Sweat trickles down from my head to my face, making its way across my cheek bones in a manner akin to that of a tear; my hands are red and calloused with the continuous punching, constantly coming back to my waist before they launch out into another hit. My breathing is hard and comes in short breaths as I turn around for another kick to the bag. My movements now, after about a year of continuous practice and hard work have found a place in the position of muscle memory.
Absorbed in my practice the presence of another human almost goes unnoticed by me until she clears her throat. ‘Practice ended quite long ago you’ve already been here overtime.’ It’s the academy owner. ‘Go home now, I need to close up’. I look up to see the time. It is eight thirty, consequently meaning I will miss dinner time again and mom will be upset. I wipe my sweaty face with a towel and pick up my belongings as I head outside sipping water to ease my dry throat.
The sun has settled after a long, hard day and the night sky has spread itself like a blanket as it watches over people reaching their home and to the comfort of their family and loved ones. I stand outside as the lady finishes locking up and consequently coming to stand next to me,waiting for her husband, who’d always come pick her up. Her words cut through the peaceful silence as she questions me. “Whenever I see you, you always seem to be on the bags. You’ve never taken a break and there hasn’t been a day when I saw you going back home on time. What do you love so much about Taekwondo?” We used to often converse about general things since I was mostly the last one to leave but nevertheless her question took me by a bit of surprise. I looked at her face filled with genuine curiosity and imagined that my thoughts were a reflection of her expression. Now that I had been questioned I realized that I had never taken a moment to stop and think about my great interest in the sport. ‘Why do I not rush home as soon as class ends like the other children? What makes me want to stay?’
I couldn’t answer her that day, but on my way home as I passed the prettily lit night streets I took my thoughts on a trip down the memory lane. The first time I was introduced to Taekwondo, I recalled I was about twelve years old. It’s safe to say that I had instantly fallen in love with the sport but sadly couldn’t continue for long due to an injury to my foot. However when I was sixteen, one day I saw a couple of children practicing in the park and I just stood and stared at them for a long while. There was an urge in me to go join them. That’s when I told my mother that I want to become a part of that world again.
I remember my smile when I saw the punching and kicking bags again and the pride with which I wore my uniform, already giving me a sense of power and an identity which was apart from what the world already knew me as. Taekwondo, I felt is not just a sport. It’s an art and it’s a lesson of life. It gives me a chance to look within myself, to help me understand who I really am and how much I have in me to keep holding on.
I recall my first ever fight that I had, it was with a boy two belts senior to me. That day I had got wrecked. Punches came at my face from left and right and I lost count of how many times I got kicked on the back before I gave up. That day I was truly enraged at my injuries but I couldn’t deny that I had admired his swift movements. The balance that his body held, how misleadingly clever his moves were. He’d hint at a right and strike a left, his presence of mind, the bounce in his body and the patience with which he’d wait to tire his opponent before he struck home. Due to days like that, over time a new learning was added to my book. Life always strikes in the most unexpected of ways, so never let your guard down. Don’t be timid but accept the challenge and be patient, for a time will come when you get to make your move and hit home. With each passing day our teacher would make the practice more exhaustive. I remember falling down multiple times coughing and catching my breath but he would always hit me with the kicking pad shouting at me to keep it going. In his class there were no girls and boys, only students who had come to learn and for him everyone was the same. I loved that about him. Eventually I imbibed the fact that giving up was for the quitters. You can make a million mistakes and fall a million times but the day you refuse to get up is the day you’ve truly lost. So pick yourself up and fight back with even more power than before.
As someone who’s always been insecure about the way I looked the scars I got from getting hit made me realize that the marks on my body aren’t a hindrance to my beauty but rather a signature of my strength. They warn the world that she’s a fighter, so hit at her you may, but she’ll hit you back harder. They were my strength, not my weakness.
The day I won my first official fight it was impossible to stop me from smiling like a fool. I was proud of how far I had come and all the obstacles I had crossed on the way. My hardships had taught me the importance of being disciplined and healthy both emotionally and physically, the gold medal shining on my chest being a testimony to that.
While I stood before my opponent that day I remember not feeling an ounce of fear because by now I had learnt to believe in myself. I had learnt to challenge my limits and most of all I had learnt to dream. It isn’t impossible to touch the sky; you just have to learn to jump a little higher.
By the time I got off that night I couldn’t wait already to meet the lady again tomorrow and tell her my answer. I skipped home happily with my huge smile back on my face, not caring about the scolding about to come my way.
'Dream it, then make it happen'
