One day when you're six years old, you're called upon, by the teacher with the white flowery skirt and pink lace top. She says, Here, show the class how to tie your shoelaces.

On the large wooden table top is a shoe, white converse with black shoelaces, untied and loose. You hesitate, but are afraid of pals noticing you're vacillating. You don't want to appear skittish. Up front you put on a brilliant smile, taking care to make sure even your toes are smiling. You skipped to the front of the class. You're happy, try to dismiss the needless nerves. Up front. But inside you resemble the biscuit crumbs you left on the table after breakfast. Vulnerable even to wind.

As you walk down the aisle, you secretly wish you never have to turn to face the stares of 30 inquisitive minds more probing than yours.

But you can't let them know.

As you did, still with sunshine smiles, you took note not to let your cold hands shake too much. The unsettling feeling settles in. Butterflies. Flutter.

At six, Failure is too hard a concept. You can only understand Wrong. What if you go wrong. What if the wrong end goes through the wrong hoop. What if the butterflies stay in your stomach and never come to the shoe. What if they go the wrong way. What if you falter, flutter. What if the knot turns out wrong, not butterfly flutter, not something we desire. What if it comes out ugly, a dead knot that nobody can undo.

Left alone, you know you'll be more confident. Attention complicates. Too afraid to go wrong. Too afraid to admit. Your hands continue to sweat. 30 pairs of eyes, deciphering your every word, analysing your every move. Yes, even if they say they aren't interested, even if they aren't meant to pay attention. They still do, you know.

Just that moment, the six year old turned sixteen. You get critical, hoping someone, something else can divert this attention. The white shoe and black shoelaces turn gray. Frustration, helplessness. Simple words that six year olds won't use. Up front you can't afford to let slip. Sunshine smiles. And you still complete.

Then the gray turns black and white again. And you turn back to six. Condescending stares turn admiration. Pride, with a tinge of guilt and shame for your jitteries.

You walk back down the aisle, hoping you will and will not be called upon again.

8:39:00 PM because I say so