I gazed up towards the very tip of the Puma building and tried to immerse myself into this bustling, buzzling, yet poetic world.
Rays of sunlight peered through the towering skyscrapers along Fifth Avenue, seeping into the moisty air and giving each deep breath I took a texture of the hot steam that hovers above a cup of freshly made coffee. An innocently tender gust of wind wandered through the street and brushed against my cheeks, my bare arms, my ankles.
The soft whisper of wind stung around my ankles, pulling me out of the state of immersion that I so crave to sink into. The stiff heels of my new Converse must be stained with blood now.
I giggled inwardly. Converse. The only thing that did not change on me as I grew from primary school to high school. Every single time I travel to a new city, I would beg my parents to buy me a new pair of Chuck Taylor 70s at the local outlets—no Barbies, Legos, or magnets for me please. The sparkling, girlish purple ones I carried home from Dubai, the all-black themed ones I spotted in Pattaya when I was going through a phase of boyish addictions…… Each pair now lay obediently on my shoe shelf at home, a million miles away. Yet no matter how many times my ankles get smushed by the hard canvas on a newly bought pair of Converse, I seem to be incapable of remembering to wear a pair of high-cut socks on my first date with the shoes.
I passed a yellow breakfast cart with the big letters “BAGELS” rolling on the digital screen and was instantly drawn by a milky, sugary fragrance swiftly floating through the small window at the height of my chest.
“One hot cocoa please. Thank you very much! It’s such a nice day isn’t it!”
I curiously watched the friendly owner as he stirred the brown volcanic ashes floating in the parchment-colored paper cup. His movements reminded me of my mother busying herself in the kitchen…
A smile found its way into my eyes and I could feel my gaze heating up. The truth is, I realized, that I never actually cared to remember wearing long stockings, because my parents had always been there to support me when the pain comes. Through the hot desert in Dubai, through the national parks in Kenya, through the vendors in Thailand, whenever I said “Ouch, it hurts,” their hands would immediately transform themselves into my walking stick.
“Here you are, miss. Enjoy! Have a nice day!”
I stared for a few seconds and wondered how amazing it is that I can feel his smile even through that thick, black moustache of his. But the dewy smell of hot cocoa drew me back into reality, and I turned.
The stinging pain of cloth rubbing harshly against my ankles was still present, showing even a slight inclination of worsening. As used to such small pains as I am, I bit my lip, pretended to be just fine, and kept going on.
The big display cases of a Dr. Martins store slowly folded and unfolded. And then a pond of whiteness suddenly arose before my eyes as the one-direction street hatched to become a cross. Along the cross I wandered into an open-air market swarming with people. As I blended into the stream of people, I felt an undercurrent carrying me into the direction the majority was going in a speed uncontrolled by me.
The fast pace was beginning to make my ankles hurt very badly. The edges of my low-cut socks pressed into the wounds, forcing perspiration to form into small, round droplets on my forehead. All around me was people, hurrying and chattering as if completely oblivious to everything except their own paces. The muscles around my brows tensed. A small flame kindled inside my stomach. The sting on my heels deteriorated into blunt pains.
On the verge of being devoured by the current, I gave up to my ankles.
A woman in high heels walking behind me almost bumped into me. “Sorry,” she uttered without even looking up from her phone.
As I slowed down, I returned to my own pace and surrendered to a slight limping. The friction between the hard canvas cloth and my tender skin eased, and the veil of pain lifted.
The white cloth shading the little shops beside me flapped happily in the wind. Several pigeons circled above my head in the lucid, blue sky. Several passersby wonderingly gazed at me, as though wondering what is wrong about me that forced me to walk in such a ridiculous way.
A giggle crawled into my eyes as the smoky fire torching within died off. What if I am a thousand miles away from home, alone in a big city trying to grasp an opportunity that falls only on the one in a million? I am an independent individual. The sun shone down benevolently, invigorating me with a spirit as warm as itself. The giant buildings around me seemed to be weaving together a song of wind crisscrossing through the winding gaps.
Alice in Wonderland 