Shoe Stories

Shoes tell stories about their owners' feet and clues about their lives I like shoes. All kinds.

Remember the saying about putting yourself in the other person's shoes? I did that recently, partly, meaning one shoe. It was an ice breaking session exercise. You're to find someone in the hall who wears the same sized shoes and both are to exchange one with the other.

Honestly, I find the exercise a bit too nauseating, considering the smells and the unseen bacterial colonies hiding inside. Well, it helped me somewhat to realize that my pal is also going through exactly the same treatment. I do wonder though whether he or the other participants felt that the ice breaker was a definite stinker!

Out of that session, the ice broke somewhat as we got to know each other's names, backgrounds, and stuff like that. It felt funny because his shoe had a higher heel, by about an inch more. So, to stand straight and hold my balance was tricky. It takes getting used to. It didn't help that I started thinking about the colonies of bacteria in his shoe putting together an all out attack on my foot! Ugh!

Perhaps I'll try this on unsuspecting people the next time I get to host an icebreaker session!

Shoes does express the personality, likes and tastes of their owners somewhat. There are youngish looking shoes, and more sophisticated and mature ones. Shoes might indicate the owner's preference for a particular sport. Some are outlandish, others are practical. There's formal and informal shoes. Sexy shoes? Serious shoes?

Shoes does have a sense of history about it. I remember the time I was in Cambodia, at the Killing Fields. This was the infamous area where countless Cambodians were executed and dumped into shallow pits. The air there had a sadness about it. It did not help that the skulls dug up were placed in a memorial where the smell of murder and death still haunts. Literally the stench was still there, after all these years.

I remember as I walked the clay and sandy soils, amidst the grassy slopes, you could feel through your shoes, the crunch, crunch sounds. Our guide pointed out that we were walking on the dead. Really. There were bits of bones mixed up in the earth. Looking back, I have a sense of horror that we were walking on the very graves of the victims of Pol Pot. There were also lots of colored bits of clothing sticking out her and there from the ground. Tattered, weathered, their colors sad and mournful.

That very pair of shoe which I wore for that trip is still in a good condition. But I don't wear it often now. Perhaps, I can't bear the strong association of that pair with that day.

What's your shoe story?