Old Shoes

Published in the Youngblood section of the March 24, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.

Among the more than 6,000 pairs of shoes you will find in our school, mine must be in the poorest shape. All that is left of its original label are scattered dots. The tongue and side flaps of each shoe are in danger of falling apart anytime, much like the petals of a withered rose. The rubber soles and front covers, which were once white, are now gray with dust and age. With every step I take, my little toes peek out from tiny holes at the sides. (Now girls looking at me as I walk can find out if a guy with small shoes has small . . . toes.)

The size-7 canvas shoes cost me P209 last year. Now, beggars would sneer if I offered them my shoes. Well, they don't have to do that because I don't have any plans of letting go of them yet. In fact, I've decided to wear them until the end of the school year, or until all my toes are exposed, whichever comes first.

I'm amused when other students stare at my battered and tattered footwear. I try to guess what's on their minds. They probably pity me. I sure look poorer than a barefoot rat.

But I couldn't care less. Being poor is currently in fashion. (With the expanded value-added tax and all the corruption in government, we don't have much choice, do we?) What matters to me is that I don't have athlete's foot. Besides, school is not a catwalk.

I'm glad male students are free to wear any kind of pants in my school. Sneakers look just fine with jeans.

For more than a year, I've been wearing the same shoes every day—in the classroom, out on the streets, even during acquaintance parties. I take them off only when I'm going to sleep or taking a bath. Their sole competition is the red, oversized slippers my old roommate in the dorm gave me to remember him by.

The shoes were the best investment I have ever made by far. They helped me pass two Physical Education classes—dancing and badminton—but they have to last until I get through basketball this semester. I've worn them for more than 400 days already. This means that I've spent about 50 centavos a day only for my very reliable footwear. (I figure that if our lawmakers adopt this kind of austerity measure for themselves instead of burdening the people with so many much taxes, our economy might recover faster.)

I have no plans of buying a new pair yet because walking inside the mall makes my legs ache. And I hate crowded places. And I hate shopping. And I hate capitalism.

Of course, I'm just making pathetic excuses. I'm actually waiting for the day when I will have enough money to buy better shoes (I'm dreaming of Ferragamos or a pair of Zoom LeBron III). In the meantime, I am thinking of a way to convince Manny Pacquiao how badly I need money so that he would give me some balato(share) from his latest win. And I'm still weighing the moral implications of betting in the illegal numbers game called “last two.”

I never liked sneakers before. I bought mine only because all my newfound friends last year were wearing sneakers. We agreed to wear shoes of the same kind but of different colors. There were already red, green and blue, and I was supposed to have Power Ranger white. But I had to settle for a black pair with slightly different markings because it was the only one available in the store then.

From the moment I started wearing them, I was convinced canvas shoes were the most comfortable shoes in the world. They also made me part of a cool brotherhood like the Fellowship of the Ring. Thus, seven pairs of sneakers would usually walk together to and from Mathematics, Chemistry and Technical Drawing classes. And suddenly, I was not this antisocial paperback junkie anymore, and the number of people calling me “weird” was getting smaller by the week. Before that, a lone pair of black suede shoes trod the school premises by themselves.

The sneakers, however, did not keep our brotherhood together for long. The next semester, the one who always thought up ways for the group to bond together had to transfer school. Another stopped studying. We also had different class schedules and others found the company of others more enjoyable. My sneakers had their chance to take a different path when I finally realized that I was always getting lost trying to find the x's and y's, and decided I might do better if I aspired for public service.

I don't see the other guys very often anymore. But most of us still use the same old shoes. And I'll continue wearing my sneakers, even if they are stained, discolored and torn. I don't want to buy new shoes. I might never find a better or equally valuable pair.