Verano en julio

ANNIE VALA'S DIARY

I'm writing this blog with a song playing: "Summer in July" by Yukon Blonde. And I didn't choose it by chance: this is, literally, a summer in July.

This is my first summer as an engaged woman. And my first summer in Finland.

My fiancé is from Sweden, but his summer home is in Finland, on an island. There, every year, his entire family on his father's side gets together. And when I say entire, I mean the whole shebang. And I love it.

Because one of the things I've wanted most in life is to feel like part of a family. A real one. And to say this one is close-knit is an understatement. It works like this: you go into the bathroom, and before you know it, there are three people waiting for you outside. Not to rush you, but to invite you for a walk, for coffee, for tea. There's always a plan, there's always someone.

I have to confess something, though: they drink their coffee extremely bitter. And you know me, I'm a sugar lady. But hey, there's nothing a little milk and sugar can't fix. Small diplomatic negotiations between a Mexican and a Scandinavian archipelago.

I feel good. I'm happy.

And here's the funny thing. I brought fifteen pairs of Vala Blanca with me. Fifteen. As if I were going to parade around the island. And after a few days, I realized something that made me laugh to myself: the only thing my feet are going to touch this summer is the earth.

I'm in the Finnish archipelago. Everyone here goes barefoot. Running, laughing, sunbathing, jumping into the icy water and coming out as if it were nothing. There's no room for heels. There's no room for shoes. And that's okay.

I, who make a living from shoes, had to learn something this summer: there are moments that are lived better without them.

Because shoes are loyal companions, yes. They support us, accompany us, carry our stories. But a good companion also knows when to step aside and let you feel the earth directly under your feet. Let you run, get wet, get your heels dirty, and it doesn't matter. Life, sometimes, is exactly that: barefoot, without an agenda, enjoying the water and the ground.

And perhaps that is the most beautiful lesson of this summer. That being present is not always about having the perfect outfit or the ideal pair. Sometimes it's about letting go of everything—even what you love most—to embrace what's in front of you. A huge family, a cold lake, a bitter coffee you learn to love.

So today I toast. With a cup in hand, my feet full of earth, and my heart full of people.

I toast to being able to dance barefoot. To being engaged. And to a summer so different, so unexpected, and so mine, here in Finland.

And you? When was the last time you took off your shoes—really—and let yourself feel the earth? Tell me. Because sometimes happiness is measured in barefoot steps.

Love,

Annie Vala.