A little while ago, I asked one of my Senpai about how to deal with a changing perspective about Kendo. I told him that I didn't view Kendo with the same purity and innocence that I once did. He laughed, and told me that it was normal, and welcomed me to the world of the Dans. He then explained that even though the childish fun of how I used to view Kendo is gone, it can be replaced with something better- recognition of just how much work Kendo is, and the knowledge that it really is worth it in the end. I've been thinking a lot about what he said, not just in Kendo, but in my everyday life as well. Maybe things can still be good, even if I can't view life with the same trusting innocence that I used to.
I'm going to talk about some personal stuff now, partly because my Kendo is a reflection of my life, and partly because there are things I'm finally ready to talk about. My father died two days before Thanksgiving last year. It was expected; he had been in and out of hospitals all year. It was caused by what I now believe to be a very slow diabetic suicide by soda, combined with a number of health complications that no one could have seen coming. Maybe it was an invincibility complex or sheer stupidity rather than a wish to die, but all I know is he was diabetic and he was downing at least two liters of regular soda a day, plus the diet soda he drank at home to fool everyone into thinking that's what he always drank. My family just recently learned this from one of his friends. Things hadn't been right with my father for a long time, even before his first hospitalization in April. Somewhere in 2011, he stopped being the world's best Dad and started treating me differently. The most defining moment for me was when he looked me in the eye and asked "Who would want to marry YOU? No one in their right mind would, if they really knew you." I started looking elsewhere for fatherly support- the dojo, to be exact. I'm 100% sure that I should not have been looking there for a replacement father, but regardless, I found support. For that, I am endlessly grateful. I know I would not have made it through last year without Kendo, and the support of a dojo. I remember going to my Sensei and saying "Sensei, I think my father is going to die. What should I do?" I remember my Senpai telling me not to give up, encouraging me to keep writing even though my father made fun of me, and knowing when to just hold me close and let me cry on them. I find myself conflicted here, because I feel bad that I wasn't disciplined enough to keep my crazy messed-up life separate from my dojo life. On the other hand, I recognize that had I not asked for help when I needed it, I would have gone down a very different path.
My father was everything I strive not to be. He was lazy, selfish, and threw his life away. I had particularly powerful conversation with my Sensei, when I told him that I was afraid of becoming my father. I told him all the weaknesses that I shared with him, and Sensei said "Those are human weaknesses. Those are your flaws, not his. You are not your father. You control your own life." Writing these words, I also remember Sensei a couple months ago telling me that it is time to let it go. But it's so hard to. Sometimes of an evening, the loss hits me again like it's fresh. I see him slowly dying in my head over and over; his skinny shoulders, his desperate eyes. I hear his voice- raised in anger, telling me I'm not good enough, or scratchy and fading. I wonder why I even try to live. I feel his darkness try to swallow me. But the one light that has never wavered is Kendo. If it's true that Kendo is a mirror that shows me my true reflection, then flawed as it is, that light that I see is mine. I will train that light and brighten it into a backwards eclipse, blocking out the darkness that tries to linger. I will die following that light, because even if I fail at attaining every dream I've had, at least I will have tried. No matter how many mistakes I make, I will never give up on myself. In the end, I'm all that I've got; me and this constant struggle, this art of improvement.
I'd like to close with a quote.
"I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean towards the opposite." - Shane Koyczan
Until next time.
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