Breaking the Shell

The two mounds play with my mind when I realized how they have strategically trapped me into their straight. Trying to flee and break away, I tiptoed my way around—towards the grassy patches—attemping to maintain the cleanliness of my feet. Deceived by the solid ground, the misleading hard surface caves as my body weight dives deeper into the Earth. The ambush triggers my fight and flight response and I transfer all my pressure onto my ten tiny joints and —.

The balance breaks, tipping me into the opaque puddle that probably contains thousands of unknown microrganisms. The cold water shocks my nerves before the frustration of my feet’s contamination hits me. Without the protective coverings on my soles, there’s more calculations, proactiveness, and trust needed in each step. Ultimately, I surrender. Instead of climbing out of the puddles, I succumb to the craters filled with slippery mud, each one differing slightly in depth. Buying into the mound’s scheme became the wisest plan to escape from the pebbles that leeched onto me, targeting and biting my nerves like a hungry parasite. The cool water and mushy soil quickly alleviated and removed the pain in my soles. The mud—completely concealed by the puddle—seeped in between the crevices of my feet, inclosing and consuming what seemed like my entire body. Carefully coating each toe, it left splotched residues that clinged onto me. With each step, my imprints marked a trail of the path I took. Hidden under the murky water, the ground makes uneven shifts, surprising me with its response. As the pain subsides and the soil naturally massages my feet, I wonder, why we are so afraid to get dirty? It will wash away. 

My unconsciousness automatically wishes to keep things in pristine condition.  Even if it meant disregarding people’s popular habits and the purpose of the object, if it was against my principles, the action naturally feels unbearable. One of the most unreasonable principles would include my rule for pencils. Using the erasers on the top of a pencil breaks the overall shape and flawlessness of the object, ruining something that can be prevented with another tool. The imperfections on an eraser attached to a pencil has made me feel so troubled that using it feels inherently forebidden. I simply ask peers to keep those pencils after. Similarly, taking off the protective cover of my feet meant contacting directly with the bacteria and multi-organism filled ground.

Pressing my feet into the natural mixed floor made me feel uneasy but also connected. Remembering how Mr. Hart encouraged me to walk barefoot on non-synthetic ground, I hoped that this exercise benefited greatly for the wellness and reset for my feet. Deviating away from the two inches of plastic soles, I connected my soul to the uneven ground— leaving zero room for disconnection or being aloof. Once my foot dipped into the muddy puddles, the contrast between the icy water and sun on my back felt liberating. The perspiration from my dirt- splotched feet melded with the murky water. The freedom I felt walking barefoot immediately reminded me of children that excitedly splash into puddles after a rainstorm. Similar to a child running around without any precautions in mind, my autopilot to do list of finishing 200 pages of reading this week turns off. Despite going against my principles, the liberation and innocence that the walk brought me broke away from the predictable and expected patterns that I was familiar with. My alertness and attentiveness shifted to the Earth, staying cautious with each step I take. 

Onto the dry areas, the sticks also unexpectedly pierces through the layers of my dead skin, reminding me of its purpose. Digging into some of my pressure points, the sticks and pain warn me to remain aware and walk with a purpose, not aimlessly without obligations. In the wet areas, there’s no pain, only unlimited uncertainties.