So Long, Sandals

My right sandal broke again, and this time, I think it might be beyond repair. The straps that got fixed a few weeks ago are holding tightly, reinforced by glue and string, but now half the sole has come right off the bottom of the shoe. And I think it’s time to bid the shoe goodbye.

But I’m just not ready. Those sandals and I have been through a lot. It was in those sandals that I overcame the fear I had of walking down the street amidst the blaring horns and wandering cows. It was in those sandals that I went to work every morning and in those sandals that I met my closest friends. It is in those sandals that I’ve had most of my experiences and learned most of my lessons. And when those sandals couldn’t be involved, they never complained. They waited patiently in the bottom of my wardrobe while I went off to have adventures in other pairs of shoes. (My smart sandals knew they wanted no part in mountain climbing, for instance.) And those sandals never complained when, for the muddy wetness covering them, I was forced to leave them outside my room next to the dripping umbrella for the night. They slept there quietly, anticipating the morning, when I’d come out and slip them on once again.

I bought those shoes on my very first shopping trip, when Jenika and I had no clue how to ride the bus or what to do once we got down from it. But I needed shoes that day, and we managed to figure out how to get them. For 250 rupees (a whopping five dollars), I purchased the shoes that I would wear for the majority of this journey.

Now, as I continue to walk toward the end of the journey, I must do so in another pair of shoes. I simply can’t wear those sandals anymore. They are old and tired, and all they want to do is rest. So I’m going to give them that rest. In their proper place on the bottom shelf of my wardrobe, my sandals are free from the burden of carrying me all over India. Before I leave, I know I must give my sandals a proper burial here. There’s no sense taking them with me; I can’t use them, and they, after all, surely want to be buried in the same place they were born. But for now, they are simply sitting on the bottom shelf of my wardrobe. I can’t wear them, but I can’t get rid of them either. I’m just not ready yet – not ready to say goodbye, not ready to admit and accept that time is up, not ready to go on with my journey without my trusty sandals. Soon, whether I’m ready or not, I’ll have no choice. But for now, although I can’t put those sandals on my feet and walk in them down the street, it’s comforting to know that they are still with me.