Cho on Nostr: Kendo Is My Light #kendo #korea #faith #true #reading #books #fun #life #dream #love ...
Kendo Is My Light
#kendo #korea #faith #true #reading #books #fun #life #dream #love #motivation
Chapter 1
Every life has a story
I was desperate to prove myself
“Honga, do you dare to dream of the Korean national team? With just one year remaining, your preparation will be an arduous journey. It will be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Are you willing to seize this opportunity?”
The voice echoed in my mind as I arrived at the stadium for the SBS Kumdo Championship. Esteemed professional kendo players were converging upon the scene, figures I had previously only witnessed through the veil of television screens or recorded footage. The audience too streamed in, eager to witness the unfolding spectacle.
Exhaustion already clung to my bones, as the night prior had brought little reprieve. When I awoke, my heart pounded within my chest as if a farmer was relentlessly striking an empty kettle, shooing away thousands of sparrows from the rice field. The incessant pounding had commenced the previous night and showed no signs of relenting. Standing before the colossal stadium, I took a moment to gaze at the heavens and whispered to myself, “This is a battle. I stand upon the battlefield. I am a warrior.” Suddenly, the cacophony of the relentless pounding subsided.
I was not an elite athlete, nor had I trained in kendo since the tender age of five. I was an ordinary young woman who attended school, then embarked on a job hunt after graduation, eventually pursuing my dream career while juggling university studies in the evenings. That was who I was.
Kendo had captivated me from the moment our paths intertwined, for the exhilaration that surged through me after landing a strike upon someone’s head—often men—was indescribable. I revelled in dominating and conquering the egos and bodies of men, swinging the shinai (bamboo sword) with reckless abandon every morning before work. It was a joy akin to the carefree days of my youth, when I played fearlessly alongside the boys in my village. And now, unbelievably, I found myself participating in the most prestigious kendo championship in South Korea, with the audacious goal of becoming the champion a mere six months later, following my encounter with Taek sensei (my second teacher). Reflecting upon it now, it seemed like madness. To harbor such a dream, the dream of becoming a champion, appeared ludicrous. “If I perform well, this achievement could propel me into contention for the Korean national team. Perhaps, I may even don the national colours.” This audacious dream, akin to threading a camel through the eye of a needle, became my weapon.
I stepped into the stadium, ascending to the highest floor where solitude awaited me. Placing my armour down, I sat alone, seeking inner silence, and observed the bustling activity unfolding below. In the depths of my being, I affirmed once more, “Kendo does not define my entire existence. Yet, I refuse to retreat. This challenge may resemble a gamble, but I am determined to partake. This is the moment to unveil whether Taek sensei’s challenge was recklessness or whether I am reckless for embracing and pursuing his audacious dream. The truth shall soon be revealed. Today, I shall make it a reality. May my intentions reach the divine ears of God.”
On that fateful day, it felt as if Taek sensei’s fate hung in the balance. His intuition and teachings would be scrutinized through my performance. I needed to embody the essence of someone who had dedicated their entire life to training and possessed undeniable talent. I stood as the embodiment of desperation, determined to prove myself in order to save Taek sensei and protect my cherished dream.
From that moment forward, a newfound inner strength enveloped me. I relinquished all thoughts, disregarded my surroundings, and focused solely on gathering my mind at its core. My expression remained neutral, devoid of any tension. Gathering my armour, I descended to where the other competitors awaited. Two competition areas were bathed in the glow of immense lights. Inhaling deeply, I whispered to myself, “Every life has a story. Regardless of its status, be it low or high, poor or rich, each person possesses their own unique narrative. Today, I shall forge my own story. This is merely the beginning.”
I locked eyes with my opponent, and my heart transformed into an engine, driving me forward. I commanded my soul to fulfill its purpose, to secure victory, and I ordered my body to conceal any trace of weakness throughout the imminent bout. As the shinpan, the referees, signalled for us to enter the competition area, I stepped forward.
“Taddak! Tadaak!”
The resounding clash of shinai filled the air. My strikes were sharp and swift, and my mind remained unwavering. I focused solely on my opponent’s movements, seizing every opportunity that presented itself. I dominated the competition, confident in my inevitable triumph. I inflicted pain upon my adversary, never relenting. Then, the flags of the referees soared skyward. I had emerged victorious from the match. As I awaited the next bout, I felt the presence of God by my side. If He had not been there, then I had earned His presence. Slowly, I began to recite the “Lord’s Prayer,” seeking God’s assistance, while observing the match of the individual before me. Effortlessly, I continued to triumph. I felt as though I had transformed into a formidable warrior after a mere six months of training under Taek sensei. How glorious it was.
I had already advanced to the quarter-finals. However, this time, my mind faltered. My heart began to soften. I desperately searched for my untamed warrior spirit, only to find it absent. “Oh dear! Where has it gone?” Then, unexpectedly, an angelic voice visited me. “Oh no... I do not need an angel’s voice now, God! I need the voice of a demon!”
Prior to the SBS Kumdo Championship, Taek sensei had taken me to a renowned kendo university. He recognized the necessity for me to train alongside professional kendoka—individuals who were swift, dynamic, skilled, and experienced. Having only trained with men in my dojo, he believed it imperative for me to practice with other professional female kendoka, as they would be my opponents in the SBS championship.
He dropped me off at the university, uttering only a single word, “Good luck!” Then he departed, leaving me surrounded by strangers. Their gazes bore into me like I was an outsider. My attire, my manner of speech, my demeanour—everything about me seemed peculiar to them. Clad in heels and a short skirt, my hair flowing freely, and wearing a full face of makeup, they regarded me as if I were in the wrong place—in their eyes, I should have been at a shopping centre. And I felt just as out of place when I gazed upon them. They were girls who resembled boys, spoke like boys, and carried themselves like boys. It was an utterly unfamiliar sight to me. The kendo sensei of the university arranged for all the female kendoka to spar with me. They were former Korean national team members, champions, and promising kendo stars. University kendo sensei handpicked the best six, and one by one, they faced me in combat.
The final match was intense. Blow after blow, we clashed relentlessly, neither of us willing to back down. The tension in the air was palpable, and with every strike, the sound of shinai reverberated through the arena. The match reached its conclusion, and to my surprise, it ended in a draw.
As the matches concluded, a short break was granted. The expressions on the faces of the other female kendoka turned grim. I couldn’t comprehend the reason behind their distress. It was merely a competition, a matter of winning or losing. There was no personal vendetta involved. Their glances resembled those of hyenas, hungry and eager to devour me. However, one girl, Sun stood apart from the rest.
Sun possesses a delightful charm with a hint of plumpness that only adds to her cuteness. Her chin acquires a subtle rosy hue, particularly after a hard training, giving her a radiant and healthy appearance. Sharing a penchant for rice, Sun’s love for food resonates with my own, and her calm, kind demeanour makes her a joy to be around. Despite her simple, country-girl style, she exudes a captivating charm in her conversations, filled with laughter and warmth. From our first meeting, I felt an instant and strong connection with her.
She was the same girl I would be facing in the quarterfinals at SBS, and she had become my friend. In the restroom, I overheard a few girls crying and gossiping about me, questioning my presence and criticizing my kendo skills. When I entered, they all fell silent, and though tempted to retaliate, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. My sudden appearance had caught them off guard, and I understood their position. I chose to remain quiet until it was time to leave—though a week seemed too long—and I hurriedly followed the crowd. Some boys found amusement in my subdued behaviour, while other girls continued to harbor endless hatred. However, Sun who had trained alongside me with the university professional kendoka, offered me quick advice to help me improve.
When professional university students struck my Men, their bodies moved like bullets, surpassing my ability to evade them. I grew desperate to dodge these metaphorical bullets. On the first day, my performance frustrated everyone, but by the second day, their frustration subsided. Sun, my friend, pleaded with them to treat me with kindness. I gave my all, training harder than anyone else, even though I was slower. Gradually, they began to appreciate my determination. After spending nearly six hours training together each day, we became friends. Even the other girls started to accept me.
I developed a special affection for Sun, the one who cared for me and whom I was set to fight against in the next match. It left me feeling confused. “Kendo is not everything in my life, but for my friend, kendo is her everything.” Would I be taking her dream away from her? Was I doing the right thing? My heart whispered with uncertainty. I was at a loss, torn between conflicting emotions. Another voice emerged within me, asserting, “If I win this battle, perhaps my dream will come true. I cannot afford to feel sorry for anyone. Everyone here is likely desperate in their own way, but I might be the most desperate of all. If my friend loses because of me, she will still have a chance to be selected for the Korean national team. However, if I lose this match, I am out forever. I will never have the opportunity to secure the ticket—the invitation for selection to the Korean national team. I must win.” I found myself wrestling with these two voices, engaged in a battle within my own mind.
I glanced around and witnessed numerous female kendoka packing their armour, ready to depart from this battlefield. I had to survive. I must. But I no longer possessed my wild warrior spirit, and I had no idea how to proceed without it. Then, suddenly, someone stood behind me and tightened the Men himo, the string of my head protector. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. It was Taek sensei. Somehow, he sensed that this match would be a challenging one.
“Honga! Let’s do one more.”
His voice, calm and quiet, carried a profound power. When he tapped my shoulder twice, I advanced like a well-oiled machine. I stood tall, facing my opponent once more, and our battle recommenced.
In that moment of intense combat, our bamboo swords clashed repeatedly, both of us aware of the significance this match held in our lives. It was a struggle to score points, and just as the tension reached its peak, the whistle blew. However, our determination did not waver. We locked eyes, refusing to relent even after the allotted time had passed. The referee signalled for the match to continue with an additional two minutes. Once again, our shinai clashed fiercely, our gaze fixated on the elusive “틈 (teum)” - the moment of opportunity.
Then, an indescribable feeling washed over me, a subtle shift in my opponent’s emotions. I perceived her frustration with my kendo skills, and a sense of confidence swelled within me. “I can definitely win this match,” I assured myself.
My mind became laser-focused on a singular goal - victory. And then, I saw it. A careless decision on her part. Her Men strike left an opening, and time seemed to slow down as I witnessed her exposed wrist inching closer to my line of sight. It was a moment I couldn’t believe, as if taken straight out of a movie scene. Without hesitation, I swiftly directed my shinai downward, like birds diving from the sky to catch fish in the ocean. Darkness enveloped me for a split second, and then I snapped back into reality.
As time resumed its normal pace, I saw the three referees’ flags motionless, suspended in the air. The crowd erupted with excitement, exclaiming, “Wow!” Relief flooded over me, and I silently thanked God. “Thank God, I did it.” A heavy sigh escaped my lips, and a river of sweat coursed down my back. I had made it.
https://www.amazon.com/Kendo-Light-Mrs-Hyun-Hong/dp/B0CXDV8388
#kendo #korea #faith #true #reading #books #fun #life #dream #love #motivation
Chapter 1
Every life has a story
I was desperate to prove myself
“Honga, do you dare to dream of the Korean national team? With just one year remaining, your preparation will be an arduous journey. It will be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Are you willing to seize this opportunity?”
The voice echoed in my mind as I arrived at the stadium for the SBS Kumdo Championship. Esteemed professional kendo players were converging upon the scene, figures I had previously only witnessed through the veil of television screens or recorded footage. The audience too streamed in, eager to witness the unfolding spectacle.
Exhaustion already clung to my bones, as the night prior had brought little reprieve. When I awoke, my heart pounded within my chest as if a farmer was relentlessly striking an empty kettle, shooing away thousands of sparrows from the rice field. The incessant pounding had commenced the previous night and showed no signs of relenting. Standing before the colossal stadium, I took a moment to gaze at the heavens and whispered to myself, “This is a battle. I stand upon the battlefield. I am a warrior.” Suddenly, the cacophony of the relentless pounding subsided.
I was not an elite athlete, nor had I trained in kendo since the tender age of five. I was an ordinary young woman who attended school, then embarked on a job hunt after graduation, eventually pursuing my dream career while juggling university studies in the evenings. That was who I was.
Kendo had captivated me from the moment our paths intertwined, for the exhilaration that surged through me after landing a strike upon someone’s head—often men—was indescribable. I revelled in dominating and conquering the egos and bodies of men, swinging the shinai (bamboo sword) with reckless abandon every morning before work. It was a joy akin to the carefree days of my youth, when I played fearlessly alongside the boys in my village. And now, unbelievably, I found myself participating in the most prestigious kendo championship in South Korea, with the audacious goal of becoming the champion a mere six months later, following my encounter with Taek sensei (my second teacher). Reflecting upon it now, it seemed like madness. To harbor such a dream, the dream of becoming a champion, appeared ludicrous. “If I perform well, this achievement could propel me into contention for the Korean national team. Perhaps, I may even don the national colours.” This audacious dream, akin to threading a camel through the eye of a needle, became my weapon.
I stepped into the stadium, ascending to the highest floor where solitude awaited me. Placing my armour down, I sat alone, seeking inner silence, and observed the bustling activity unfolding below. In the depths of my being, I affirmed once more, “Kendo does not define my entire existence. Yet, I refuse to retreat. This challenge may resemble a gamble, but I am determined to partake. This is the moment to unveil whether Taek sensei’s challenge was recklessness or whether I am reckless for embracing and pursuing his audacious dream. The truth shall soon be revealed. Today, I shall make it a reality. May my intentions reach the divine ears of God.”
On that fateful day, it felt as if Taek sensei’s fate hung in the balance. His intuition and teachings would be scrutinized through my performance. I needed to embody the essence of someone who had dedicated their entire life to training and possessed undeniable talent. I stood as the embodiment of desperation, determined to prove myself in order to save Taek sensei and protect my cherished dream.
From that moment forward, a newfound inner strength enveloped me. I relinquished all thoughts, disregarded my surroundings, and focused solely on gathering my mind at its core. My expression remained neutral, devoid of any tension. Gathering my armour, I descended to where the other competitors awaited. Two competition areas were bathed in the glow of immense lights. Inhaling deeply, I whispered to myself, “Every life has a story. Regardless of its status, be it low or high, poor or rich, each person possesses their own unique narrative. Today, I shall forge my own story. This is merely the beginning.”
I locked eyes with my opponent, and my heart transformed into an engine, driving me forward. I commanded my soul to fulfill its purpose, to secure victory, and I ordered my body to conceal any trace of weakness throughout the imminent bout. As the shinpan, the referees, signalled for us to enter the competition area, I stepped forward.
“Taddak! Tadaak!”
The resounding clash of shinai filled the air. My strikes were sharp and swift, and my mind remained unwavering. I focused solely on my opponent’s movements, seizing every opportunity that presented itself. I dominated the competition, confident in my inevitable triumph. I inflicted pain upon my adversary, never relenting. Then, the flags of the referees soared skyward. I had emerged victorious from the match. As I awaited the next bout, I felt the presence of God by my side. If He had not been there, then I had earned His presence. Slowly, I began to recite the “Lord’s Prayer,” seeking God’s assistance, while observing the match of the individual before me. Effortlessly, I continued to triumph. I felt as though I had transformed into a formidable warrior after a mere six months of training under Taek sensei. How glorious it was.
I had already advanced to the quarter-finals. However, this time, my mind faltered. My heart began to soften. I desperately searched for my untamed warrior spirit, only to find it absent. “Oh dear! Where has it gone?” Then, unexpectedly, an angelic voice visited me. “Oh no... I do not need an angel’s voice now, God! I need the voice of a demon!”
Prior to the SBS Kumdo Championship, Taek sensei had taken me to a renowned kendo university. He recognized the necessity for me to train alongside professional kendoka—individuals who were swift, dynamic, skilled, and experienced. Having only trained with men in my dojo, he believed it imperative for me to practice with other professional female kendoka, as they would be my opponents in the SBS championship.
He dropped me off at the university, uttering only a single word, “Good luck!” Then he departed, leaving me surrounded by strangers. Their gazes bore into me like I was an outsider. My attire, my manner of speech, my demeanour—everything about me seemed peculiar to them. Clad in heels and a short skirt, my hair flowing freely, and wearing a full face of makeup, they regarded me as if I were in the wrong place—in their eyes, I should have been at a shopping centre. And I felt just as out of place when I gazed upon them. They were girls who resembled boys, spoke like boys, and carried themselves like boys. It was an utterly unfamiliar sight to me. The kendo sensei of the university arranged for all the female kendoka to spar with me. They were former Korean national team members, champions, and promising kendo stars. University kendo sensei handpicked the best six, and one by one, they faced me in combat.
The final match was intense. Blow after blow, we clashed relentlessly, neither of us willing to back down. The tension in the air was palpable, and with every strike, the sound of shinai reverberated through the arena. The match reached its conclusion, and to my surprise, it ended in a draw.
As the matches concluded, a short break was granted. The expressions on the faces of the other female kendoka turned grim. I couldn’t comprehend the reason behind their distress. It was merely a competition, a matter of winning or losing. There was no personal vendetta involved. Their glances resembled those of hyenas, hungry and eager to devour me. However, one girl, Sun stood apart from the rest.
Sun possesses a delightful charm with a hint of plumpness that only adds to her cuteness. Her chin acquires a subtle rosy hue, particularly after a hard training, giving her a radiant and healthy appearance. Sharing a penchant for rice, Sun’s love for food resonates with my own, and her calm, kind demeanour makes her a joy to be around. Despite her simple, country-girl style, she exudes a captivating charm in her conversations, filled with laughter and warmth. From our first meeting, I felt an instant and strong connection with her.
She was the same girl I would be facing in the quarterfinals at SBS, and she had become my friend. In the restroom, I overheard a few girls crying and gossiping about me, questioning my presence and criticizing my kendo skills. When I entered, they all fell silent, and though tempted to retaliate, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. My sudden appearance had caught them off guard, and I understood their position. I chose to remain quiet until it was time to leave—though a week seemed too long—and I hurriedly followed the crowd. Some boys found amusement in my subdued behaviour, while other girls continued to harbor endless hatred. However, Sun who had trained alongside me with the university professional kendoka, offered me quick advice to help me improve.
When professional university students struck my Men, their bodies moved like bullets, surpassing my ability to evade them. I grew desperate to dodge these metaphorical bullets. On the first day, my performance frustrated everyone, but by the second day, their frustration subsided. Sun, my friend, pleaded with them to treat me with kindness. I gave my all, training harder than anyone else, even though I was slower. Gradually, they began to appreciate my determination. After spending nearly six hours training together each day, we became friends. Even the other girls started to accept me.
I developed a special affection for Sun, the one who cared for me and whom I was set to fight against in the next match. It left me feeling confused. “Kendo is not everything in my life, but for my friend, kendo is her everything.” Would I be taking her dream away from her? Was I doing the right thing? My heart whispered with uncertainty. I was at a loss, torn between conflicting emotions. Another voice emerged within me, asserting, “If I win this battle, perhaps my dream will come true. I cannot afford to feel sorry for anyone. Everyone here is likely desperate in their own way, but I might be the most desperate of all. If my friend loses because of me, she will still have a chance to be selected for the Korean national team. However, if I lose this match, I am out forever. I will never have the opportunity to secure the ticket—the invitation for selection to the Korean national team. I must win.” I found myself wrestling with these two voices, engaged in a battle within my own mind.
I glanced around and witnessed numerous female kendoka packing their armour, ready to depart from this battlefield. I had to survive. I must. But I no longer possessed my wild warrior spirit, and I had no idea how to proceed without it. Then, suddenly, someone stood behind me and tightened the Men himo, the string of my head protector. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. It was Taek sensei. Somehow, he sensed that this match would be a challenging one.
“Honga! Let’s do one more.”
His voice, calm and quiet, carried a profound power. When he tapped my shoulder twice, I advanced like a well-oiled machine. I stood tall, facing my opponent once more, and our battle recommenced.
In that moment of intense combat, our bamboo swords clashed repeatedly, both of us aware of the significance this match held in our lives. It was a struggle to score points, and just as the tension reached its peak, the whistle blew. However, our determination did not waver. We locked eyes, refusing to relent even after the allotted time had passed. The referee signalled for the match to continue with an additional two minutes. Once again, our shinai clashed fiercely, our gaze fixated on the elusive “틈 (teum)” - the moment of opportunity.
Then, an indescribable feeling washed over me, a subtle shift in my opponent’s emotions. I perceived her frustration with my kendo skills, and a sense of confidence swelled within me. “I can definitely win this match,” I assured myself.
My mind became laser-focused on a singular goal - victory. And then, I saw it. A careless decision on her part. Her Men strike left an opening, and time seemed to slow down as I witnessed her exposed wrist inching closer to my line of sight. It was a moment I couldn’t believe, as if taken straight out of a movie scene. Without hesitation, I swiftly directed my shinai downward, like birds diving from the sky to catch fish in the ocean. Darkness enveloped me for a split second, and then I snapped back into reality.
As time resumed its normal pace, I saw the three referees’ flags motionless, suspended in the air. The crowd erupted with excitement, exclaiming, “Wow!” Relief flooded over me, and I silently thanked God. “Thank God, I did it.” A heavy sigh escaped my lips, and a river of sweat coursed down my back. I had made it.
https://www.amazon.com/Kendo-Light-Mrs-Hyun-Hong/dp/B0CXDV8388