The Second Pair of Sandals by the Door

Twenty to seven in the morning, cold tile under my feet, and out in the alley the familiar call of the sticky-rice seller. I slip my feet into my own sandals and, like every morning, step over the other pair left in the corner by the door. Four months it has been there. Yesterday I kicked it by accident, it swung halfway round, and I stood looking at it longer than I needed to.

This poem was written after that morning.

Two pairs of sandals by the door.
One worn down at the left heel,
mine, every morning.
One cleaner,
still turned with its toes outward.

I am used to stepping over it
like a low doorstep.
I do not trip.
I only always remember
to lift my foot.

This morning there was light rain.
I tried carrying it out to the porch,
to catch a little late sun,
like a cat that has come to stay
and has no name yet.

Wet sandals dry.
Dry sandals I set straight again.
Nobody comes to take them.
Nobody asks
why I keep them.

One day
I will give them away,
or tuck them into a bag.
Or slip them on once,
to find out whose feet they fit.

Today, they are there.
I am here too.

A pair of sandals is nothing grand. It is just one concrete thing that people cannot file anywhere: throw it out and it sounds like discarding, keep it and it sounds like waiting. Between those two ways of hearing it there is another place, which is to let it be a pair of sandals.

I remember crouching out on the porch, a sandal in my hand still speckled with rain, and asking myself:

"What are you keeping it for?"

"Nothing. I don't know yet."

Not knowing yet is also an answer, and enough for today.

If you also have a pair of sandals, a cup, a cap, something you do not know where to put, there is one small thing you can try. It does not ask you to decide anything.

The first time, some people feel lighter because the object is no longer sitting in the dark. Others feel sadder, and that is ordinary too. After a week, some find it weighs a little less when they look at it, some find it the same, and both are fine. If all you feel is more sadness, just put it back. Not yet is also an answer.

If you are facing a lot of things like this at once, the poem What remains in the room is about that feeling, and Delete old photos or keep them, and why both are right is about a different kind of keeping, the kind inside your phone.

When to seek professional support

This article is a short poem and a small exercise about the things left behind after a breakup. It cannot replace treatment, and I am not promising it will make the sadness lighter.

But here are a few signs you should bring to a professional, rather than carrying them alone:

• Sadness or a feeling of emptiness lasts for weeks, making it hard to work or leave the house
• You cannot touch or look at certain objects without being pulled into a heavy feeling that lasts for hours
• Eating and sleeping stay disturbed, or you feel aches and tiredness with no clear reason that do not ease
• You think about hurting yourself, even if it is just a passing thought

The last point cannot wait. Speak with someone you trust, today. The Emergency Support page explains what holds true in moments like that.

Talking with a professional is an ordinary way of not having to carry it all alone.