Every little girl looks up to her mother. My mom was beautiful and especially stylish. She was an actress in her twenties. She met my father, a director for South Korea’s national public broadcaster, at the KBS new actors’ orientation. They fell in love, and my mother chose my father over a career in acting. She doesn’t regret her decision, but she sometimes misses the old days. 

Her closet was full of many elegant pointy high heels. I never saw my mom wear other shoes. She wore stilettos for dining out, family dinners, or hanging out with her friends—they were her everyday shoes. Even when I was a toddler, I loved her shoes. But my mom always hid her treasures on the highest rack in her closet. Still, my desire for heels grew bigger. One summer day, when I was four, I checked on my grandma—safely cooking in the kitchen—and pulled up the chair in front of the shoe racks. My little hands reached up to a pair of golden high heels, and I put them on.  

“These are fantastic! I will never take these shoes off!” 

When I heard Grandma calling me for dinner, I escaped outside. At the end of the garden was a stairway to the rooftop, where my sister and I had our secret hideout. My poor granny looked for me everywhere. Finally, she went to the rooftop. She yelled, “What are you doing here? Take those off right now!” 

I forgot I was wearing very big shoes. I ran away—and missed a step—and tumbled all the way down the stairs into the garden, still in Mom’s high heels. 

I awoke in the emergency room. I could hear my mom scolding my grandma and my sister beside me, crying because she thought I was dying. Luckily my brain had no damage, but my mom’s golden high heels disappeared from the shoe closet forever. 

At university, my passion for shoes continued. At every sale, I ran to the shoe department and bought more. My mom nagged at me, “You are like Imelda Marcos! You must save money for your future.” My shoe love only grew. I always wore high heels to work, though they gave me many blisters. Each night I swore no more! But the next morning, I chose high heels again. 

One morning, running to a very important meeting with clients, I suddenly felt my body floating in the air. My beautiful 6-inch heel had got stuck in a manhole cover. I landed with a bump in the middle of the street. My handbag flew open, and all my stuff was scattered—but the worst thing was, my heel was broken. I had terrible pain in my left ankle, but I was most heartbroken about my shoes. I had only worn them twice! 

At Emergency, my first question was- when could I wear high heels again? Glancing woefully at my swollen left ankle, the doctor said the bone was fractured and must be in a cast for six weeks. After that, it was crutches for three months, and I must NEVER wear high heels. I was devastated. Giving up my stilettos would destroy my self-esteem. I believed my heels turned me from an immature girl into a sexy career woman. 

However, it did happen that, little by little, my interest changed from high heels after my child was born to mid-height heels and then to flat shoes. Now I wear running shoes on the treadmill; I enjoy the beautiful Rockies in my hiking boots; I put on clunky ski boots to go flying over the snow. I gave up my childish obsession with how other people see me—when I was ready to enjoy life. But I keep my golden high heels deep in the corner of my closet, with my childhood memories and my beautiful young mother’s glamour.