Socks-Free

A sour, offensive stench slowly pervades the air in the dorm hallway. “Put on your socks! Stinky-feet!”

My refusal to wear socks was a small quirk throughout my childhood. I can still recall the feeling of the fresh grass in our garden in Xiamen as I would enjoy stolen moments and socks-free freedom. The moments were fleeting. Soon, my mom was standing on the pavement holding clean socks. On occasion, she would have to chase me, just to put those socks on my unadulterated feet… This idiosyncrasy left a big impression on my fellow chorus members when I attended an ensemble training camp in Autun, France. My campers and I had convened on the first day in the main rehearsal room. Naturally, I chose to be barefoot for this opening event. As the piano played melodious melodies, the pungent odor of my sweaty feet permeated the space. “What smell is that?” one camper asked with a grimace.

“Why does it smell so bad?” a second camper chimed in.

“Jesus Christ!” was the crescendo from the chorus of campers. Embarrassed, I couldn’t wait to dig a tunnel to escape my humiliation. At that moment, I made a decision that I would wear socks for the remainder of the camp, concealing this habit, which had always been a quirky part of my identity in my childhood.

When I woke up the next morning and walked toward my suitcase to search for a pair of socks that my mom had secretly packed, I suddenly stood stiff. Why was I trying to change myself for others? Here at camp, in this fleeting moment with new friends, I should feel uninhibited. I should just be myself, singing, adventuring, and making new friends in a foreign land and a new setting. I decided not to open my suitcase and rummage for the socks that everyone wished that I would put on. I strode confidently down the hall for my breakfast, feeling the cool freedom of the floor below each sole. I felt like I was walking on wind, clouds, and sunlight. “No socks… again!”, shouted one camper. “Whatever”, said another. “Come and join us, Stinky Feet!” He said with an inviting smile.

After those wonderful days, even with the nickname “Stinky Feet”. Great friends, I’ve made and enjoyed every second of high pitches that obstruct clouds from moving. “Very nice to meet you! Stinky Feet!” As he said the words goodbye, our eyes all turned red and started forming cheap crystals in a glimpse of summer breeze.

Every time I recall that unforgettable August in France, I see the limpid blue sky and roadside flowers with their faint lavender scent, I hear the drizzling rain as it gently touches cobblestone streets, along with goodbyes from my new friends as we try to hold back our tears, and of course, I smell the sour odor of my summertime feet. When I think back to camp, I understand that these moments have become cherished memories. Looking back at my sock-free days and summer camp, I understand that a strong independent streak runs through me. I still possess moments of freedom - when I can grow my hair long or leave my socks off. It might be that this is what draws people to me.

Autun, France helped me to better understand this aspect of myself. It taught me to be open to new experiences, to friendship, to humor, and to embrace the quirks and idiosyncrasies that make me me, feet included.