Just a quick note here to remind me of the awesome that happened earlier.
During the weekend, a contingent of kendokas from the Hong Kong Kendo Association, accompanied by 8th dan Inoue sensei, came to visit for some joint keiko and friendly shiai. It was held in the Japanese School of Kuala Lumpur in Subang.
I managed to turn up for the Saturday session, from 10am to 4pm. Keiko was not as harsh as I'd expected. I remember the 1st ASEAN championship training* practically had me crawling, but this time round, the greater part of the morning was spent on bare bones basics, in the form of doing the bokuto kihon waza with shinais out and bogus on. This was a welcome relief, given that:
a) The Japanese School's halls are not air-conditioned, leaving us to the tender mercies of Malaysia's climate.
b) I'd been involved in a teacher training course for about a month, and had been slacking in my training. What precious little stamina I had was somewhat diminished.
c) Seriously, it was just too damn early on a Saturday morning... Bleargh.
But it was good stuff. It was nice to see the basic movements dissected in that fashion, then being able to cut loose, strike and be able to feel whether we were executing the techniques right. I for one relish any oppurtunity to practice tsuki attacks, seeing as how rarely we do it in our regular training.
Lunch came along quickly enough, with absurdly large bento filling most of us to bursting. As such, lunchtime was appropriately long (1.5 hours) because, believe me, you don't want to fight on an overly full stomach.
After lunch, shiai! Seeing as the Malaysians in attendance outnumbered the Hong Kong contingent by about 2 to 1, most of the Hong Kong kendokas had to fight twice. Didn't seem to be a problem for them, though, seeing as every one was at least a shodan. Long story short, Malaysia mostly got squished.
I got paired up to fight a 3rd dan myself, though I only found out after I got trounced by him. To my credit, I wasn't blatted in 15 seconds like at the HK Open. I had the chance to watch him fight earlier and thought out my opening moves. I'd anticipated he'd probe by first snapping out at my kote as fast as he could, so I was ready to cancel his point by catching his kote at the same time. I knew one of my weaknesses in shiai had always been a lack of aggression, so I did try to compensate for that, also trying out a very particular feint that I'd been working on, but to no avail. Over the course of the next 2 minutes or so, he caught my men (I was SO sure I cancelled it with aiuchi!), then my kote (ok, he totally deserved this point).
Frankly, my opponent was too fast for me. None of the cheeky tricks and feints that work so well for me in keiko had any effect here. So what grand lesson will I take with me from this shiai? Hehe... Nothing spectacular or profound, just this: Straight kendo. I need to work more on my straight kendo. Raw speed, getting from kamae to strike. I've decided this is what I'll be concentrating on in the time between now and my shodan grading in January.
After shiai, there was a little time for jikeiko, and I must confess, I was quite flattered to find myself invited to keiko with another of the HK members before I'd even got my helmet back on. However, what really sticks in my mind from the keiko after was a brief moment when I went for jigeiko against Inoue sensei.
Inoue sensei is in his 70s, but let me tell you, he has arms like tree trunks and if he so wished, I would be unable to touch him. I was quite knackered from the day's exertions, but since this was possibly the very last chance I'd get to jigeiko with him, I threw everything into it, paying attention to form and making sure I showed no signs of weakness. If there's anything I'd learnt about encounters with unfamiliar Japanese senseis it is this: Show any weakness in spirit, like an unsteady kamae, flinching, backing down or an overly rigid grip, and the sensei will show you no mercy. Before long, it was 4:05pm, time to go, and he lowered his sword, looking right at me. Every kendoka knows this gesture. It's the invitation to one final men cut. An unspoken command from sensei to student: Last cut. Give it everything. So I did. And it was perfect.
I'm not looking to blow my own trumpet or whatever, it's just that, for that split second, I forgot myself and my body lashed out, faster, smoother and sharper than I ever thought I was capable of. I couldn't see my own blade, but felt it whip out and bounce off the sensei's helmet, resounding with that very distinctive popping sound of a perfect cut. The sensei nodded his approval, and then the day caught up with me. Man, was I knackered...
And that's it really. A (tiring!) weekend of great fun and good fights and me coming out of it with something to think about as I make my way to shodan and, maybe one day... two swords...
*Note: I didn't actually participate in said championship, just the training.
Showing posts with label kendo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kendo. Show all posts
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
HK Open revisited
I neglected to mention previously that we managed to record our performance in HK and that I've gotten my grubby paws on the DVDs of said recording last week. Having viewed my fights a few times, I was quite chuffed to observe that there were brief moments, barely lasting a few seconds, when I relaxed enough and actually struck with the snake-like speed and precision of a real kendoka.
As I mentioned before, as a 2nd kyu, I fully expected to bumble about looking like a right muppet for the first few times in an international tourney. That I managed to actually pull off something looking like serious kendo, even if only for a few fractions of seconds at a time, in such a prestigious tournament was quite a bit beyond my expectations and so, verily, I am chuffed.
Perhaps of greater importance, though, was how the video showed me very clearly what I was doing wrong, i.e. the tenseness, the sluggish footwork and the excessive use of the right arm in what I call (translated) "Destroy the Old World" attacks, named for the resemblance to this poster:
Yep, my hammer technique is excellent. Pity it isn't worth a damn in kendo...
Anyway, that's it for now. Maybe one of these days I'll figure out how to clip out my fights from the DVD and post vids...
As I mentioned before, as a 2nd kyu, I fully expected to bumble about looking like a right muppet for the first few times in an international tourney. That I managed to actually pull off something looking like serious kendo, even if only for a few fractions of seconds at a time, in such a prestigious tournament was quite a bit beyond my expectations and so, verily, I am chuffed.
Perhaps of greater importance, though, was how the video showed me very clearly what I was doing wrong, i.e. the tenseness, the sluggish footwork and the excessive use of the right arm in what I call (translated) "Destroy the Old World" attacks, named for the resemblance to this poster:
Yep, my hammer technique is excellent. Pity it isn't worth a damn in kendo...
Anyway, that's it for now. Maybe one of these days I'll figure out how to clip out my fights from the DVD and post vids...
Hong Kong Open, part 2 of 2
Day Two
Woke up this day with the aftermath of Day One etched in every muscle. Not good. Seeing as my one and only tournament legal shinai was ruined* I borrowed one from a teammate**. Poor devil broke a toenail rather painfully during goudo keiko...
Anyway, day two was dedicated completely to the men's 5-man team event. Now, the previous men's event was 3-dan and below. Today, no upper limit, so we'd be running with the big dogs. Well, eaten alive at any rate.
15 seconds. That is how long I lasted in my first fight of the day, against someone from the Beijing Japan Club. I think he may have been Japanese, because I couldn't make out his name on his zekken (name tag), which is quite normal for me when I'm wearing contacts, as Japanese names will often crowd the zekken just enough that I can't read it from across the shiaijou. One could argue that during the shiai, I'd be close enough to read it, but believe me, I hadn't a split second to waste staring at the other guy's groin. Anyway...
He took the first point within the first 5 seconds, from my right kote. From the moment we started, he quickly circled to my left. I'd never encountered such an opening before, so it took me completely by surprise when he darted forward, reach under my shinai and struck a perfect blow on my right kote with such precision it might have come out of a textbook. And he did this, from my left, from somewhere around my 11 o' clock.
The next point he took was also a kote, but for the life of me, I couldn't see how. You see, a kote strike targets only the area on the forearm closer to the wrist, a strike zone about 6 inches wide. When the arms are in the default stance, i.e. chuudan no kamae (middle stance), with the shinai pointed towards the opponent's throat (or eyes, depending on the sensei), the right kote is in front, and hence a valid target. The left kote is not. When the shinai is raised high to strike, say, in a large overhead cut, or jodan no kamae (high stance), the left kote will be in front of the right, and hence it becomes the valid target. Either way, on both kote one is meant to attack the wrists.
What happened in this case was he struck me but I had moved forward quickly enough that his shinai didn't contact my wrists, but clearly went across my knuckles. I was all set to continue trying to take a point back, but I saw the flags raised in his favour! Most vexing, but there was nothing I could do. For the life of me, I do not know why he was given that point. Still, that first point gave me something to think about.
My 2nd fight of the day, I must confess, I feel a little guilty about. While my helmet was off, I could clearly see my opponent was a significantly older man, definitely over 50 and smaller and lighter than me. I had little doubt he was also many years my senior in kendo, and so concluded that there was no reason for me to hold anything back and my best bet would be to use my own physical advantages, that is, my bulk and brute strength.
This fight was possibly my most aggressive of the tourney. I charged and knocked him back, I hammered down blows on his head again and again with all the strength I could muster, not to score, mind you, but it was a calculated attempt to wear him down and keep an eye out for the first sign of weakness. Twice I dealt smashing attacks onto his men (head), each time 2 strikes in rapid succession. Then it appeared! And I wasted it... Once again I aimed a crushing blow on his head, knowing he'd block, and he staggered under the force of it. There was the opening! But in my excitement, I'd simply attacked his head again, and it was easily, if shakily, blocked. It was a split second later that I realised that what I should have done was follow up with a hit to the do (body) while his shinai was still up protecting his head. Ah, well, the moment was lost. I'd knackered the both of us, and neither of us could take a point until time ran out. And thus passed my first fight in an international tournament which I... uh... didn't lose!
And thus ended Day Two. There was goudo keiko after that, of course, but I'd reached my limit by then and just really wanted to have a shower and lie down for a bit. Oh, and have some beer...
On a side note, the friend I borrowed the shinai from and myself were pleasantly surprised to find the shinai I'd used during this fight was in remarkably good condition, barely even a splinter! Not sure about the other guy's shinai, though... I have since gotten my grubby paws on 3 Beesangs.
Reflections
So what did I learn from all that? Well, apart from the vast gulf between 2nd kyu and 8th dan, of course...
My most glaring error in Day One was zanshin, or the sorry lack of it. Repeatedly I was able to set up clean killing blows, yet was denied ippon due to lack of zanshin. So what happened? Ideally, a blow with zanshin should strike the target clearly and sharply *then* follow through. Normally, this means hitting and running past the opponent, denying his chance to counterattack. Alternatively in a hikiwaza (an attack while pulling away from the opponent) one should back away quickly and smoothly after the strike.
I could not perceive it at the time but what I'd actually done was set up the blow (I'm quite chuffed that I had the presence of mind to do that), then hit and try to push my shinai as deep as possible into my opponent's skull. Now, while this would have made for quite a spectacular kill were I using a live blade, with a shinai it looks hopelessly ugly. It basically looks like I hit and then stop dead in my tracks. I essentially have the first half of ippon, but the remaining half is woefully absent. Suffice it to say, half an ippon is, for the purpose of shiai, as good as no ippon at all.
In Hong Kong, I witnessed a lot of solid kendokas applying many different approaches to taking ippon. I saw short little ones, bouncing around the shiaijou, darting in and striking before their opponent could react. I saw tall, strong ones stand still as statues, who'd quietly wait for their opponent to make the first move and counterattack in furious blur of motion. I even saw a few wielding 2 shinai, 1 long and 1 short, nito-ryu, quite a rare thing and fascinating to watch. I saw all these and realized how raw and unformed my own kendo is, and found myself looking on at these master swordsmen and wondering "Would that technique work in my hands?"
That having been said, apart from the 3-person Men's event, almost all the winners were Japanese. Many are in their 30s or 40s, and have been practising kendo 2 hours a day, 5 or 6 days a week since middle school or, at a rough guesstimate, at least 7,500 hours. Compare this with my own time in the dojo, averaging twice a week over the last 3 and a half years for a total of about 700 hours. There is only so far one can bridge the gap in experience with strength, spirit and guile.
As such, since Hong Kong, I've thrown myself into training with much more enthusiasm, constantly analyzing myself for what I'm missing, my weakness, my strengths and training accordingly. There's only so much time available for the dojo each week, so in between, I concentrate on simple strength exercises because, yes, I do want to hit harder and faster. Hard and fast enough that, even if I miss, it will be highly intimidating for my opponent. For the moment, though, this is all pie in the sky. 2nd kyu is nothing to shout about. Until I drag my raggedy ass to shodan, I'll be paying extra attention to basics and form. Cunning tricks and the like can take a back seat until then.
* The other two are these scruffy made-in-Taiwan things. Brand unknown. No markings other than a little "Made in Taiwan" sticker. Approx 540g (510g is tourney lower limit). Lousy balance. Dirt cheap. Great training fodder. Apparently they were too narrow at the tip for tournament use.
** Beesang, from Kendoshop. Wonderfully light (a little over 510g) and tuff enuff to endure a day of my heaviest blows practically unscathed.
Woke up this day with the aftermath of Day One etched in every muscle. Not good. Seeing as my one and only tournament legal shinai was ruined* I borrowed one from a teammate**. Poor devil broke a toenail rather painfully during goudo keiko...
Anyway, day two was dedicated completely to the men's 5-man team event. Now, the previous men's event was 3-dan and below. Today, no upper limit, so we'd be running with the big dogs. Well, eaten alive at any rate.
15 seconds. That is how long I lasted in my first fight of the day, against someone from the Beijing Japan Club. I think he may have been Japanese, because I couldn't make out his name on his zekken (name tag), which is quite normal for me when I'm wearing contacts, as Japanese names will often crowd the zekken just enough that I can't read it from across the shiaijou. One could argue that during the shiai, I'd be close enough to read it, but believe me, I hadn't a split second to waste staring at the other guy's groin. Anyway...
He took the first point within the first 5 seconds, from my right kote. From the moment we started, he quickly circled to my left. I'd never encountered such an opening before, so it took me completely by surprise when he darted forward, reach under my shinai and struck a perfect blow on my right kote with such precision it might have come out of a textbook. And he did this, from my left, from somewhere around my 11 o' clock.
The next point he took was also a kote, but for the life of me, I couldn't see how. You see, a kote strike targets only the area on the forearm closer to the wrist, a strike zone about 6 inches wide. When the arms are in the default stance, i.e. chuudan no kamae (middle stance), with the shinai pointed towards the opponent's throat (or eyes, depending on the sensei), the right kote is in front, and hence a valid target. The left kote is not. When the shinai is raised high to strike, say, in a large overhead cut, or jodan no kamae (high stance), the left kote will be in front of the right, and hence it becomes the valid target. Either way, on both kote one is meant to attack the wrists.
What happened in this case was he struck me but I had moved forward quickly enough that his shinai didn't contact my wrists, but clearly went across my knuckles. I was all set to continue trying to take a point back, but I saw the flags raised in his favour! Most vexing, but there was nothing I could do. For the life of me, I do not know why he was given that point. Still, that first point gave me something to think about.
My 2nd fight of the day, I must confess, I feel a little guilty about. While my helmet was off, I could clearly see my opponent was a significantly older man, definitely over 50 and smaller and lighter than me. I had little doubt he was also many years my senior in kendo, and so concluded that there was no reason for me to hold anything back and my best bet would be to use my own physical advantages, that is, my bulk and brute strength.
This fight was possibly my most aggressive of the tourney. I charged and knocked him back, I hammered down blows on his head again and again with all the strength I could muster, not to score, mind you, but it was a calculated attempt to wear him down and keep an eye out for the first sign of weakness. Twice I dealt smashing attacks onto his men (head), each time 2 strikes in rapid succession. Then it appeared! And I wasted it... Once again I aimed a crushing blow on his head, knowing he'd block, and he staggered under the force of it. There was the opening! But in my excitement, I'd simply attacked his head again, and it was easily, if shakily, blocked. It was a split second later that I realised that what I should have done was follow up with a hit to the do (body) while his shinai was still up protecting his head. Ah, well, the moment was lost. I'd knackered the both of us, and neither of us could take a point until time ran out. And thus passed my first fight in an international tournament which I... uh... didn't lose!
And thus ended Day Two. There was goudo keiko after that, of course, but I'd reached my limit by then and just really wanted to have a shower and lie down for a bit. Oh, and have some beer...
On a side note, the friend I borrowed the shinai from and myself were pleasantly surprised to find the shinai I'd used during this fight was in remarkably good condition, barely even a splinter! Not sure about the other guy's shinai, though... I have since gotten my grubby paws on 3 Beesangs.
Reflections
So what did I learn from all that? Well, apart from the vast gulf between 2nd kyu and 8th dan, of course...
My most glaring error in Day One was zanshin, or the sorry lack of it. Repeatedly I was able to set up clean killing blows, yet was denied ippon due to lack of zanshin. So what happened? Ideally, a blow with zanshin should strike the target clearly and sharply *then* follow through. Normally, this means hitting and running past the opponent, denying his chance to counterattack. Alternatively in a hikiwaza (an attack while pulling away from the opponent) one should back away quickly and smoothly after the strike.
I could not perceive it at the time but what I'd actually done was set up the blow (I'm quite chuffed that I had the presence of mind to do that), then hit and try to push my shinai as deep as possible into my opponent's skull. Now, while this would have made for quite a spectacular kill were I using a live blade, with a shinai it looks hopelessly ugly. It basically looks like I hit and then stop dead in my tracks. I essentially have the first half of ippon, but the remaining half is woefully absent. Suffice it to say, half an ippon is, for the purpose of shiai, as good as no ippon at all.
In Hong Kong, I witnessed a lot of solid kendokas applying many different approaches to taking ippon. I saw short little ones, bouncing around the shiaijou, darting in and striking before their opponent could react. I saw tall, strong ones stand still as statues, who'd quietly wait for their opponent to make the first move and counterattack in furious blur of motion. I even saw a few wielding 2 shinai, 1 long and 1 short, nito-ryu, quite a rare thing and fascinating to watch. I saw all these and realized how raw and unformed my own kendo is, and found myself looking on at these master swordsmen and wondering "Would that technique work in my hands?"
That having been said, apart from the 3-person Men's event, almost all the winners were Japanese. Many are in their 30s or 40s, and have been practising kendo 2 hours a day, 5 or 6 days a week since middle school or, at a rough guesstimate, at least 7,500 hours. Compare this with my own time in the dojo, averaging twice a week over the last 3 and a half years for a total of about 700 hours. There is only so far one can bridge the gap in experience with strength, spirit and guile.
As such, since Hong Kong, I've thrown myself into training with much more enthusiasm, constantly analyzing myself for what I'm missing, my weakness, my strengths and training accordingly. There's only so much time available for the dojo each week, so in between, I concentrate on simple strength exercises because, yes, I do want to hit harder and faster. Hard and fast enough that, even if I miss, it will be highly intimidating for my opponent. For the moment, though, this is all pie in the sky. 2nd kyu is nothing to shout about. Until I drag my raggedy ass to shodan, I'll be paying extra attention to basics and form. Cunning tricks and the like can take a back seat until then.
* The other two are these scruffy made-in-Taiwan things. Brand unknown. No markings other than a little "Made in Taiwan" sticker. Approx 540g (510g is tourney lower limit). Lousy balance. Dirt cheap. Great training fodder. Apparently they were too narrow at the tip for tournament use.
** Beesang, from Kendoshop. Wonderfully light (a little over 510g) and tuff enuff to endure a day of my heaviest blows practically unscathed.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Stray thought
Today I found myself looking at stuff I found around the house and wondering how it would do as a target for practicing kendo strikes. My gaze lingered on my 2-year-old nephew perhaps a little longer than I'd care to admit.
Anyway, part 2 of the HK Open, coming soon, 'onest guv...
Anyway, part 2 of the HK Open, coming soon, 'onest guv...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Hong Kong Open, part 1 of 2
Oooh, this post is so overdue it's not funny... Ah, well, better late than never...
About the 10th Hong Kong Asian Open
This is an annual kendo tournament, organized by the currently 30 year old Hong Kong Kendo Association, with 3 main events, being:
Women's 3-person team - 27 teams competing
Men's 3-person team (3rd dan and below only) - 44 teams competing
Men's 5-person team - 51 teams competing
My dojo, the Japan Club of Kuala Lumpur, entered 1 team for the women's event, and 2 teams for each of the men's events.
The competition was held from 12th to 14th March in Tin Shui Wai Sports Centre, conveniently located 5 minutes walk away from Harbour Plaza Resort City, which housed, by my reckoning, about 300+ kendokas over that weekend.
While the purpose of this blog entry is primarily to cover my own performance to look back on and think about, it's worth noting that Malaysia's women's team performed exceedingly well, having won the women's event last year and this year coming 2nd only to these 3 tiny 18-year-old girls from Fukuoka, which just goes to show how seriously kendo is taken in Japan...
Quick intro to team shiai
Team shiai takes place between 2 teams of up to 5 members each. In order of who fights from first to last, their titles are:
- Senpo
- Jiho
- Chuken
- Fukusho
- Taishou
In the case of 3-man teams, the titles jiho and fukusho are dropped. The shiai-jou (court) is a square, about 10m a side, and each team member will fight once against his opposite in the opposing team, i.e. Senpo vs senpo, jiho vs jiho, etc.
There are 3 shinpan (judges) watching the combatants, and to take ippon, at least 2 out of 3 of them must raise their flags in your favour. If one raises a flag, but one or both of the other two wave their flags below their waists, some element of the cut must have been missing for the strike not to count. It is no exaggeration that judging a shiai is not a science, it's an art. In awarding ippon, the shinpan will consider a great many factors, for example:
- Was there sufficient seme (attacking spirit)?
- Does the kendoka display proper form and posture?
- Was the strike solid?
- Was there sufficient zanshin?
Between these questions and the blistering speed of competitive kendo, trusting a machine to award points as in fencing is impossible.
For this tournament, all rounds were 3 minutes long, with the winner decided by the best of 3 points, i.e. first to 2 points wins, with a point being ippon, as discussed in the previous post.
My performance - Day One
My first 2 fights were as taishou (team leader) of Malaysia's 3-man B team. Quite an honour, given that this is my first time in an international tourney. To be honest, I don't feel qualified to pass comment on the performance of my teammates, so I'll keep to discussing the experience from my own point of view.
My first fight was against a chap from Macao, slightly shorter than me, but stouter. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't quite relax. I couldn't perceive it from where I was, but I'm told by my seniors and teammates that I tend to tense up a lot when I'm nervous, slowing down and expending tremendous amounts of strength in huge, crushing blows which, while they look impressive, have absolutely no way of scoring ippon, even if they contacted a target.
I lost one point early on, getting struck on the right kote (the gauntlet, on the wrist), if I recall correctly. I would find out later that because of my height and build (6', broad shoulders), that would tend to be the target of choice for most of my opponents. Unfortunately, my ability to counter such attacks was, at the time, sorely wanting, as I found out the next day...
In any case, having lost the first point, I was galvanized to do whatever I could to equalize and, in a series of clashes quite akin to jousting, with charges and near-simultaneous attacks, I managed to come out on top and took my first ippon in an international tourney. Yay, me! I was so excited the rest of the fight was absolutely frenzied, but alas, in kendo, brute strength and sheer aggression aren't quite enough; my opponent patiently waited for the inevitable opening and bopped me again.
This first fight was hell of an experience, to say the least, and I can safely say nothing will quite compare to the sheer rush I experienced that day. My vision narrowed, my hearing dulled, my heart and lungs went into overdrive... Months of training crumbled and gave way to instinct. My teammates' shouts for me to relax sounded like distant whispers then, and I spent every ounce of strength in that fight. Quite literally, too. After we'd bowed to our opponents my fingers were still numb and my teammates had to help me remove my helmet (as taishou, I keep my helmet on during the last bow). The memories of this fight won't leave me in a hurry.
The upshot to wearing myself out so thoroughly in that first fight was I was significantly more relaxed for my next fight, and I was in fact able to my some of my training to good use. My second and last fight of the day was against a chap from one of Hong Kong's many teams, shorter and lighter than me, and noting this, I took care to defend my right kote. It was during this fight that I learnt most about what is possibly my biggest weakness in shiai, which I have endeavoured to correct ever since - no zanshin.
This being only my 2nd fight ever in such a big tourney, I was still nervous, and struck with brutality far better suited to baseball bats and sledgehammers than a shinai. Still, I had the presence of mind to create an opening and land a vicious blow to my opponent's head, but from the corner of my eye, I saw flags being waved; no ippon. Naturally, this was quite frustrating, but I continued, wondering what was missing. I surmised, rather stupidly, in retrospect, that I wasn't hitting hard enough*. So I hit harder. No ippon. So I hit even harder. Still no ippon. 3 monstrously hard blows to the guy's head and still nothing?! What was I not doing? I managed to land one more crushing blow to his head. I was too close for it to score, but it still raised some eyebrows because of the sheer brutality of it. In the end, I faltered, and lost a point in the final seconds.
I would find out later that night that this fight left such great big cracks in my shinai that another fight would most certainly break it, at which point I felt really, really guilty at what the poor devil must have endured. I'm told my strikes hurt in basic training when I'm concentrating on form and precision rather than force. One can only imagine what blows that would ruin my shinai felt like...
After the 3-person tournaments were over and prizes where given out (M'sia's women's team brought back lotsa shiny medals and trophies, congrats if you're reading), came goudo keiko. Basically, everyone gets to train together for a bit. There were 8th dan senseis present and, rare as they are, huge queues formed for a chance to train with them.
I waited about 40 minutes to train with Fukumoto sensei, an imposing hulk of a kendoka, standing as tall as me and easily broader. 8th dan is the highest rank attainable in kendo, and I quickly learnt why. In this sort of informal training, the student faces off against the sensei, and in the first few seconds, it starts off like a shiai, during which the sensei assesses the student's level of skill. He'll cast an expert eye over you, checking form, spirit, technique and then decide how best to spend your brief encounter with him. If he's particularly impressed, he will invite you to fight him for ippon.
I can tell you I tried my level best, spending the time waiting for him by watching him and thinking how I will get past his guard. By the time my turn came, I had nothing on him. I stood before him and found no gaps to exploit. Fine, I thought, that's simply characteristic of good kamae (stance), so I will poke around, probe a bit and attempt to make a gap. No such luck. There's nothing quite as humbling as fighting someone who knows what you're going to do before you do it. It was like being hopelessly outclassed in chess, I simply couldn't see as far into the future as he could. I go for his head, his shinai blurs, my shinai bounces harmlessly away, a sharp blow smacks into my do (body, about gut-level) and he's standing behind me. I feint for the head and go for his do and my shinai bounces off his, he stands, unmoved, shouting inches from my face, "What are you doing?! Go STRAIGHT!" I might as well have been a mosquito trying to bite a rhinoceros...
As such, I was deemed worthy for a short stretch of kakarigeiko, in which he would deliberately leave gaps for me to attack, and I was to strike the targets as quickly as possible. All the while enduring his deluge of verbal abuse and the occasional whack over the head if I didn't move fast enough. This is normal in kendo. Juliette, if you're reading this, don't worry, they're generally gentler with girls. Guys my size, however, get no mercy. After about a minute or so of this, we made our bows and I staggered off and called it a day...
Coming next, Day Two (mercifully short) and my reflections on what transpired that weekend.
* Those who have trained with me will know that hitting hard enough has never been an issue for me. Good form, however, is another matter entirely...
About the 10th Hong Kong Asian Open
This is an annual kendo tournament, organized by the currently 30 year old Hong Kong Kendo Association, with 3 main events, being:
Women's 3-person team - 27 teams competing
Men's 3-person team (3rd dan and below only) - 44 teams competing
Men's 5-person team - 51 teams competing
My dojo, the Japan Club of Kuala Lumpur, entered 1 team for the women's event, and 2 teams for each of the men's events.
The competition was held from 12th to 14th March in Tin Shui Wai Sports Centre, conveniently located 5 minutes walk away from Harbour Plaza Resort City, which housed, by my reckoning, about 300+ kendokas over that weekend.
While the purpose of this blog entry is primarily to cover my own performance to look back on and think about, it's worth noting that Malaysia's women's team performed exceedingly well, having won the women's event last year and this year coming 2nd only to these 3 tiny 18-year-old girls from Fukuoka, which just goes to show how seriously kendo is taken in Japan...
Quick intro to team shiai
Team shiai takes place between 2 teams of up to 5 members each. In order of who fights from first to last, their titles are:
- Senpo
- Jiho
- Chuken
- Fukusho
- Taishou
In the case of 3-man teams, the titles jiho and fukusho are dropped. The shiai-jou (court) is a square, about 10m a side, and each team member will fight once against his opposite in the opposing team, i.e. Senpo vs senpo, jiho vs jiho, etc.
There are 3 shinpan (judges) watching the combatants, and to take ippon, at least 2 out of 3 of them must raise their flags in your favour. If one raises a flag, but one or both of the other two wave their flags below their waists, some element of the cut must have been missing for the strike not to count. It is no exaggeration that judging a shiai is not a science, it's an art. In awarding ippon, the shinpan will consider a great many factors, for example:
- Was there sufficient seme (attacking spirit)?
- Does the kendoka display proper form and posture?
- Was the strike solid?
- Was there sufficient zanshin?
Between these questions and the blistering speed of competitive kendo, trusting a machine to award points as in fencing is impossible.
For this tournament, all rounds were 3 minutes long, with the winner decided by the best of 3 points, i.e. first to 2 points wins, with a point being ippon, as discussed in the previous post.
My performance - Day One
My first 2 fights were as taishou (team leader) of Malaysia's 3-man B team. Quite an honour, given that this is my first time in an international tourney. To be honest, I don't feel qualified to pass comment on the performance of my teammates, so I'll keep to discussing the experience from my own point of view.
My first fight was against a chap from Macao, slightly shorter than me, but stouter. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't quite relax. I couldn't perceive it from where I was, but I'm told by my seniors and teammates that I tend to tense up a lot when I'm nervous, slowing down and expending tremendous amounts of strength in huge, crushing blows which, while they look impressive, have absolutely no way of scoring ippon, even if they contacted a target.
I lost one point early on, getting struck on the right kote (the gauntlet, on the wrist), if I recall correctly. I would find out later that because of my height and build (6', broad shoulders), that would tend to be the target of choice for most of my opponents. Unfortunately, my ability to counter such attacks was, at the time, sorely wanting, as I found out the next day...
In any case, having lost the first point, I was galvanized to do whatever I could to equalize and, in a series of clashes quite akin to jousting, with charges and near-simultaneous attacks, I managed to come out on top and took my first ippon in an international tourney. Yay, me! I was so excited the rest of the fight was absolutely frenzied, but alas, in kendo, brute strength and sheer aggression aren't quite enough; my opponent patiently waited for the inevitable opening and bopped me again.
This first fight was hell of an experience, to say the least, and I can safely say nothing will quite compare to the sheer rush I experienced that day. My vision narrowed, my hearing dulled, my heart and lungs went into overdrive... Months of training crumbled and gave way to instinct. My teammates' shouts for me to relax sounded like distant whispers then, and I spent every ounce of strength in that fight. Quite literally, too. After we'd bowed to our opponents my fingers were still numb and my teammates had to help me remove my helmet (as taishou, I keep my helmet on during the last bow). The memories of this fight won't leave me in a hurry.
The upshot to wearing myself out so thoroughly in that first fight was I was significantly more relaxed for my next fight, and I was in fact able to my some of my training to good use. My second and last fight of the day was against a chap from one of Hong Kong's many teams, shorter and lighter than me, and noting this, I took care to defend my right kote. It was during this fight that I learnt most about what is possibly my biggest weakness in shiai, which I have endeavoured to correct ever since - no zanshin.
This being only my 2nd fight ever in such a big tourney, I was still nervous, and struck with brutality far better suited to baseball bats and sledgehammers than a shinai. Still, I had the presence of mind to create an opening and land a vicious blow to my opponent's head, but from the corner of my eye, I saw flags being waved; no ippon. Naturally, this was quite frustrating, but I continued, wondering what was missing. I surmised, rather stupidly, in retrospect, that I wasn't hitting hard enough*. So I hit harder. No ippon. So I hit even harder. Still no ippon. 3 monstrously hard blows to the guy's head and still nothing?! What was I not doing? I managed to land one more crushing blow to his head. I was too close for it to score, but it still raised some eyebrows because of the sheer brutality of it. In the end, I faltered, and lost a point in the final seconds.
I would find out later that night that this fight left such great big cracks in my shinai that another fight would most certainly break it, at which point I felt really, really guilty at what the poor devil must have endured. I'm told my strikes hurt in basic training when I'm concentrating on form and precision rather than force. One can only imagine what blows that would ruin my shinai felt like...
After the 3-person tournaments were over and prizes where given out (M'sia's women's team brought back lotsa shiny medals and trophies, congrats if you're reading), came goudo keiko. Basically, everyone gets to train together for a bit. There were 8th dan senseis present and, rare as they are, huge queues formed for a chance to train with them.
I waited about 40 minutes to train with Fukumoto sensei, an imposing hulk of a kendoka, standing as tall as me and easily broader. 8th dan is the highest rank attainable in kendo, and I quickly learnt why. In this sort of informal training, the student faces off against the sensei, and in the first few seconds, it starts off like a shiai, during which the sensei assesses the student's level of skill. He'll cast an expert eye over you, checking form, spirit, technique and then decide how best to spend your brief encounter with him. If he's particularly impressed, he will invite you to fight him for ippon.
I can tell you I tried my level best, spending the time waiting for him by watching him and thinking how I will get past his guard. By the time my turn came, I had nothing on him. I stood before him and found no gaps to exploit. Fine, I thought, that's simply characteristic of good kamae (stance), so I will poke around, probe a bit and attempt to make a gap. No such luck. There's nothing quite as humbling as fighting someone who knows what you're going to do before you do it. It was like being hopelessly outclassed in chess, I simply couldn't see as far into the future as he could. I go for his head, his shinai blurs, my shinai bounces harmlessly away, a sharp blow smacks into my do (body, about gut-level) and he's standing behind me. I feint for the head and go for his do and my shinai bounces off his, he stands, unmoved, shouting inches from my face, "What are you doing?! Go STRAIGHT!" I might as well have been a mosquito trying to bite a rhinoceros...
As such, I was deemed worthy for a short stretch of kakarigeiko, in which he would deliberately leave gaps for me to attack, and I was to strike the targets as quickly as possible. All the while enduring his deluge of verbal abuse and the occasional whack over the head if I didn't move fast enough. This is normal in kendo. Juliette, if you're reading this, don't worry, they're generally gentler with girls. Guys my size, however, get no mercy. After about a minute or so of this, we made our bows and I staggered off and called it a day...
Coming next, Day Two (mercifully short) and my reflections on what transpired that weekend.
* Those who have trained with me will know that hitting hard enough has never been an issue for me. Good form, however, is another matter entirely...
Monday, March 22, 2010
Big Pond...
Note: This post was first drafted about 2 weeks ago, and since the events of the Hong Kong Open, my understanding of kendo has since been subtly altered. I'm putting this up on the blog anyway to track the progression of my understanding of kendo.
This blog has, of late, been woefully neglected. Apologies to those who've actually been waiting for a new post. There are any number of reasons for this, not least of them being training for a big kendo tournament in Hong Kong later this week. It's the first time I'll be participating in any sort of serious international tournament (the friendly tourney with Singapore last year doesn't count) so I'm feeling a bit like a wee minnow chucked in a big, big pond. So, I figured now's a good time to take stock of where it feels like I presently stand in kendo for future reference. Something to look back on and laugh over far in the future when the glorious day comes that I (successfully) bear two swords in tournament...
Fighting in the tournament arena (shiaijou, 試合場) is an extremely different experience from the brief, fleeting duels in a crowded dojo. Granted, the objective (i.e. take ippon) is the same, but the criterion are far, far more stringent. I know for a fact, I've taken ippon many times in the dojo, but every one of them would have been worthless in a tournament. So what does ippon in a tournament take?
Well, as I understand it, a valid strike in kendo, known as yuuko datotsu (有効打突), comprises three main elements:
1. Seme (攻め) - This literally translates as attack, but in the context of kendo, 'approach' is possibly a better word. Broadly speaking, this describes how one moves from outside of striking distance to within striking distance. There are any number of ways to achieve this, e.g. pushing into the centre line, slapping the opponent's sword aside, slipping under the opponent's sword, charging and knocking the opponent off balance, to name a few. Seme is also a spiritual assault, breaking your opponent's spirit with such things as kiai, the resoluteness of your stance, and the constant application of pressure.
2. Ki, ken, tai ichi (気剣体一) - This translates roughly as striking with your spirit, your sword and your body as one. Practically, by spirit we mean shouting out the name of your target (i.e. men (面) for head, kote (小手) for glove, and so on*.). The sword should strike the named target sharply with the top quarter or so of the "blade", being the side of the shinai on the opposite end of the string that holds it together. And at the same time as the shout and the strike, the right foot should stamp solidly on the floor. The foot-stamping might sound a bit odd, but when you think about it, to give a good, loud stomp, one needs to have a reasonably solid posture, and the whole body must be carefully coordinated with the strike of the shinai. If the timing of any of these elements is off, the strike simply does not count.
3. Zanshin (残心) - This could be translated literally as "remaining heart/mind", and truth be told, I consider this to be the hard bit. Zanshin, in the context of kendo, probably translates better as 'vigilance'. It begins immediately after the killing blow makes contact, from which point one's heart/mind remains firmly fixed on your opponent/victim, watchful for any further resistance or attempt to counterattack. So, even after you strike a blow where you think you've scored, you remain ready and alert for a few seconds, even if you know you've scored. On landing the cut, you most certainly do NOT make any celebratory gestures, no fistpumps, no jumping up and down, no hoots or hollers, you just level your blade against your opponent, quick as you can and be ready to strike again if the need arises. Innumerable points in kendo tournaments have been cancelled, regardless of how perfectly the cut was executed, simply because of a lack of zanshin.
Yesterday, I learnt that zanshin is where I fall short. The execution of zanshin, as I found out, demands that there isn't a shadow of doubt on the part of the kendoka. I now know that, though I am capable of landing a clean cut on my opponents, from the perspective of the judges, I'm not following through enough, i.e. not enough zanshin. I find it's not an easy thing to show zanshin, at least not to the exacting standards of kendo, not while the rush of executing a good cut is addling my mind, and especially when, from the corner of my eye, I see one judges hand go up, then another judge cancel the point.
Well, now I'm aware of the problem, there's only one thing for it: Fight MORE... There will definitely be a blog post reflecting on what happens in Hong Kong this weekend... Before then, I suppose it can't hurt to do a little studying on what passes for zanshin in Japan:
Holy hell, that speed...
* The actual name of your target doesn't count, i.e. You can't whack me over the head and shout at the top of your lungs: "CHEEEEEENG!"
This blog has, of late, been woefully neglected. Apologies to those who've actually been waiting for a new post. There are any number of reasons for this, not least of them being training for a big kendo tournament in Hong Kong later this week. It's the first time I'll be participating in any sort of serious international tournament (the friendly tourney with Singapore last year doesn't count) so I'm feeling a bit like a wee minnow chucked in a big, big pond. So, I figured now's a good time to take stock of where it feels like I presently stand in kendo for future reference. Something to look back on and laugh over far in the future when the glorious day comes that I (successfully) bear two swords in tournament...
Fighting in the tournament arena (shiaijou, 試合場) is an extremely different experience from the brief, fleeting duels in a crowded dojo. Granted, the objective (i.e. take ippon) is the same, but the criterion are far, far more stringent. I know for a fact, I've taken ippon many times in the dojo, but every one of them would have been worthless in a tournament. So what does ippon in a tournament take?
Well, as I understand it, a valid strike in kendo, known as yuuko datotsu (有効打突), comprises three main elements:
1. Seme (攻め) - This literally translates as attack, but in the context of kendo, 'approach' is possibly a better word. Broadly speaking, this describes how one moves from outside of striking distance to within striking distance. There are any number of ways to achieve this, e.g. pushing into the centre line, slapping the opponent's sword aside, slipping under the opponent's sword, charging and knocking the opponent off balance, to name a few. Seme is also a spiritual assault, breaking your opponent's spirit with such things as kiai, the resoluteness of your stance, and the constant application of pressure.
2. Ki, ken, tai ichi (気剣体一) - This translates roughly as striking with your spirit, your sword and your body as one. Practically, by spirit we mean shouting out the name of your target (i.e. men (面) for head, kote (小手) for glove, and so on*.). The sword should strike the named target sharply with the top quarter or so of the "blade", being the side of the shinai on the opposite end of the string that holds it together. And at the same time as the shout and the strike, the right foot should stamp solidly on the floor. The foot-stamping might sound a bit odd, but when you think about it, to give a good, loud stomp, one needs to have a reasonably solid posture, and the whole body must be carefully coordinated with the strike of the shinai. If the timing of any of these elements is off, the strike simply does not count.
3. Zanshin (残心) - This could be translated literally as "remaining heart/mind", and truth be told, I consider this to be the hard bit. Zanshin, in the context of kendo, probably translates better as 'vigilance'. It begins immediately after the killing blow makes contact, from which point one's heart/mind remains firmly fixed on your opponent/victim, watchful for any further resistance or attempt to counterattack. So, even after you strike a blow where you think you've scored, you remain ready and alert for a few seconds, even if you know you've scored. On landing the cut, you most certainly do NOT make any celebratory gestures, no fistpumps, no jumping up and down, no hoots or hollers, you just level your blade against your opponent, quick as you can and be ready to strike again if the need arises. Innumerable points in kendo tournaments have been cancelled, regardless of how perfectly the cut was executed, simply because of a lack of zanshin.
Yesterday, I learnt that zanshin is where I fall short. The execution of zanshin, as I found out, demands that there isn't a shadow of doubt on the part of the kendoka. I now know that, though I am capable of landing a clean cut on my opponents, from the perspective of the judges, I'm not following through enough, i.e. not enough zanshin. I find it's not an easy thing to show zanshin, at least not to the exacting standards of kendo, not while the rush of executing a good cut is addling my mind, and especially when, from the corner of my eye, I see one judges hand go up, then another judge cancel the point.
Well, now I'm aware of the problem, there's only one thing for it: Fight MORE... There will definitely be a blog post reflecting on what happens in Hong Kong this weekend... Before then, I suppose it can't hurt to do a little studying on what passes for zanshin in Japan:
Holy hell, that speed...
* The actual name of your target doesn't count, i.e. You can't whack me over the head and shout at the top of your lungs: "CHEEEEEENG!"
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
When I clean my shinai...
... my mind wanders, and I think about any number of things. When I first started kendo and found out you have to dismantle a shinai completely every so often to check it for splinters and cracks, then repair and oil it as necessary, it felt like a chore. After a while it became routine, a part of kendo as much as kirikaeshi or suburi. Of late, it has become meditation.
My hands will move almost automatically, undoing the knots, pulling off the leather parts and spreading open the bamboo. Then running my fingers up and down the length of each bamboo stave, almost caressing it, feeling for the splinters that my eyes can't see. Each irregularity is sanded smooth, each stave given the same care and attention. Then they are rubbed down with oil, just enough to keep a thin film for each stave to absorb, keeping them a little moist to prevent them from getting dry and brittle. The staves are arranged together again, the leather hilt and tip slid on and the cord tightly bound, making the shinai whole again. A few practice swings later and the shinai is laid aside, waiting for the next trip to the dojo.
Lately, while doing this, I find myself thinking of the 'do' in 'kendo', that is, the '道' in '剣道'. Since I've started, kendo has been permeating every aspect of my life. The line dividing the dojo from the world beyond has blurred. One of the things common to every Japanese martial art is the very rigid, very specific etiquette. There is a right and proper way to do pretty much everything. There is a right way to enter the dojo, to leave the dojo, to bow to the dojo, to bow to an opponent, to bow to your teacher... There is a right way to sit, to stand, to walk, to face, to hold your sword when not in use, to don your armour, to put away your armour, to fold your uniform when not in use...
There are dozens, hundreds of little rituals that, over the course of months, become a part of every kendoka, all contributing in some small way to the ideal of the dojo as a place of learning and discipline. I'm not sure how it looks like anymore, from the outside looking in. These days the world seems more real when I'm in keikogi and hakama.
An interesting thought struck me the other day regarding the line between the dojo and the world beyond. In the dojo, when someone points out a flaw or weakness in your technique, you thank him. It does not matter if he is wrong or right, the fact remains that he has taken the effort to observe you and offer an opinion, and so you bow and thank him. And if you're smart, you do not take his critique at face value, but carefully reflect on its validity. This is a prudent, humble and sincere attitude to learning that I consider standard procedure in any dojo worthy of the name. And the thought that hit me was this: Would I behave in this manner outside the dojo?
I want to say 'yes'.
The realities of the world beyond the dojo do not lend themselves well to the ideals of the dojo. Take evolutionary biology. Between biologists, it's perfectly possible and normal for there to be disagreement. The empirical method and peer review are ideally the mechanisms by which scientific progress is made, with experts in their fields pushing forward their pet theories and, with honesty and humility, debating and refining the theories and helping the march of science as a whole. This can be said to be akin to master swordsmen dueling and bettering themselves in the process.
Now, scientists are human, too, and the history of science is replete with examples of backstabbing, oneupmanship, hubris and plain old narrow-mindedness impeding scientific progress. I liken such incidents to the ugly, awkward engagements between novice kendokas that have just begun to don armour and are as yet woefully lacking in technique. In time, hopefully, they will outgrow such silliness. Realistically, in science as in kendo, one will observe a spectrum between the two extremes.
And then there's creationists, who obnoxiously elbow their way into the scene, chock full of ignorance and dogma, proudly braying their "theories" with nary the slightest inkling of the utter absence of any intellectual merit to their position. Now this, this has no parallel in any normal dojo. This is the dojo getting invaded by a party of drunken yobbos, clad in gunny sacks, speaking in grunts and flinging excrement at any who approach. Hmm.
I don't think I'm all that far off the mark in making these comparisons, and this illustrates just one of many aspects of life in which good dojo etiquette alone doesn't quite cut it (ahahaha...). But looking at the creationist example, I can honestly say I'm not sure how to deal with it. Logic and reason do not work against such people, as many rational atheists would no doubt have experienced.
Every time I read the news I can't escape the feeling that the world is becoming a dumber place. On the one hand, on the wings of science and technology we reach higher and higher, yet on the other hand, the evidence suggests that a greater proportion than ever of the world's population is regressing into ignorance and superstition. Amid this maelstrom of conflicting memes, the dojo feels like the last bastion of all that is good about being human. To me, the dojo represents the highest ideals of the human condition; people gathered together with the sincere desire to learn, with the strength and resolve to earn knowledge with sweat, blood and tears.
I try to take the mentality of the dojo with me wherever I go, but, to be sure, it's hard sometimes. Well, not like that'll stop me from trying. Right, this post has gone on long enough. I'm a-gettin' offski.
Oh, in other news, since I started this post, a LOT has happened in my life, some good, others... well, the less said, the better. But on the upside, I done got triple promoted to 2nd kyu :-) And I'm on the Malaysian kendo team taking part in a big scrap in Hong Kong in March. W00t!
My hands will move almost automatically, undoing the knots, pulling off the leather parts and spreading open the bamboo. Then running my fingers up and down the length of each bamboo stave, almost caressing it, feeling for the splinters that my eyes can't see. Each irregularity is sanded smooth, each stave given the same care and attention. Then they are rubbed down with oil, just enough to keep a thin film for each stave to absorb, keeping them a little moist to prevent them from getting dry and brittle. The staves are arranged together again, the leather hilt and tip slid on and the cord tightly bound, making the shinai whole again. A few practice swings later and the shinai is laid aside, waiting for the next trip to the dojo.
Lately, while doing this, I find myself thinking of the 'do' in 'kendo', that is, the '道' in '剣道'. Since I've started, kendo has been permeating every aspect of my life. The line dividing the dojo from the world beyond has blurred. One of the things common to every Japanese martial art is the very rigid, very specific etiquette. There is a right and proper way to do pretty much everything. There is a right way to enter the dojo, to leave the dojo, to bow to the dojo, to bow to an opponent, to bow to your teacher... There is a right way to sit, to stand, to walk, to face, to hold your sword when not in use, to don your armour, to put away your armour, to fold your uniform when not in use...
There are dozens, hundreds of little rituals that, over the course of months, become a part of every kendoka, all contributing in some small way to the ideal of the dojo as a place of learning and discipline. I'm not sure how it looks like anymore, from the outside looking in. These days the world seems more real when I'm in keikogi and hakama.
An interesting thought struck me the other day regarding the line between the dojo and the world beyond. In the dojo, when someone points out a flaw or weakness in your technique, you thank him. It does not matter if he is wrong or right, the fact remains that he has taken the effort to observe you and offer an opinion, and so you bow and thank him. And if you're smart, you do not take his critique at face value, but carefully reflect on its validity. This is a prudent, humble and sincere attitude to learning that I consider standard procedure in any dojo worthy of the name. And the thought that hit me was this: Would I behave in this manner outside the dojo?
I want to say 'yes'.
The realities of the world beyond the dojo do not lend themselves well to the ideals of the dojo. Take evolutionary biology. Between biologists, it's perfectly possible and normal for there to be disagreement. The empirical method and peer review are ideally the mechanisms by which scientific progress is made, with experts in their fields pushing forward their pet theories and, with honesty and humility, debating and refining the theories and helping the march of science as a whole. This can be said to be akin to master swordsmen dueling and bettering themselves in the process.
Now, scientists are human, too, and the history of science is replete with examples of backstabbing, oneupmanship, hubris and plain old narrow-mindedness impeding scientific progress. I liken such incidents to the ugly, awkward engagements between novice kendokas that have just begun to don armour and are as yet woefully lacking in technique. In time, hopefully, they will outgrow such silliness. Realistically, in science as in kendo, one will observe a spectrum between the two extremes.
And then there's creationists, who obnoxiously elbow their way into the scene, chock full of ignorance and dogma, proudly braying their "theories" with nary the slightest inkling of the utter absence of any intellectual merit to their position. Now this, this has no parallel in any normal dojo. This is the dojo getting invaded by a party of drunken yobbos, clad in gunny sacks, speaking in grunts and flinging excrement at any who approach. Hmm.
I don't think I'm all that far off the mark in making these comparisons, and this illustrates just one of many aspects of life in which good dojo etiquette alone doesn't quite cut it (ahahaha...). But looking at the creationist example, I can honestly say I'm not sure how to deal with it. Logic and reason do not work against such people, as many rational atheists would no doubt have experienced.
Every time I read the news I can't escape the feeling that the world is becoming a dumber place. On the one hand, on the wings of science and technology we reach higher and higher, yet on the other hand, the evidence suggests that a greater proportion than ever of the world's population is regressing into ignorance and superstition. Amid this maelstrom of conflicting memes, the dojo feels like the last bastion of all that is good about being human. To me, the dojo represents the highest ideals of the human condition; people gathered together with the sincere desire to learn, with the strength and resolve to earn knowledge with sweat, blood and tears.
I try to take the mentality of the dojo with me wherever I go, but, to be sure, it's hard sometimes. Well, not like that'll stop me from trying. Right, this post has gone on long enough. I'm a-gettin' offski.
Oh, in other news, since I started this post, a LOT has happened in my life, some good, others... well, the less said, the better. But on the upside, I done got triple promoted to 2nd kyu :-) And I'm on the Malaysian kendo team taking part in a big scrap in Hong Kong in March. W00t!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Life and Kendo
I have been thinking of late of how well kendo lends itself to metaphor. Of course, there are any number of activities out there which make fine metaphors for life. One that springs particularly readily to mind is juggling, seeing as I've been down that road before*. Indeed, if one simply takes the trouble to connect the dots and make the right generalizations to any learning activity, one will find that the universe has many lessons, all around us, for those who will but open their eyes.
But I find myself drawn time and again to kendo. I think it lies in its austerity. In kendo, the efficacy of every technique is tried and tested in combat. Garbed in armour, behind the mask, secure in the knowledge that it's nigh impossible to cause any significant harm to one's opponent, one encounters in every training session a kind of tightly focused ferocity that is rarely seen in other martial arts, save in the most intense and dedicated dojos. It is a profoundly liberating experience. And there is a sense of sincerity in seeing your opponent release himself against you. And it is absolutely exhilarating to fight one's peers with all the strength you can muster.
In the crucible of combat, any useless movements are quickly weeded out, leaving behind a small set of techniques, tactics and strategies. They are deceptively simple, yet take years of dedication and training to master. It's a bit difficult to appreciate how simple with words alone, so here are a few samples of kata or forms from selected martial arts.
From Wudang, the real Wudang, not this lot, 8 Immortal Staff:
Cheng-style (no relation) Baguazhang:
Shinshinkan's Chatanyara no Sai, just too pretty not to include:
And finally, kendo:
Some straddle the interesting line between dance and martial art. Others function as a small library of basic techniques, teaching the way they flow into one another. All have their merits and share the same trait of being a form of moving meditation. Kendo's kata is a relatively slow, stately, tense affair. Ideally, the attacker should execute his cut like he really means it, forcing his partner to be very serious indeed about defending himself. This tension between the two kendokas adds a powerful dimension to the practice of kata, demanding a measure of concentration and alertness from both that is quite hard to appreciate until you're actually performing the kata yourself.
Which brings me back to my point of kendo as a metaphor for life. I have, from the very beginning, taken a very cerebral approach to kendo. Before even picking up my first shinai, I'd read books on the matter. Even now, having trained in armour for well over a year (it ain't much, I know), I still consume a steady stream of kendo books. In Japanese, of course, as the ones in English are prone to drift in the direction of mysticism and romanticise about the age of samurai and basically miss the whole point of kendo altogether. The memory of my first time crossing blades with a sensei in free sparring is still very fresh in my mind. For those of you with the JCKL dojo reading this, it was Toyoda sensei. Yes, I know. I'm grateful to be alive.
That engagement made it very, very clear to me what it meant to be completely, utterly defeated before even raising my sword to strike. Before that moment, I had committed dozens of techniques and tricks to memory, devised strategems to break past any guard, theorized how I could transfer the skills of deceit learnt in capoeira to the art of the sword. It all came to nothing when I stood against the sensei. In the sheer fury of his kiai and the resoluteness of his stance, my spirit broke. All my attacks, far, far too slow. My mind raged against the absurdity of it. This man is at least twice my age! I should be faster! But back then, for the life of me, I could not see his sword, and was hammered at least a dozen times, hard, on my head and hand before the sensei let me limp away. By then I was seeing stars, and my right hand was trembling so badly I could no longer grip my sword.
I took that as a harsh lesson that, just as metaphysics and theology could never compare to science, no amount of theorizing can hold a candle to learning by experience. I have since thrown myself into many more engagements and can say with great certainty that though I'm some way from the dearly coveted shodan, I've lot more steel in me than I did back then. It's very strange to think about it now. When I'm there, panting and sweating in my armour during free training, what pushes me to go a little further each time to take a point is not some high ideal to be a better kendoka or sheer pride making me refuse to acknowledge defeat, but just a very simple, humble, mantra mouthed under my breath when the going gets tough:
I once calculated that from the first time once picks up a shinai, one must do about 15,000** cuts before you have what it takes to wear armour and really start kendo. 15,000, give or take a couple thousand, depending on your motor skills. With every cut, your body learns a tiny bit more. Then when you get in armour, you start learning all over again. Every training session is an exercise in mindfulness. Every cut must be done to the best of one's ability. And in every engagement, regardless of the disparity in rank, there is something to be learnt. Vita sine litteris mors. Life without learning is death.
I believe there's nothing quite as beautifully human as learning. I've held that belief since I was very young and my dad cleverly left cartoon versions of the Confucian classics in my room. But it is kendo that constantly reminds me of the right attitude towards learning. Knowledge is the brightest of jewels to be treasured and sought. This is to be done with both earnest and vigilance, and at the end of the day, evidence, the crossing of swords in combat, decides all. On the path, there will be passions and urges pulling and pushing us in all sorts of directions. They are not to be fought, because they are a part of what you are. They are to be understood and harnessed. If you doubt, if you hesitate you will lose, not because your opponent is better than you, but because you defeated yourself. Is this not shameful? But it happens to the best of us, and so we learn.
In terms of kendo, I am still young, barely a pollywog in a big, big pond. The mystery of my future beyond shodan is well within the realm of fantasy and speculation. But I know that, as long as I throw myself into the next training session with vigour and really, really work myself to earn that beer, the future can be very bright indeed...
* Note to self: Haven't done torches in a long, long time. Must pick up some kerosene in January...
** Revised from a previous estimate of 10,000.
But I find myself drawn time and again to kendo. I think it lies in its austerity. In kendo, the efficacy of every technique is tried and tested in combat. Garbed in armour, behind the mask, secure in the knowledge that it's nigh impossible to cause any significant harm to one's opponent, one encounters in every training session a kind of tightly focused ferocity that is rarely seen in other martial arts, save in the most intense and dedicated dojos. It is a profoundly liberating experience. And there is a sense of sincerity in seeing your opponent release himself against you. And it is absolutely exhilarating to fight one's peers with all the strength you can muster.
In the crucible of combat, any useless movements are quickly weeded out, leaving behind a small set of techniques, tactics and strategies. They are deceptively simple, yet take years of dedication and training to master. It's a bit difficult to appreciate how simple with words alone, so here are a few samples of kata or forms from selected martial arts.
From Wudang, the real Wudang, not this lot, 8 Immortal Staff:
Cheng-style (no relation) Baguazhang:
Shinshinkan's Chatanyara no Sai, just too pretty not to include:
And finally, kendo:
Some straddle the interesting line between dance and martial art. Others function as a small library of basic techniques, teaching the way they flow into one another. All have their merits and share the same trait of being a form of moving meditation. Kendo's kata is a relatively slow, stately, tense affair. Ideally, the attacker should execute his cut like he really means it, forcing his partner to be very serious indeed about defending himself. This tension between the two kendokas adds a powerful dimension to the practice of kata, demanding a measure of concentration and alertness from both that is quite hard to appreciate until you're actually performing the kata yourself.
Which brings me back to my point of kendo as a metaphor for life. I have, from the very beginning, taken a very cerebral approach to kendo. Before even picking up my first shinai, I'd read books on the matter. Even now, having trained in armour for well over a year (it ain't much, I know), I still consume a steady stream of kendo books. In Japanese, of course, as the ones in English are prone to drift in the direction of mysticism and romanticise about the age of samurai and basically miss the whole point of kendo altogether. The memory of my first time crossing blades with a sensei in free sparring is still very fresh in my mind. For those of you with the JCKL dojo reading this, it was Toyoda sensei. Yes, I know. I'm grateful to be alive.
That engagement made it very, very clear to me what it meant to be completely, utterly defeated before even raising my sword to strike. Before that moment, I had committed dozens of techniques and tricks to memory, devised strategems to break past any guard, theorized how I could transfer the skills of deceit learnt in capoeira to the art of the sword. It all came to nothing when I stood against the sensei. In the sheer fury of his kiai and the resoluteness of his stance, my spirit broke. All my attacks, far, far too slow. My mind raged against the absurdity of it. This man is at least twice my age! I should be faster! But back then, for the life of me, I could not see his sword, and was hammered at least a dozen times, hard, on my head and hand before the sensei let me limp away. By then I was seeing stars, and my right hand was trembling so badly I could no longer grip my sword.
I took that as a harsh lesson that, just as metaphysics and theology could never compare to science, no amount of theorizing can hold a candle to learning by experience. I have since thrown myself into many more engagements and can say with great certainty that though I'm some way from the dearly coveted shodan, I've lot more steel in me than I did back then. It's very strange to think about it now. When I'm there, panting and sweating in my armour during free training, what pushes me to go a little further each time to take a point is not some high ideal to be a better kendoka or sheer pride making me refuse to acknowledge defeat, but just a very simple, humble, mantra mouthed under my breath when the going gets tough:
"Earn your beer, you bastard."
I once calculated that from the first time once picks up a shinai, one must do about 15,000** cuts before you have what it takes to wear armour and really start kendo. 15,000, give or take a couple thousand, depending on your motor skills. With every cut, your body learns a tiny bit more. Then when you get in armour, you start learning all over again. Every training session is an exercise in mindfulness. Every cut must be done to the best of one's ability. And in every engagement, regardless of the disparity in rank, there is something to be learnt. Vita sine litteris mors. Life without learning is death.
I believe there's nothing quite as beautifully human as learning. I've held that belief since I was very young and my dad cleverly left cartoon versions of the Confucian classics in my room. But it is kendo that constantly reminds me of the right attitude towards learning. Knowledge is the brightest of jewels to be treasured and sought. This is to be done with both earnest and vigilance, and at the end of the day, evidence, the crossing of swords in combat, decides all. On the path, there will be passions and urges pulling and pushing us in all sorts of directions. They are not to be fought, because they are a part of what you are. They are to be understood and harnessed. If you doubt, if you hesitate you will lose, not because your opponent is better than you, but because you defeated yourself. Is this not shameful? But it happens to the best of us, and so we learn.
In terms of kendo, I am still young, barely a pollywog in a big, big pond. The mystery of my future beyond shodan is well within the realm of fantasy and speculation. But I know that, as long as I throw myself into the next training session with vigour and really, really work myself to earn that beer, the future can be very bright indeed...
* Note to self: Haven't done torches in a long, long time. Must pick up some kerosene in January...
** Revised from a previous estimate of 10,000.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Conversations in kendo
Me, with a 2nd dan whom I've never trained with before, just after warming up:
Him: Anything else you wanna practice?
Me: Not really. You?
Him: Nope... Wanna fight?
Me: Yah, hokay!
Both: YAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!
Cheng proceeds to get his right kote hammered...
Him: Anything else you wanna practice?
Me: Not really. You?
Him: Nope... Wanna fight?
Me: Yah, hokay!
Both: YAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!
Cheng proceeds to get his right kote hammered...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Armour in the right places
One of my favourite things about kendo is that it's damn near impossible to get seriously hurt like so:
That having been said, shit can still happen:
Poor devil. I for one am not impressed by white's apparent lack of concern.
That having been said, shit can still happen:Poor devil. I for one am not impressed by white's apparent lack of concern.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Catharsis by kirikaeshi
Right, to make up for the previous post's fail, here's a vid of the 55th All-Japan Kendo Championship showing the closest thing I've ever seen to a perfect strike in a kendo tourney:
I wouldn't bother past 0:30. After red (Hiromitsu Sato) got that singularly stunning point, he spent the rest of the match being cheeky and turtling and making sure white (RyoichinUchimura) didn't touch him.
As per this year's New Year Resolutions, I've been attending kendo with renewed vigour and especially relishing the Wednesday sessions, where I will come back almost invariably with bruises on my hip, forearm and sometimes head, a hoarse voice and the satisfaction of inching ever closer to Shodan. Beer tastes really, really good after kendo. It's what I tell myself, towards the last stages of a class, when we engage in freestyle training against the senseis. Not "Gotta be stronger, better, faster... Must defeat everyone!" or similar silliness out of some children's anime. Just "Earn your b33r, you bastard." Those are the words that push me past the previous week's limits, that hurl me headlong into crossing swords against sensei who move so fast and hit so hard they leave bruises on my wrist in the shape of my gauntlets.
I don't think I'd be exaggerating to say that I get a bigger rush out of kendo than anything I've ever, ever done. I've dabbled in Taekwondo, Wingchun, Taijiquan, Baguazhang and reached a reasonable standard in Capoeira. Yes, dabbled, never got a black belt or anything like that, just picked up a wee bit of the movements and theory. But I reached the rank of verde in Capoeira under the happy and cool guidance of Grupo Beribazu, which basically meant I was one rank away from being officially allowed to teach under the supervision of another mestre. But none of these ever gave the same sense of release as donning my armour.
Wearing that armour, we all have the same face, with little in the way of distinguishing features - a nicer sword, a slightyly shinier breastplate maybe. But not much beyond our name tags:
Haruka adding some personal touches to my zekken (name tag).
The point is, behind those duralumin bars, there is a sense of being allowed to be someone else, to drop your inhibitions and throw yourself into training with an insane ferocity you'd never dream of mustering outside the dojo.
Behind that armour, there is no fear of hurting or being hurt (bruises don't count), despite the knowledge that every solid strike of a shinai easily translates into a killing blow with a live blade. Another inhibition dropped. The devil inside revels in his moment of freedom. His exhilaration is every blast of your kiai, the twitch of your shinai, he drinks in the satisfaction of each precisely placed blow reverberating through your fingertips.
And when the class ends and helmets are taken off, everyone is a human with a face again, sweaty smiles and polite bows and rigid dojo etiquette. What goes on behind those smiling faces? If they're anything like me, you'd hear something like "W00t! I totally killed Kasahara-san today! Ok, he killed me 5 times before I caught him a good one on his hand, but w00t! Right, where's that b33r..."
In my readings, I've come to the conclusion that for all our big buildings, swish clothes and fancy gadgetry, we are still animals. By which I mean that in each of us is the capacity for great savagery and hate and cruelty and the like. You don't have to look very far to find it. As such, I'm all for taking this monster that lives inside us, then understanding it and, most importantly, controlling it. Not supressing it completely, mind you, that just leads to it leaking out in inconvenient moments, like an epic case of the runs. It should be let out to play. Of course, martial arts aren't the only way to achieve such release, but that having been said, I've yet to encounter any method for indulging one's inner demons as constructive as the martial arts. And among the martial arts I've sampled, I've yet to encounter a release so complete as in kendo.
Some may argue that the armour inhibits you somewhat, that it's a crutch. I think not. I think behind the anonymity of the helmet, we are free to unleash a side of ourselves that usually remains stifled for most of our lives. And in taking the monster inside and taming it, we understand that much more of ourselves, and the monsters inside everyone. This is why no matter how strong my opponent or no matter how hopelessly outclassed I am in a duel, I do not care. The physical part of the duel is not truly the point of kendo.
Before one puts on one's helmet, there's a cloth called a tenugui that you have to wrap round your head, to absorb the sweat and some of the shock of getting hit over the head with a shinai. On it is written a little slogan expressing some key concept of kendo, like 無心 (mushin - empty heart/mind), 不動心 (fudoushin - the unmoving heart/mind), the Heart Sutra or some such. One of the things that drew me to kendo was a popular phrase that turns up quite often on tenugui, and adorns my first one: 交剣知愛. Ko ken chi ai. Roughly translated, it comes out as "Cross swords, know love".
Well, these are the ramblings of a 5th kyu kendoka who thinks too much. It takes at least 10,000 strokes of the shinai to build up the technique necessary to be worthy of wearing armour. I cannot begin to guess how many thousands more I must give and recieve before I can say I'm shodan, let alone how many more before I bear 2 swords into kata practice. I expect when I do, I'll come back to these words after a class, beer in hand and have a good laugh.
I wouldn't bother past 0:30. After red (Hiromitsu Sato) got that singularly stunning point, he spent the rest of the match being cheeky and turtling and making sure white (RyoichinUchimura) didn't touch him.
As per this year's New Year Resolutions, I've been attending kendo with renewed vigour and especially relishing the Wednesday sessions, where I will come back almost invariably with bruises on my hip, forearm and sometimes head, a hoarse voice and the satisfaction of inching ever closer to Shodan. Beer tastes really, really good after kendo. It's what I tell myself, towards the last stages of a class, when we engage in freestyle training against the senseis. Not "Gotta be stronger, better, faster... Must defeat everyone!" or similar silliness out of some children's anime. Just "Earn your b33r, you bastard." Those are the words that push me past the previous week's limits, that hurl me headlong into crossing swords against sensei who move so fast and hit so hard they leave bruises on my wrist in the shape of my gauntlets.
I don't think I'd be exaggerating to say that I get a bigger rush out of kendo than anything I've ever, ever done. I've dabbled in Taekwondo, Wingchun, Taijiquan, Baguazhang and reached a reasonable standard in Capoeira. Yes, dabbled, never got a black belt or anything like that, just picked up a wee bit of the movements and theory. But I reached the rank of verde in Capoeira under the happy and cool guidance of Grupo Beribazu, which basically meant I was one rank away from being officially allowed to teach under the supervision of another mestre. But none of these ever gave the same sense of release as donning my armour.
Wearing that armour, we all have the same face, with little in the way of distinguishing features - a nicer sword, a slightyly shinier breastplate maybe. But not much beyond our name tags:
Haruka adding some personal touches to my zekken (name tag).The point is, behind those duralumin bars, there is a sense of being allowed to be someone else, to drop your inhibitions and throw yourself into training with an insane ferocity you'd never dream of mustering outside the dojo.
Behind that armour, there is no fear of hurting or being hurt (bruises don't count), despite the knowledge that every solid strike of a shinai easily translates into a killing blow with a live blade. Another inhibition dropped. The devil inside revels in his moment of freedom. His exhilaration is every blast of your kiai, the twitch of your shinai, he drinks in the satisfaction of each precisely placed blow reverberating through your fingertips.
And when the class ends and helmets are taken off, everyone is a human with a face again, sweaty smiles and polite bows and rigid dojo etiquette. What goes on behind those smiling faces? If they're anything like me, you'd hear something like "W00t! I totally killed Kasahara-san today! Ok, he killed me 5 times before I caught him a good one on his hand, but w00t! Right, where's that b33r..."
In my readings, I've come to the conclusion that for all our big buildings, swish clothes and fancy gadgetry, we are still animals. By which I mean that in each of us is the capacity for great savagery and hate and cruelty and the like. You don't have to look very far to find it. As such, I'm all for taking this monster that lives inside us, then understanding it and, most importantly, controlling it. Not supressing it completely, mind you, that just leads to it leaking out in inconvenient moments, like an epic case of the runs. It should be let out to play. Of course, martial arts aren't the only way to achieve such release, but that having been said, I've yet to encounter any method for indulging one's inner demons as constructive as the martial arts. And among the martial arts I've sampled, I've yet to encounter a release so complete as in kendo.
Some may argue that the armour inhibits you somewhat, that it's a crutch. I think not. I think behind the anonymity of the helmet, we are free to unleash a side of ourselves that usually remains stifled for most of our lives. And in taking the monster inside and taming it, we understand that much more of ourselves, and the monsters inside everyone. This is why no matter how strong my opponent or no matter how hopelessly outclassed I am in a duel, I do not care. The physical part of the duel is not truly the point of kendo.
Before one puts on one's helmet, there's a cloth called a tenugui that you have to wrap round your head, to absorb the sweat and some of the shock of getting hit over the head with a shinai. On it is written a little slogan expressing some key concept of kendo, like 無心 (mushin - empty heart/mind), 不動心 (fudoushin - the unmoving heart/mind), the Heart Sutra or some such. One of the things that drew me to kendo was a popular phrase that turns up quite often on tenugui, and adorns my first one: 交剣知愛. Ko ken chi ai. Roughly translated, it comes out as "Cross swords, know love".
Well, these are the ramblings of a 5th kyu kendoka who thinks too much. It takes at least 10,000 strokes of the shinai to build up the technique necessary to be worthy of wearing armour. I cannot begin to guess how many thousands more I must give and recieve before I can say I'm shodan, let alone how many more before I bear 2 swords into kata practice. I expect when I do, I'll come back to these words after a class, beer in hand and have a good laugh.
Monday, July 13, 2009
w00t! 5th kyu!
I just had my kendo grading over the weekend and hauled my raggedy ass up from 7th kyu to 5th. If I keep this up, I may have a shot at the dearly coveted Shodan somewhere around the end of next year.
I like Shodan. I like the sound of the word. There's something about it that strikes me as tremendously cool and sexy. Like how with depictions of the military in pop culture, certain ranks have an image associated with them. Sergeants are ruff and tuff and gritty. Captains are daring, dashing and debonaire. Majors (or was it Colonels?) are gruff and stuffy. That kind of thing.
Or maybe I just like the sound of Shodan because I played System Shock 2:
I like Shodan. I like the sound of the word. There's something about it that strikes me as tremendously cool and sexy. Like how with depictions of the military in pop culture, certain ranks have an image associated with them. Sergeants are ruff and tuff and gritty. Captains are daring, dashing and debonaire. Majors (or was it Colonels?) are gruff and stuffy. That kind of thing.
Or maybe I just like the sound of Shodan because I played System Shock 2:
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Ippon vs Life in Malaysia
In case I hadn't mentioned it before, I love kendo. I haven't really been at it very long, and at the time of writing bear the grade 7th kyu, that is, the minimum required to wear armour. That will, hopefully, change soon, seeing as my next grading is on 11 July. I wouldn't say I'm qualified to speak with any authority on the technical points of kendo, but I'd like to record a little something I've noticed, as a Malaysian doing kendo.
A little background is needed here, I think. I am part of generation whose creativity and passion has been crippled forever by the hamfisted mucking about of Malaysia's Ministry of Education. For decades, the meaning of 'education' was utterly lost, reduced to nothing more than having children jump through meaningless hoops for decades of their lives. The subjects being taught became pale shadows of what they were really about, mere collections of bullet points to be swallowed, regurgitated and forgotten.
Today's Malaysia is the inevitable product of such wasted youth. A nation driven by nothing more than consumerism. Ideals have faded into saccharine platitudes. Culture is dictated by MTV, Channel [V] and the criminally insipid Hong Kong entertainment industry. Language on all fronts has decayed into the vulgar mash that is Manglish, the subject of much misplaced pride and yet another contributing factor to the miasma of anti-intellectualism that grips the nation. Am I exaggerating? Answer me this: When was the last time you saw someone reading on the train in KL? And then ask yourself: When was the last time you saw some Malaysian Chinese person dismiss something they couldn't understand (because it wasn't shoehorned into Manglish) with "Mm chee kui ngup mut"?
I'm a dyed in the wool empiricist. I'm the kind of person whom you'd say "Good morning" to, who'd look up at the overcast sky and retort, "Is it really?" I live every moment constantly making sure I'm doing my utmost to cut through bullshit and grasp the reality of the world I perceive. Being in Malaysia means I've a *lot* of bullshit to cut through.
Now contrast this with kendo. Specifically, duelling in kendo, i.e. shiai. I think there's a certain austere beauty to it, everything you've ever known in your life, shrinking down to the immediate reality of your situation, that every fibre of your being is now focused on the task of scoring the killing blow, ippon, on this one opponent in front of you. There is no conversation to be had, no words that need to be spoken except for the occassional ear-splitting kiai to break your opponent's spirit. There is no luck. Whoever scores is, for that brief moment, the superior swordsman, and that's that. Luck is merely a polite way to downplay the truth of the matter: "I was better than you."
But this is kendo. Bamboo blades and heavy armour make sure we survive each encounter practically unscathed, no matter how viciously we throw ourselves at each other. We bow, we reflect, we learn. Perhaps in the near future we will fight again and see who is worthy of ippon. Ippon is everything. It is the culmination of your countless hours of harsh training. It can only be bought with the one true currency of life - sweat, blood and tears. Who you were and who you will be fade into the distance in the face of ippon, because all that matters, there and then, is who you are and the answer to the question: Are you good enough to take ippon?
And there we have wee slice of my understanding of kendo. I expect in the future, when I've climbed up a few more ranks, I'll come back to this post and think on how I have or haven't changed. For now, I've a shinai that needs repairing before the next class, and maybe, the next ippon.
The world seems more real from inside that armour.
A little background is needed here, I think. I am part of generation whose creativity and passion has been crippled forever by the hamfisted mucking about of Malaysia's Ministry of Education. For decades, the meaning of 'education' was utterly lost, reduced to nothing more than having children jump through meaningless hoops for decades of their lives. The subjects being taught became pale shadows of what they were really about, mere collections of bullet points to be swallowed, regurgitated and forgotten.
Today's Malaysia is the inevitable product of such wasted youth. A nation driven by nothing more than consumerism. Ideals have faded into saccharine platitudes. Culture is dictated by MTV, Channel [V] and the criminally insipid Hong Kong entertainment industry. Language on all fronts has decayed into the vulgar mash that is Manglish, the subject of much misplaced pride and yet another contributing factor to the miasma of anti-intellectualism that grips the nation. Am I exaggerating? Answer me this: When was the last time you saw someone reading on the train in KL? And then ask yourself: When was the last time you saw some Malaysian Chinese person dismiss something they couldn't understand (because it wasn't shoehorned into Manglish) with "Mm chee kui ngup mut"?
I'm a dyed in the wool empiricist. I'm the kind of person whom you'd say "Good morning" to, who'd look up at the overcast sky and retort, "Is it really?" I live every moment constantly making sure I'm doing my utmost to cut through bullshit and grasp the reality of the world I perceive. Being in Malaysia means I've a *lot* of bullshit to cut through.
Now contrast this with kendo. Specifically, duelling in kendo, i.e. shiai. I think there's a certain austere beauty to it, everything you've ever known in your life, shrinking down to the immediate reality of your situation, that every fibre of your being is now focused on the task of scoring the killing blow, ippon, on this one opponent in front of you. There is no conversation to be had, no words that need to be spoken except for the occassional ear-splitting kiai to break your opponent's spirit. There is no luck. Whoever scores is, for that brief moment, the superior swordsman, and that's that. Luck is merely a polite way to downplay the truth of the matter: "I was better than you."
But this is kendo. Bamboo blades and heavy armour make sure we survive each encounter practically unscathed, no matter how viciously we throw ourselves at each other. We bow, we reflect, we learn. Perhaps in the near future we will fight again and see who is worthy of ippon. Ippon is everything. It is the culmination of your countless hours of harsh training. It can only be bought with the one true currency of life - sweat, blood and tears. Who you were and who you will be fade into the distance in the face of ippon, because all that matters, there and then, is who you are and the answer to the question: Are you good enough to take ippon?
And there we have wee slice of my understanding of kendo. I expect in the future, when I've climbed up a few more ranks, I'll come back to this post and think on how I have or haven't changed. For now, I've a shinai that needs repairing before the next class, and maybe, the next ippon.
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