I know they’re dying, any such pair would have been dying for years. Their color has long faded to a shade of sickly grayish-blue, and their natural curves have faded to flatness. But I am not yet ready to let go, they have been my favorite walking partners since the eighth grade, and that was back in 1998.

I remember the first time I laid my eyes on them. A new Nike store had opened in one of the malls in Riyadh, and I was going there with my mother and my brother Omar, who was looking for an American football. At the very end of the oblong store, on the very far wall adjacent to the entrance, a display of brand spanking new sneakers was covering the entire length and width of that wall.

Those years were the peak of sneaker fashion, when sneakers were still a canvas for creativity and new methods of keeping your feet comfortable. They were of many diverse colors, made out of a whole lot of materials from woven uppers to denim to pink leather. It was also the time to forget that sneakers should automatically come with shoe laces, and many of the models had alternative ways of sticking to your feet.

I had no problem picking the bright blue pair with the elastic front. They were pathetically comfortable, and they felt like they were socks. I did not know then that they would become the shoes I spent most of the time wearing in the coming ten years.

1998-2002, I wore them every single day to school. When I say every day, I really am not exaggerating. It was as basic as the alphabet; wake up, brush teeth, put uniform on, socks on, blue Nikes on, drink milk, grab back-pack, and go to school. They made funny, squeeky sounds on the rubber floors of Manarat, and I always found it funny.

2003-2007, the time spent at the University of Jordan was divided between my red Chucks and my blue Nikes, depending on whether my outfit matched blue or red. The Nikes had started to die in this period, but their death has been slow. Every year or so, I glue their soles back together with UHU, which has been keeping them alive for years.

I remember the day I blogged that, it’s in the archives actually. Date, January 25th, 2005.
The years have since made them my favorite pair. I mean, it’s been a while, you know?

2007-2008, my low-rise red Chucks have sort of died. Not in the same way that my Nikes are dying, where temporary cure is achieved with a dash of UHU, but the fabric itself is tearing off the Chucks. I bought a new pair, but I am mostly wearing my Nikes these days because I haven’t broken in the new pair properly and I really like shoes to be comfortable. If only Gus still shared my shoe size, he would have broken them in for me. Oh well.

The Nikes were ten years old last year, and a very fruitful ten years they were. Together, we walked the hallways of middle school, highschool, we practiced graduation ceremonies, ran around Jordan University rain and shine, learned to drive, made graduation projects, took photographs, and signed marriage documents. Together, we walked the streets of Riyadh, Amman, Damascus, Cairo, Paris, London, Beirut, Amman. This pair has been my partner, a steady element, a steady comfort, a steady reliability.

It’s not that I haven’t looked for another pair, but each pair I buy gets buried in the back of my closet, for none can laceless, be as comfortable and look as good.

And I’m still gluing them every now and then, eleven years on. Today is a gluing day. This is to another year of the blue shoes.