“But I almost had PTSD from wearing high heels for 16 weeks. I feel like I should get a Medal of Freedom!”—Meryl Streep in an interview with British Vogue on her role as Miranda Priestly in Devil Wears Prada 2
I’ve forsworn high heels since my thirties. My late Lifestyle editor in the 1970s, Tere Orendain, introduced me to them after seeing me in clogs or slip-ons when I reported for work in the Philippine Daily Express in Port Area, after school at UP Diliman. Sneakers or rubber shoes were not yet de rigueur for everyday wear. She practically dragged me to Syvel’s, a shoe store in Escolta, where the designer Rudy Fuentes picked up heeled pairs for me.
Like a good, obedient working girl, I wore them even to school, until one time, while commuting home, the heel of one pair got stuck in between the bars of a tricyle’s disembarking part. I took a hard tumble and scraped both my knees on the cement driveway. The neighbor across the street who witnessed my accident screamed in dismay. My mother was concerned especially at the sight of my bleeding knees. The shoe was ruined beyond repair.
One thing wearing high heels taught me though was to pull up my back since I slouch by nature. While tottering on those heels, I felt my backbone being pulled straight. But I had to give them up and switch to ballerina flats, sometimes to the more stable wedgies.
But as I put on more weight, I changed back to my slip-ons, sandals, moccasins and similar flats, acknowledging the utilitarian look of Crocs, Birkenstocks and my favorite, rubber-soled Skechers.
With my all-purpose black Skechers, I weekended in Manila, joining my siblings on a pilgrimage to Taal, climbing the basilica’s staircase, walking past the statues of the saints, strolling past heritage houses, returning to Pasig for a change of clothes, then heading for a countertenor’s concert in my tie-dyed mumu and changing into Fit Flops with an elevated arch. All in one Saturday.
I don’t wear closed “proper shoes” any longer to evening occasions like Paul Ryan Arcolas’ recital at Varlez piano studio in Greenhills, San Juan. I must make special mention of his voice—unusually high for me who has gotten used to tenors although he announced at the close of the concert that there are already “tons of countertenors” in the country.
Deceptively frail-looking, he did superstar mezzo soprano coloratura Cecilia Bartoli proud when he closed the first half of his water-themed recital with Broschi’s killer aria “Son qual nave ch’agitata” from the opera Artaserse. Try listening to Cecilia in her YouTube version and imagine Paul doing likewise and acquitting himself.
The printed program gave an English translation of the dramatic Italian lyrics:
I am like a ship that, when shaken
more by reefs amidst the sea waves,
becomes bewildered and frightened,
yet keeps sailing across the high seas.
But upon seeing the beloved beach,
leaves the waves and the treacherous winds
and goes to the port to rest.
When I realized that Paul’s choice of songs centered on water—from turbulent to calm—I remembered the late Baguio photographer Ompong Tan, a good, kind fellow who lost his life in a vehicular accident while crossing the rapidly rising Agno River in Itogon, Benguet. Throughout that night, I recalled the tragic event, then offered it as a requiem for Ompong. Paul’s songs I imagined as appeasing Ompong’s spirit.
My open toes twirled in delight as I bent my head while he interpreted Abelardo’s challenging kundiman Mutya ng Pasig. The last time I heard this sung live was in the farewell program dedicated to the memory of writer-impresario Pablo Tariman, and it was interpreted just as beautifully by soprano Myramae Meneses.
I remembered my fiction writing prof, Francisco Arcellana, and his devotion to what he called “water music,” like the ones composed by Debussy who was also represented in Paul’s repertoire with Il pleure dans mon Coeur.
These are the things that ran through my head while attending an intimate concert. The venue was small but full; seats had to be added as a primarily student audience arrived.
Afterwards, my sister and I walked to a gas station to catch a Grab car. Again I was thankful I was wearing the most comfy of footwear.
I’ve had it with high heels and toe caps that pinch painfully. For all manner of activities, I’ve chosen comfort way above stylishness. The fashionable mary janes, low-heeled boots and other shoes I’ve collected as pins in my Pinterest board on accessories. For someone cursed with bilateral bunions, I am happy to leave fashionable footwear there on a virtual board and not on a personal shoe rack.
