My Road to Mobility (tales of tiny feet and subarus)

I don't remember the first time I crawled, nor the first time I took a few steps upright. That was way too long ago. Besides I was blissfully mentally blanked out until, well, I don't remember, really. What I remember was how I first really looked at my feet and thought, darn, I have to learn how to cut those ugly toenails. Because toenails are meant to look pretty if you are a girl, right? Not like my grandpa's whose toenails had to be tackled by pliers as they were as hard as stone and well, they looked like yellowed pebbles!

But this essay isn't about toenails. It's about retracing how I got from crawling to getting to far away places.

As a child, walking meant a lot to me. That was how I got from point A to point B, and somewhere in between. So it was imperative that I had strong legs. I had to be sprightly to jump over puddles, avoid stumbling over jutting obstacles like stones, pieces of wood, carabao and dog dung, and most importantly sharp objects like nails and thumbtacks that were regularly scattered on the ground.

The first time I remember setting out on my own was going to the kindergarten school with my younger brother, without a guardian accompanying us. My mother and father waved us goodbye out on the front porch. The school building was about 400 meters away from our house, but across the street. We needed to cross the street first, of course. So we were there, holding hands, me being the older sibling - mustering all the courage to take charge of the situation.

That was 1972, in a remote university town, where the average automated vehicle population passing through the main street would have been 20 cars a day. And following the advice of my mom, I stopped, looked and listened. I heard a very distant drone of a machine of sorts and concluded it was a vehicle going our way. So I decided to wait, and wait, and wait until it indeed passed us by, and disappeared into the distance, carrying with it its sounds. Then and only then could we start walking across the road, then waved a final good-bye to the parents, and the rest was just a matter of putting one foot after the other until we got to our destination.

I did not look back, but I felt the eyes of my mother and father following us all the way to school.

After that, I earned enough confidence to do the task everyday until I discovered the bicycle. The bicycle wasn't even mine. It was a classic lady's bike that belonged to my grandmother. It had a low metal frame in front that served as a seat, as the real seat was way up high to my chest. Our backyard was quite long and with a slight angle downhill towards the house. So there I was, holding on to the handle bars way above my head, my bottom on the metal frame and my feet balancing myself while the bicycle rolled downwards. After a few tries, I determined I could balance. Next came the tricky part, which was stepping on the pedals standing up (as the seat was too high for my bottom). So that was my early bicycle experience: cycling without a seat. Great start for my legs!

Next was going to the town on tricycle. That was quite easy as there were just four steps involved, waving for the cabbie, getting in, paying and getting out. Walking was still involved in it all, except when the advent of pedicabs started to diminish this exercise to a minimum of a few steps from the street to the doorstep of the house or shop.

At 12 I started to spread my wings, going farther from the initial kindergarten school to the town, and on to the big city of Manila which was a few hundred kilometers away from my island home. This involved buses, ferry boats, jeepneys, or if I was a bit more financially lucky: a plane ride and a taxi ride.

As a student I travelled around mainly in jeepneys, aside from the bus that took me back and forth Manila and Laguna, and the shuttle that ocassionally brought me around the longer distances in Mt. Makiling.

My wings grew wider when I started to work as an artist. Then I could afford to take the taxicab almost everyday, especially when I was running late.

And my wings grew even bigger when I first set off to travel to Europe. Due to having been able to roam around independently on public transport in and around the metropolis, tackling the international airports was a piece of cake.

And off I went to Europe. There I could enjoy taking the trains, the trams, the buses, my trusty bicycle, and most of all my legs! I learned that to discover Europe, you have to use your legs! And my legs have become so sturdy from all that practice early on in my life that I could walk and walk and walk... even on high heels over cobblestones and slippery sidewalks! I have mastered jumping over puddles and muddy fields that left my shoes still clean afterwards.

It took a while before I mustered the confidence to learn to drive a car. But oh boy when I did, there was no turning back! The exhilaration of being able to go to places in a jiffy is the ultimate physical freedom I could imagine! And it doesn't even have to be a super special car to make that happen. All I need is my trusty little old Subaru that I got so cheap, it's almost a sin to be still driving it around after five years!

My little Subaru has become my best friend. It has heard my saddest stories, absorbed my tears, embraced my pains and heartaches. It has brought me to places I never imagined I could have gone, back when I was a 5-year-old kid taking her first steps towards kindergarten school. Its sturdiness, and silent self-reliance is a wonder to me and my boy. All these years it has brought us to all our destinations.

When I look back at the tracks left by my journey, I could conclude that I have come way way farther than my initial expectations. However, my road to mobility does not end here. There are more places to go to and how I get there will unfold itself to surprise me even more! Happy trip, indeed!