"I don't wanna die without any scars. So come on; hit me before I lose my nerve."
The cold winds find their way into my coat as I make the walk to school everyday, my hands plunged deep into their pockets, my shoulders hunched, ears and nose red with cold. Autumn has come quickly and only the cold signals the coming of winter. Looking around in the stark morning light, the bushes that line the school field and seemed unexceptional before now display a stunning array of reds and oranges. The view from my desk has changed; no longer do the green tree tops peek over at me from above the filling cabinet, they have been replaced by the vibrant yellows, greens and reds that wave to me in the wind every morning.
I will remember the trees and the bushes this year, the leaves and flowers, because as they change, so do I. My summer was hot and sweaty, the heat oppressive and unsettling. I was finding my ground in a foreign country, letting others decide where I would go and what I would do. But as the evenings cooled and the afternoons settled, I began to find places I could keep to myself where everything was simple and I could take my time and begin to think; the coffee shop by the station; free periods I would spend browsing the net; a whole Saturday spent with Harry Potter.
Now autumn has cooled quickly and the rapid change of the leaves is hidden behind the calm of the bright sun and a still afternoon wind - the same sun greets me every morning, the same sun that greeted me back home, but here, at 7:15am when I leave my house, it seems to present a security of habit that it has never given me before. Classes and days are merging together as my understanding of what is expected of me here is starting to increase, and, even if only a little bit at a time, I can feel myself getting better at my job. Tuesday is no longer so different from Wednesday, but I like Tuesday, and I like Wednesday.
And now, through all of this, there is Kendo.
Kendo was always fun, but it hadn't presented anything to hook me in the way other martial arts had: Kung Fu gave me punches and kicks and then let me try to hit my best friend; Ju Jitsu gave me locks and holds, let strangers throw me into the mat as hard as they could, and then it let me do it back to them. Kendo offered to teach me great awareness of my body but over great time and it would require great patience, something that is valuble, but doesn't make me come away from training itching to get back in there, wanting to try that move just one more time. This was all until I bought my first shinnai, until I went to Kendo on tuesday and practiced one move over and over again till the idea of keeping count was pointless, until the other guy training had dropped his arms from exhaustion and until my throat was raw from shouting with every strike. And then I did 10 more. And then I did some more after that.
I felt that old familiar feeling of wanting to go on when my body couldn't do any more and I knew that I was hooked - there will be no turning back now.
When I look back on my experience in Japan, I will remember the things that my students said, the places I visited, the unique moments that made me glad to be here at this time in my life, doing what i'm doing, but all of these will be measured on a time line unique to me. After my first year year here, arriving in summer, enjoying autumn, surviving winter and feeling my first full year come to an end in spring, the seasons will no longer mark what I have done and what I have seen - the first time is always the most precious, everything afterwards is nostalgia. Instead, my time here will be marked by the first time I practice kata in my full Kendo armour with a partner, the first time I try jiyu-renshu (free sparing) and the first time I break 1000 repitions in suburi (sword stroke practice). I can already feel that my progress in Kendo will be the constant to replace the sun and the trees, the metronome by which I measure my time here, the repitions of sword strikes becoming the rhythm to which I breathe.
You win battles by knowing the enemy's timing,
and using a timing which the enemy does not expect.
- Miyamoto Musashi, Samurai Warrior.
1, 2, 3.
I will remember the trees and the bushes this year, the leaves and flowers, because as they change, so do I. My summer was hot and sweaty, the heat oppressive and unsettling. I was finding my ground in a foreign country, letting others decide where I would go and what I would do. But as the evenings cooled and the afternoons settled, I began to find places I could keep to myself where everything was simple and I could take my time and begin to think; the coffee shop by the station; free periods I would spend browsing the net; a whole Saturday spent with Harry Potter.
Now autumn has cooled quickly and the rapid change of the leaves is hidden behind the calm of the bright sun and a still afternoon wind - the same sun greets me every morning, the same sun that greeted me back home, but here, at 7:15am when I leave my house, it seems to present a security of habit that it has never given me before. Classes and days are merging together as my understanding of what is expected of me here is starting to increase, and, even if only a little bit at a time, I can feel myself getting better at my job. Tuesday is no longer so different from Wednesday, but I like Tuesday, and I like Wednesday.
And now, through all of this, there is Kendo.
Kendo was always fun, but it hadn't presented anything to hook me in the way other martial arts had: Kung Fu gave me punches and kicks and then let me try to hit my best friend; Ju Jitsu gave me locks and holds, let strangers throw me into the mat as hard as they could, and then it let me do it back to them. Kendo offered to teach me great awareness of my body but over great time and it would require great patience, something that is valuble, but doesn't make me come away from training itching to get back in there, wanting to try that move just one more time. This was all until I bought my first shinnai, until I went to Kendo on tuesday and practiced one move over and over again till the idea of keeping count was pointless, until the other guy training had dropped his arms from exhaustion and until my throat was raw from shouting with every strike. And then I did 10 more. And then I did some more after that.
I felt that old familiar feeling of wanting to go on when my body couldn't do any more and I knew that I was hooked - there will be no turning back now.
When I look back on my experience in Japan, I will remember the things that my students said, the places I visited, the unique moments that made me glad to be here at this time in my life, doing what i'm doing, but all of these will be measured on a time line unique to me. After my first year year here, arriving in summer, enjoying autumn, surviving winter and feeling my first full year come to an end in spring, the seasons will no longer mark what I have done and what I have seen - the first time is always the most precious, everything afterwards is nostalgia. Instead, my time here will be marked by the first time I practice kata in my full Kendo armour with a partner, the first time I try jiyu-renshu (free sparing) and the first time I break 1000 repitions in suburi (sword stroke practice). I can already feel that my progress in Kendo will be the constant to replace the sun and the trees, the metronome by which I measure my time here, the repitions of sword strikes becoming the rhythm to which I breathe.
You win battles by knowing the enemy's timing,
and using a timing which the enemy does not expect.
- Miyamoto Musashi, Samurai Warrior.
1, 2, 3.
