Curlyqued Tongue
April 29th, 2008
Suwadeekaaaa..
the bell clanged against spotless glass door
before the eye reached the salad bar
The girl at the registered sung hello
I had nothing but sandwiches for the week
her really brown skin, wide native cheekbones
Mongolian thick lips that no matter what she wore
she always had gold crown and silk trail–
princess and history keeper of a land I visited.
Energy
Sounds are like songs when spoken
a guiding set chosen by a community
signature accents, drags and intonations
chisels a country’s id
Pride
Say nothing and listen for abnormalities:
the hesitating “yes, but…so, ummmm”
is a stumbling Jesus walking out the door
every culture has a mid-thought meaningless word
Discipline
Listen again, this time to inner reaction
What’s consider beautiful or a gray line taboo?
Are you walking into line or waltzing hello?
When do shoulders catch the sun or hide in orange pashas?
Conservation
After hello, please and thank you,
the first word you learn to say is shaped by geography
the first sound is always ‘ma’
Imagine if water was your first word…
Language,
little mirrors of perfect imperfection
sound bites of who we are
and who we want to be
a sea we perpetually sail,
on turbulent tides and glassy white beaches
we’ll never reach.
One of my favorite photos from the Thailand set. Yes, I did take this photo! Yes, it has been months since my Thailand trip, but I was really missing having an elephant as a mode of transportation and having fresh coconut, papaya, pineapple and mango for breakfast.
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April 19th, 2008
I’m in the Citizen’s Gymnasium behind the baseball stadium quietly looking up from the epicenter. The matted floor hosts about 400 people in the five sections of competitions. There are about 1500 people walking in and out of the front doors, through the narrow hallways of noisy anticipation. I couldn’t sleep that night. The wakeup call was at five, to leave at seven and arrive at eight. To my right, the honorary section holds about 50 founders and professors along with police academy personnel and military. Underneath, the special five foot wreaths adorn the 15 foot-long trophy section. The elements and light are filtered through cloth and banners. I’m in love with the room full of different colors, variations and expressions of both conformity and individuality in a uniform. That corner belongs to the white stripes, this one is the only uniform in red, and of the four gyms that chose white, one etches the students name on the back, the other has red lettering and the rest are black. My mouth is dry but I resist, knowing anticipation can overwhelm any stomach.
I step away from the competitive vibe to observe. How did I get here in front of hundreds of years of tradition and interpretation? How was I so lucky to see high leaps past a barricade of 15 people, kicks 12 feet high softly landing into kneeling position that bow for grace and humility? How was I so blessed, an immigrant from la Alameda where my grandma and I crossed the city’s black water canals to reach the market every day, to witnessing/participating in a tradition and power hundreds of years old living and breathing? How did I get here on the blue tatami floor looking up, breathing in, screaming out, following my dreams at 30, exploring life?
My ears listen desperately for my name, filtering words because I don’t want to let my master down, get lost or attract attention…as if the only foreign, brown female in a bright orange gi could be overlooked. So, I try to remain anonymous: always quiet, while communication comes to me in the most efficient way possible and the past speaks to me. Every country I’ve been to, I have a teacher and a community of friends. Though it was not easy to find a martial arts teacher that would invest their time in me or work outside their language, I have found many. Yes, they all share a love of the arts, for the skill, endurance and peace it brings into their life, but from my perspective they share many more qualities. They share a nobility and faith in the arts and themselves to want to see everyone excel. My sensei in Houston is a cancer survivor, adamant to keeping the dojo in the community and one of his students is blind. They have great poise and goofy smiles that never brag or boast but welcome everyone open hearted. My sensei in Colombia has traveled the world with his art and is the sole traditional jujitsu dojo in a city of 2 million people. But most of all, they share a great sense of justice and accountability to their physical world and community of the martial arts. My kwanjamin in Korea named his gym bright light to let everyone know it was a place of honesty and principles. Nobility, faith, poise, honesty, justice and accountability, are traits that I have earned and refined from years in the arts because of my teachers. They are people who talk to me and help me see my self worth by making me better. People who go past the monetary rewards to give me self-confidence, challenges, and pride in my accomplishments. People who don’t misjudge character going beyond a five foot brown female but an individual that can. I’m aware of them, myself, and who and what I represent every where I go.
The competitions begin. I sit in line asking my breath to relax all the muscles in my body and release any competitive hesitations or fears. I won fourth place. Its a great start to next year’s gold medal.
Pleated Geography
April 13th, 2008
I love the way the elders walk,
telling you their story
this one with a concave arch
bowing back
arms like a ballerina’s balanced en pointe
carrying baby,
or satchel filled of harvest fruit,
or just hands cupping air…pondering–
chastising running youth–
holding up community.
That one,
moves hips and shoulders parallelly
chest plate up and forward
hip bones make a figure eight walking
climbing stairs slowly, upright tension
little puffing sounds
with no barriers to explain
days before roads or osteoporotic pains
The last is spit fire:
tan brazen wrinkles matching yellow acid-eaten teeth,
pristine visor, gloves and climbing gear,
looking onto streets and garden rows
as his pick stabs trash and aerates cabbages
that the school buys.
He’s fire that opens pollen pods,
fire that burns excess,
nurturing seeds to grow.
Like geographical transformations,
skin wraps political and natural history:
this joint was the famine
that one was the flood
these were from migration, one mountain to the next,
They tell the story of the place they watch over
walk, clean and nurture,
living the word…community.
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April 5th, 2008
LOL! I fought the urge the make it into a poem but this came directly from Dr. Universe, Herself, via Milton Ramirez.com. Ask Dr. Universe is an on-line website for children all over the world to submit their scientific inquiries sponsored by Washington State University. For example, did you know our cells can only divide 50 factorial and that a human embryo looks like a chicken embryo? (No wonder we can’t do without fried chicken.) Thank you for answering a question that’s been on my mind ever since I became a Mark Leyner fan, whom by the way would answer as a membership card!
A huge red carpet blogroll-out welcome to Devari from Bali! If you have never been to Bali, it is a beautiful place to visit. Devari answers all the question you’ve ever wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how to, like, just how many Gods do you have and what’s the right way to bargain. Welcome the Great Kotsengkuba, a wonderful photographer, Pinoy blogger and writer. Not sure where my summer will take me, but a please pray for the safety and success of friend, blogger and missionary J. Landrum who will be in Chiang Rai, Thailand…a beautiful place to visit. I have just released the pictures of Chiang Mai on flikr, so have fun!
I decided that rather than taking the bus to practice, I should just start running the 5km to prepare for my black belt test. Here’s a couple of very painful hard learned lessons and a cool strip of my trip to a traditional oriental clinic in the orient.
1. Use the first 2 weeks to keep a regimen. Walk, run or crawl, just get in the habit. Real Women Running is a great web site.
2. Drink 2 liters of water daily and sleep well.
3. Stretch before and after a run. I have to stretch the piriformis and achilles, but each person is different.
4. Get an e-coach like Hal Hidgon for marathon goals.
5. Massages are a great way to rest on your off days.
6. Love your feet, use light shoes, cushion your run and change out often. I’m partial to Sof Soles, a great company used by many runners.
7. Twisted ankles=RICE, rest, ice, compress, elevate for two weeks. (The last part killed me, but necessary.) Visit the doc, and treat your body naturally:
Wish me luck on my self defense test this coming Sunday. I’ll let you know how my 5k is coming along!