Journey to work and back

Lately, I’ve begun to appreciate the ghetto of an apartment I’ve rented. Due to the inconvenient location, I spend an average of 40mins a day walking. 10minutes to the LRT station, 5 minutes to the bus-stop and another 10mins to my office. When going home, the same distance is covered with the destination being home. It’s been 5 months since I’ve started doing this ritual Monday to Friday (of course sometimes I take the ocassional taxi ride, because my feet hurt from either too much balancing on the overcrowded bus driven by a madman of a driver or the shoes with pointy heels finally make the blisters on my deformed toes burst and sting. I know. I’m so disgustingly honest, right. But check out the title of my blog. It says I speak frankly. Therefore I do.

Somehow I didn’t really feel the pain of walking in heels when I was doing the same at the hotel bar for a straight 8++ hours daily. I think the adrenaline pumping and multi-tasking nature of working in a busy hotel bar distracted me well from the pain in my feet, but changing 7 pairs of shoes in a year said a lot of how much walking I did… (or how difficult it is to find an elegant looking pair of shoes that’s comfortable enough to wear for a prolonged time).

Anyhow. Despite the horror of walking in 1.5 inch heels (doesn’t sound like much, but it’s torturing me) on an everyday basis, I am starting to psycho myself into thinking positive. When one earns so little and pays so much rent, one does not afford taxi rides everyday. Therefore one learns how to count one’s blessings, as in the case of yours truly.

When I’m not engrossed in reading my book (there’s always one in my bag, because I can’t stand the boredom of staring blankly ahead while travelling. And there’s not much of scenery in Singapore at all), I am plugged into my mp4 player, mostly listening to either a High Society album or a Hotel Costes album, observing. Observation of the Typical Singaporean comforts me.

Many many women like to wear 3 inch heels to work. And most of them walk almost as much as I do. The result is ugly, overly muscled, bulgy looking calves. I get reminded of my science teacher in secondary school when I see the Bulgy-calved Woman. And I get comforted because I know I still have relatively slim (and increasingly toned) legs. And no fat ankles. I hate to see fat ankles. Women with fat ankles should NOT wear skirts. They torture my vision. Yes. And through my random observation of other women’s calves, I conclude that low heels do not create ugly calves, only high heels do. I guess it’s due to the muscle group you use to balance differs when you wear different kinds of heels. High heels are NOT meant for walking, sisters!

I am motivated to invest in a nice pair of rubbery Crocs Mary Janes. Not because I think they look nice (I HATE the first generation of Crocs because they are the worst footwear to ever have been designed – no, brought to the retails stores. To say that someone designed that hideous thing is an insult to the verb), but because I need to start caring for my feet. Since Crocs shoes are supposed to be comfortable, I’ll give it a go, but only for the more bearable offering (ie the Mary Jane-ish ones). And if I can find something nice from Geox maybe I will get a pair too.

Yes. I mentioned observing the Typical Singaporean. You know who you are. The cheap-perfume-overloading, hustling-up-the-bus-entrance-because-you’re-afraid-there-is-no-seat-on-the-EMPTY-bus, hustling-to-the-exit-by-squeezing-through-the-crowd-like-you’re-the-only-person-alighting types drive me crazy.  Why can’t they just wait a little?! They make my everyday commute a regular cursing-in-my-heart ritual. It’s madness. I’m so afraid I’ll turn into one of them I get paranoid sometimes. I check my butt for VPL before I exit my apartment, I try to make sure I wear deodorant, I try to look slightly more put-together but I also value comfort of what I wear. But knowing I still think like the way I do comforts me because I’m not them. I try not to become them.

Therefore, no 3-inch heels, no typical pant-suits and no monogram bags of any brand. Monograms symbolise the infliction of Singaporean affluenza. Actually that’s mostly because I can’t afford any luxury bags. But for me, I’ll only carry a Marc Jacobs or Loewe tote when I earn a minimum 5-figure salary. Meanwhile I use my money on travelling, which is cheaper, feeds my soul and gets me out of this miserable excuse of an island.

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