Just Another Spongey Tuesday

It’s been one of those days: searching for things to write about, I came upon an article titled “Grieving Chihuahua Becomes Mom to 9 Kittens” and began tearing up. For me, the term “writer’s block” is too dry to describe the dull, headachey feeling I get—it’s more like “writer’s sponge filled with dirty water”. Emotionally charged in a bland way, these moods are boring for everyone involved. So rather than try to whack away, machete-style, at my lack of inspiration and produce something mediocre, I wanted to revisit a story I wrote about buying shoes in China.

Initially, I was positive I’d typed it up when I was back in the US, but when I checked my old emails, I saw I must have written it either on my last day in Chengdu or during my time in Baotou, Inner Mongolia. In the former, I was constantly busy, either exploring the city by myself, teaching or having dinner with my geologist coworkers. Things were different in Baotou, where there was less to do and fewer people to do it with—I did a lot of writing then and way too much self-reflection. I probably wrote this in my hotel room, wearing a facemask, smoking a Chunghwa cigarette and drinking rose tea.

If the Shoe Fits...

I stared down at my feet. My poor toes hung over the front of the pink plastic sandals like a pre-braces overbite and my heels jutted inches past the ends. The time I spent in China was complex, frustrating and invigorating, but the image of my feet, suddenly reestablished as freakishly large in those too-small flip flops has burned itself into my memory as an emblem of myself abroad.

Each shopping mall I went to had a stunning array of clothes, knickknacks and electronics. The shoe selection was no different: electric blue pumps stood aloof next to trendy leather gladiator flats which slumped lazily against patent leather heels and so on. The last time I was in China, I had this repeated disheartening experience: carefully combing over a selection to find the perfect shoe, showing the sales person and asking for my size, and then watching her nod slowly and disappear only to return with a man’s shoe. Sometimes I was spared the beige loafer or black tie up and given, instead, hysterical laughter or simple desertion.

This time, I swore off buying shoes in China. Let them have their tiny, prejudiced heels. I had brought an ample collection of footwear. Unfortunately, my first weekend in muggy Chengdu was soaked in rain. The wet weather combined with my stubborness to go and “explore the city” led to my token pair of flats being water-logged and fragrant, to put it kindly. This left a gaping hole in my foot attire that demanded immediate attention. I decided to forgo the embargo on shoe shopping and I set out into the city, my feet preparing themselves for the onslaught.

After two hours of unsuccessful mall shopping, my toes were rubbed raw from being forced into shoes several sizes too small. Needing a break, I went to pick up a dress I’d had altered. I was a bit early so I asked them if they knew a place that sold shoes my size, and then told them the dreaded number. Whispers ensued and directions were written down. I was put in a cab and whisked away. Beautiful shoes danced in my head and I asked myself, Should I go for two pairs maybe, if they’re really great? I imagined responding, Oh these? I got them in China at a special boutique in response to the many compliments I would get on my silver pumps/snakeskin kitten heels/leather sandals.

The cab ride was by far the longest and most expensive in the trip so far, but I knew we’d arrived when we pulled up to a store bearing the name, translated from Chinese, Your Big Feet. I hastily paid the cab and burst into the store, only to be greeted indifferently by rows and rows of orthopeodic shoes. Boring browns and blacks and the occasional mustard yellow stared me into the face and seemed to taunt, try me on. I dare you. Needless to say, I left empty handed.

As I left, I contemplated the pros and cons of footbinding, all the while my monstrous feet carrying me away from Your Big Shoes and the fog of disappointment. Each gigantic toe endured the pressure of my thankless head upon its set of slumping shoulders. My confidence shut down for the time being, the wide soles and flat arches soldiered on and suddenly I was glad for my big feet. Smaller ones would surely be unable to bear the weight of so much foolishness.