Beautiful Life!

Note: A true story in a narrative style.

Prologue:

By the time Afiza arrived from the GP to the Gosford bus station, it was already 6.15. The almost-one-hour bus ride nearly killed her with boredom. But now she was adrenaline-charged. She had  only 20 minutes to run up the stairs, go pass the train station to exit on the other side, ran up the hill and climb up the steep road to get to her room in the nursing quarters. The Isya’ prayer would be at 6.35. And she had not performed her Maghrib prayer yet. For the hundredth time, she wondered why couldn’t the uni have assigned her to a nearer GP? The long bus-ride interfered with her prayer schedule.

Taking a deep breath, she ran and ran like a mad woman all the way to the nursing quarters. Everytime her feet hit the ground, she winced and stifled the urge to groan.

Her cheap shoes were not made to withstand such rough treatment.

And the story continues:

Afiza looked at Daniella’s maroon high-heel shoes with admiration. She has always loved looking at high-heel shoes but she would never wear them in a hospital setting, knowing how long, and how much you were required to be on your feet, always on the go, constantly scurrying after fast-paced doctors and surgeons. Yes, high-heel shoes looked nice but at the end of the day, Afiza felt absolutely certain, her feet would not survive the angry, red blisters.

And Sheila, Afiza had noticed, had changed 5 pairs of shoes in the past 5 days. Afiza was amazed because she only had two pairs, both were black (so that it would match all her clothes). One pair was sporty-looking so that she could wear it with pants, the other one was a flat ballet shoes to be worn with her skirts (she thought that wearing sporty looking shoes with a skirt or baju kurung was absolutely hideous). And both shoes came straight from Big W, the price ranging from 20 to 30 dollars only.

She took after her mother’s philosophy, “Ala, buat apa kasut mahal2. Nak letak kat tanah ja, bukan orang nak tengok sangat pun.” Therefore, Afiza always paid more attention to clothes and hijab rather than shoes.

But ever since she started on her regional rotation, her cheap black shoes no longer satisfied her womanly taste. There were two reasons for that: for one thing, she could not help but notice how pretty other girls’ shoes were. For another, she found that her cheap shoes did not give enough paddings or support to her feet which had to undergo daily torture as they ran and climbed the stairs looking for doctors and patients in the wards.

Once upon a time, her cheap black shoes were enough because she did not have to be on her feet all the time. Now, the black shoes were no longer adequate, both artistically and practically (you would notice she put ‘artistic’ first).

She sighed. There was no other solution. She must find a new pair of shoes, possibly two, to ease her discomfort after a long day of standing and running.

One weekend, armed with her pink wallet, she went to Erina Fair with Miss B. She was determined to find a nice, comfortable shoes with a reasonable price.

But her notion of what constitute a reasonable price differed from Miss B’s notion. To Afiza, 50 dollars was already expensive. In Malaysia, she would think twice before spending 50 Ringgit for anything. Let alone 50 dollars!

But a lecture from Miss B changed her views, “But it’s a wise investment. An expensive pair of shoes could be worn for years and it’s much, much more comfortable. We are paying for the quality. I am not brand-conscious, myself but personally, I would rather spend money on things like shoes, bags and watches…I would buy branded ones for those things so that it would last far, far longer. At the end, your investment pays off. I don’t really buy branded clothes, though. Because all clothes basically have the same quality and you are largely paying for the brand name rather than the quality.” Miss B explained, wisely.

That just got Afiza thinking.

Afiza, as a personal rule, did not buy branded-anything. She just did not buy branded stuff. When she shopped, she shopped for things that looked nice but cheap. Growing up in her mother’s household, she had always been told, “Dok blajar lagi, budak2 lagi, nak buat apa barang2 mahal2. Nanti dah kerja esok2 nanti, dah ada duit sendiri, hah beli lah apa nak beli.”

When she finally decided to buy the Corelli biege sneakers (80 dollars, for God’s sake!) at Williams Shoes, she felt like she had sacrificed a life-time of principles. As she handed the money to the cashier, her hands trembled and shook, not unlike a minor earthquake. She would not be surprised if she was mistaken to be suffering from Parkinson’s disease.

The feeling of happiness:

After 5 days, Afiza was still excited about her new shoes. She wore the sneakers everyday now, marvelling at how much more comfortable her feet were. She no longer minded having to stand up all day long. Now, she climbed up the stairs with light, happy feet. Her legs felt graceful and lithe and supple.

Whenever she walked, what echoed in her mind was: Ah, the power of expensive shoes. Never have I dreamed my feet could feel like this. How I walk with confidence now! No longer afraid to hit my feet on the ground. No longer having to brace myself for the pinching feeling. Oh, I would never buy my shoes at Big W again!

Now evertime Afiza walked, she actually smiled. She loved her new sneakers. Of course, it was not as pretty as Daniella’s high heel, but hey, you can’t compare sneakers with high-heels. That would be like comparing apples and orranges. As far as Afiza was concerned, her sneakers was a great combination between comfort and good looks. She was most satisfied.

In short, she was in raptures. She absolutely adored her sneakers.

Until one day…

And the conflict appears as the story commences:

It was eight in the morning. Afiza bent down her body to fasten the sneakers on her feet. And that was when she noticed the offending three dots!

Pig’s leather!

She wanted to cry and wail at the injustice of it all! How could she not notice it before? She felt like cursing!

Apparently, as the sneakers became worn-out, the ‘pigness’ of the leather became more obvious than before. Afiza had no choice but to admit that her 80 dollars investment had become a sham of an investment!

For a few days afterward, she went back to wearing her cheap black, synthetic shoes. No more self-satisfied smiles on her lips. In fact, her forehead seemed to be in the state of permanent frown. Her nose cringed in absolute distaste.

Whenever she placed her feet on the ground, the pinchy, tight feeling on her feet reminded her of the Iranian film - The Children of Heaven.The film was all about  shoes and how the brother and sister in that film had to share the uncomfortable sneakers. In Afiza’s mind, she could sympathize greatly with their plight. Once, she had wondered at the brilliance of the scriptwriter; his ability to construct a good, touching story wholly based on conflict about shoes only.

Now, she knew that constructing a sob story about shoes was not that hard. Indeed, now that she has experienced a taste of expensive, good shoes, she could make a whole mini-novel talking about uncomfortable shoes only.

Resolving the conflict:  

It was Friday.

It was her GP day.

It was the day when she would come back from her GP session at 6.15.

It was the day when she would have to run and run and run so that she would be able to get back in her room at least 5 minutes before 6.35 to perform her Maghrib prayer.

She could no longer stand the pathetic feeling. With a steely determination, she grabbed her wallet, went to the nearest shopping complex called The Imperial, and began her second hunt for expensive comfortable shoes.

Of course, she had to go to the ATM machine first. 

And again, her Parkinsonian tremor appeared as she looked at her bank balance. But with an admirable willpower, she made herself stop shaking. She repeated these words in her mind: It’s a wise investment, it’s a wise investment, it’s a wise investment.

She entered the shop, nervously. The shop looked as though the cheapest shoes it had would be around 100 dollars.

Afiza began to have second thoughts. But again, she shut her mind against the reminder of a lifetime in the form of her mother’s words; buat apa kasut mahal2, nak letak kat tanah jugak. She shut her ears against her conscience. She threw caution to the wind, and continued to peruse the array of shoes displayed.

When the salesgirl came to approach her with “Can I help you?”, Afiza smiled sweetly and said: “Yes, I am looking for nice, comfortable shoes to wear to work. Something that looks nice for work but also provide the comfort of a sport shoes. And because I am a Muslim, I do not want anything with pig’s leather on it.”

Usually Afiza did not bother adding the bit about ‘pig’s leather’ to any salesgirls. She would just decide for herself what looked ‘piggish’ and what did not. But after having bought an expensive pig-leather shoes, she was determined to not leave anything to chances. Might as well just be clear and forthright to the salesgirl so that she would not make the same mistakes again. And waste more of her money!

It was very hard for the salesgirl to help Afiza in choosing her shoes. After all, a lot of nice and comfortable shoes had leather linings that were piggish in nature. But after almost 15 minutes of looking around, finally she found THE ONE. It was a pair of sneakers; it was blue; it was leather plus suede. It looked absolutely stunning. And when Afiza tried it on, it was ten times as comfortable as the previous shoes.

She MUST have it!

She looked at the price, and she nearly fainted. It was more than double the previous shoes.

Again, she suffered a Parkinsonian tremor.

Should she buy it?

Epilogue:

It was 6.15 when Afiza got down from the bus. The almost-one-hour bus ride nearly killed her with boredom. But now she was adrenaline-charged. She had  only 20 minutes to run up the stairs, go past the train station to exit on the other side, ran up the hill and climb up the steep road to get to her room in the nursing quarters.

Taking a deep breath, she ran and ran like a mad woman all the way to the nursing quarters. Everytime her feet hit the ground, she smiled. And as she kept on running up the hill, her smile broadened into a wide, satisfied grin. Before long, her laughter rang out.

It was a laughter of pure contentment.

Filed under: The life of med student and