My Favorite Pair of Shoes
Shoes tell the story of life. One can tell by looking at the shoe appearance. Doesn’t matter if it’s sandals, running shoes, heels, it has a story. Growing up, I played golf — a lot. It was the only thing I would do, after school, before dinner, before bed. Each season, my mom bought me a new pair of shoes. They were the coolest shoes ever — and I loved them. Rubber soles, extra padding, stabilizers, absolutely beautiful. I started spending a lot more on golf shoes…more than I should be. What I wasn’t suspecting was that these shoes would accompany me for the rest of my life.
I remember coming home from school watching the PGA Tour Tournament on TV, primarily focusing directly on all the shoes. My mom comes in and asks if I have any plans. As if. The only thing I’m obsessed about is golf and shoes, obviously.
“You’re not going to get anywhere without friends, honey.” I suppose she could be right. However, I’m not too worried about that. I just need to focus on golf. Scholarship.
I packed my golf necessities for practice and out the door I went. Oh, and I can’t forget about my shoes. Practicing was all I could think about, day and night. Just golf. I would practice everyday undermining my mom’s request for social ideas. Each day, my go-to golf shoes start wearing off. Bit by bit. Little by little. I practiced hard for varsity golf. It was everything to me. I have to make it.
Today’s the day of the try-outs. As expected, I made the team. Yes. All that practicing did not go to waste. I grabbed my gear and walked towards my car. A few seconds later, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned.
“You trying out?” I took a glimpse of her appearance. Her face was lit up with a friendly smile. She was short like me and I noticed that her golf gear was purchased in the juniors section. Safe to assume she also tried out. My heart-beat slightly became a little more rapid as I’m not really great at talking to new people.
I smiled back and replied, “Yes.”
“I can tell you’re a little introverted, and it’s okay.” I was surprised. She could tell? Man my social skills must be a real piece of work. That’s quite embarrassing.
She looked concerned and said “This is not an embarrassing trait.” This made me feel such relief.
“Cmon, I’ll introduce you to my friends. We all golf together. Maybe you can come play with us when you’re free.”
My heart felt genuinely happy hearing this. I was so focused on a different aspect of my life that I forgot how beneficial companionship was. Throughout the playoffs I played with my team and it was the most fun I’ve had playing golf. Each game, my shoes got more worn out. They were my favorite. They represented my diligent hardships getting to this moment. I always hung onto these tattered shoes.
Today is the day I put them away. My favorite pair of shoes.
The Cash Register
Good golf clubs, specifically branded clubs are designed specifically for different types of swings. Professionals say the good clubs are like hot knives through butter. When I started playing, I used rookie clubs and they really did affect my swing drastically. I honestly don’t know what happened. I kept striking at the ball just for it to not go anywhere. Anyhow, I realized how much of a difference a good versus bad club can make. This is why I started saving up money so I could buy myself some new golf clubs to improve my game.
My first job. All right, let’s do it. I’m just a cashier, I mean, how hard can this be right?
The cash register fell including all the money inside of it. Wow, on the first day too. That’s so embarrassing. Tickets and receipts started piling up and I forgot to turn on the machine. Dang it.
With an angry look on his face a customer yelled, Where is my order?! It startled me so bad and the coffee machines came crashing down spilling the drinks all over the floor. Could this get any worse? A few seconds later, the coffee started to leak onto the money. I said that too soon.
Two months of the same madness later, I was able to collect enough money to purchase the branded clubs I wanted. I guess all that hard work paid off.
A text message. Even though I was at work, I was tempted to check. It read, “I knew you’ve been wanting new clubs for a while so I finally made time to buy it for you. As you know, they’re brand new so they’re non-refundable. Love Dad <3.”
*CRASH* The cash register fell down once again.
The Boy and His Espresso
After I was able to pay for my new golf clubs I still decided to keep working at the coffee shop. The owners and co-workers were nice to me, and the customers were pleasing to talk to. It was a nice side-hobby that could distract me from school, at the same time I was making money. So, it’s sort of a win-win for me. My favorite part of working was just being able to communicate with others outside of my house.
Every Tuesday and Thursday morning there was always this boy who would walk in and order the same thing. He looked around 5’8, and wore a different colored flannel shirt that would match his hoodie. I thought it was cute. He would always order an espresso with extra foam which I always thought was obnoxious because I really disliked the foam.
There he is. He walked in wearing a dark blue flannel shirt matching his grey hoodie and blue-tinted shoes. With a smile, he looked at me and said, “Just the usual.” “Espresso with—”
“Extra foam,” I finished. He just smiled. His smile felt like a warm hug that your face gives to someone else’s eyes. It was nice. I wished I could feel like this all the time. Comfort. Consolation. Condolence.
“I really like your smile,” I said.
“I get that a lot, but you know what?”
“That smile only exists because of you!”
Repetition: the act of an event or action recurring. We see repetition everywhere, in most particular, it’s seen in our lives whom we see so powerless. Power.
It reminded me of a traffic jam, like the ones I would see going from Long Beach to Anaheim. You know that one. Everyone is doing their own thing, they have their own little world trapped in their car. Vehicles are stopped, moving, stop, moving. Slow speeds, slow cars, everything slow. They’re stuck. They’re just stuck. There’s no ability to prevent this situation. They’re just powerless.
However, repetition is still the key to learning. It helps us to perfect our skills and improve it, making it better.
Power. Think about that word. It could possibly reduce the awareness of constraints towards a goal, creating a direct danger towards oneself. So, it’s not necessarily a good influence. Why should we determine our behavior, convinced that life is repetitive? This idea takes the excitement out of life and everyday living, questioning the repetition lifestyle.
I ask myself this question everyday. I also tell myself this line everyday.
Stay in the moment.
This is a free verse. There’s no proper rhythm being followed, there’s no specific format, there are no rules. Off from the highest cliff to the lowest of the ocean, we spread our wings. Going somewhere, going nowhere. There are no rules.
With the pain as the fuel, it is left unwhole. With the wings of a dove, set free of the soul.
We all have a secret being kept within, a remorse we keep to ourselves. With so many ways to win this game, there will be problems that end in shame.
“One day I will go away.” I won’t be kept here forever. Until that day my soul will wait here whatsoever.