have if that was the only thing you had for a long time.

I guess this is partly why I felt so much for that boy, Mir in the documentary about Muslims in Afghanistan (something I wrote about a few days ago). He had one pair of shoes. His father whacked him for playing football in the dirt in them. What would have happened if he had dirtied or damaged them? What then? Still, Mir is lucky in his own way. For everything he had was something to cherish.

It was like when I was growing up. Getting that pair, or that new unbranded watch was a big deal. I remember accidently losing that watch; I felt like the world was over because I loved that watch. I had felt it, scrutinized the beauty in its design, seen all the pluses to how it had been created, loved the smooth touch of the crystal. I cherished it so much I felt so bad when I lost it. So the good of having little is you cherish what you have, the bad is that you just cannot go out and get something new when something happened to your possessions.

Still, I was happy with my yearly contract with myself.  One that told me that I would be ok.  That I would be fine, that I would be happy regardless. My contract to get those shoes, that once a year event that told me I had everything to look forward to in the coming year. I walked tall in my shoes. I walked tall.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

NB:  these days I have what I call my bi-annual multiple orgasm contract between myself and DSW (Discount Shoe Warehouse) in NYC.  And boy that really makes me happy!