It was tough growing up with 3 other siblings all older than me; as I was the subject of their pranks and always bullied to run errands for them. But being born three years later after my sister was tougher because it means I don’t get to wear new clothes or get new shoes. For as long as I can remember, every thread of clothing I owned was my sister’s three years ago.
My parents did all their best despite their very humble means to feed, clothe and send us to school. A piece of hotdog which was a rare treat was equally divided into four salivating mouths. Sarsa parilla was only a bribe to coax us to swallow that bitter paracetamol if we have fever.
So new clothes let alone new shoes was a luxury we can hardly afford.
Imagine my joy when my mother told me that we are going to Manila to ride the LRT, the train that travels on air with the birds. For the next few days, my thoughts become filled with imagined scent, sights and sounds of the big city. Counting the nights until the Big Day, I endlessly bugged my mother to tell me things about Manila. She gamely recounted how as a student she strolled at the Luneta Park eating salted peanuts. And how she would walk aimlessly around the shops of Escolta trying on one shoe after another. I whispered to her that maybe if we can afford it, we can buy my Ate really good shoes in Escolta.
My secret intentions in buying my sister new shoes might have been too obvious to my mother because the day before we left for Manila, she came home with a present for me. My mother bought me new shoes, the prettiest one I’ve ever seen in my whole 6 years of existence. It was a black canvas with thin rubber soles. We call it kung fu shoes because one can only buy it from Chinese stores and it is similar to those worn by the Iron Monkey and the Drunken Master. My mother reminded me over a thousand times as I excitedly tried it on to take care of it because good shoes take you to good places, she said.
We left our house at four in the morning, each of us carrying a plastic bag in case we get sick in the long bumpy ride to the city. Being the clumsiest, rowdiest and having the least care for grooming among all of her four children, my mother was impressed when I came out of the bus looking like a neat and proper little lady.
As we stopped to light candles at the Redemptorist Church, I profusely thanked Papa Jesus and the lamb constantly sitting on his lap for my new shoes and for blessing me with a good aim on that day for I have managed to throw up inside the plastic bag without making a total mess out of my shoes.
While we were hurriedly boarding the train, I worriedly asked my mother if we are ever going back. And she said, yes, of course. Again, she told all four of us to be in our best behavior, otherwise the driver will send us out of the train. The train ride was almost magical. At that time I really believed my older brother’s stories about men traveling in space and that the same train we were on took them to the surface of the moon. Why not, we’re only inches away from the sky, I told myself. We saw big buildings taller than coconut trees, huge houses much bigger than the house of our town mayor. We were awed and waved to the biggest watch on top a house. It was where the mayor of Manila lives, my mother said. Everything we saw seemed to be larger than life.
On our equally enchanting ride back to Baclaran, I asked my father if we can probably exit to same door we used to enter the train but he told me he’s not sure. Finally we reached Baclaran and I felt a little regret that the experience was over. As we were getting off, my mother herded us to the direction of the stairs but I immediately protested. I told her we need to go to the door we entered in when we boarded the train and pointed to my bare feet.
I purposeIy took off my shoes right at the doorsteps of the train!
I told my mother I don’t want the train driver to think that I was not taught to remove my footwear before entering someone else’s doors.
My father had to carry me all the way back to the bus station. I must have cried buckets of tears that day, enough to drown the whole of Manila. I sat on my mother’s lap like a lamb on our journey back and she gently asked me to wave goodbye to the line of people on the streets. I, on my very young mind, waved goodbye to my once new shoes. I threw up again and managed to make a total mess out of my and my mother’s dress. But of course, she didn’t mind.
My first pair of shoes took me to the good places I only imagined existed. But my parents’ love took me – messy or barefoot – to the best places in life.
