Gates open. The horses gallop through the field, the jockeys basking in cheers from the fully seated grandstand. What are they running for, those horses? Run, run, faster, faster. Run so hard that shoes are needed to protect their hooves from excessive wear. Since when did horses start to wear shoes? Since it became too much, that wear and tear.

I like horses. Can’t bear to watch horse racing though, or racing of any kind. Most of my life, I’ve walked barefoot. On grounds that are uneven. On grounds that are not made for such feet. Run, run, faster, faster. Not walk, run. I ran unshod on studded soil, then shoes were finally put on. So that I will be worn out less. These shoes are made of metal, like horseshoes.

They are too large, too heavy for my feet. One size only. My toes became distorted, bruising everywhere. Being shod hurts much more than being unshod. I guess that’s why in East Asia, many parents are reluctant to shoe children in need. With these on, each step clip-clops. The sound annoys the crowds and brings shame to the family. Bad karma. They say the child will be branded, and trapped inside forever. But the child has been there, inside some invisible shoes, since birth. I wonder who trapped her there.

Barefoot, Girl runs slow. Steel shod, Girl runs slower. It seems more acceptable for Boy to wear these. After all, when they first came up with these metal shoes, they measured Boy’s feet only. You don’t look like you need these shoes, honey. Look how fast you run. Whatever, they don’t fit anyway. Every day I was bombarded with posts and comments where parents, teachers and doctors who shame people in such footwear. Hopeless. The door got slammed even harder after I was shod. These extra pair of shoes seem not to work for me there. I thought it would be easier to walk here.

The other day I met someone from my hometown. She cordially invited me to a dinner party for Christmas. Before that, the two of us had dinner. All of a sudden, she started to talk about her mental health conditions, about her supervisor’s child who also wear these shoes. I thought, so it’s ok now, so people can talk about this openly now, then I slipped. I wear the same shoes. Subtle cringe. Oh, no, I shouldn’t have said it. But it was such a lovely dinner, she was friendly. We parted. I never got let in on that dinner party again.

Happy New Year. I texted her, wondering how she was doing. If you’d like to hang out sometime before term starts, I’ll be here! No reply. She’s just too busy. It’s alright. This has nothing to do with my shoes. I have to convince myself. Either way, doesn’t matter. You know what it’s like back home. You should have now got used to it.

In the West, the horseshoe is considered a good luck charm. Here, people celebrate about being shod. Is it because the shoes here are made of softer materials? But these iron shoes originated in the West. Is it why people regard them comfy here? I’ve never seen any Girl or Boy in my colour wearing these shoes on campus though. Or are they just hidden, by themselves, or by their parents?

Run, run. The crowds stir. Horses are highly sensitive animals. Faster, faster. The horses should wear noise cancelling headphones. They gallop ahead, as if trying to flee from the clamour, as if stimming in distress. But there is nowhere to escape.

Image credit: Micah Petyt