In which our blogger speaks briefly with a Sensei.
It was after my painfully short kendo match. I went outside and purchased a donut. An old man asked if he could share a table with me. He was about 60 years old and in one hand he held a styrofoam cup filled with black coffee and in another a cigarette, half of it already smoked. Immediately I knew he was a Sensei, though I've never seen him before.
"You shouldn't eat that," he told me a few seconds later. He spoke clearly, all traces of a Japanese accent gone from his voice.
"Once in a while," I replied, munching on the chocolatey pastry. It was a lie, of course. I stuff myself with junkfood constantly. But one must defer to wisdom.
"Never," he admonished.
I had to stop myself from making a quip about his zen habit of smoking. One must defer to wisdom. And common sense. "Girl dies in kendo accident" does not a good headline make.
If you're wondering why I'm so self-righteous about the whole smoking thing, it's because I haven't touched a stick in months.
"You shouldn't eat that," he told me a few seconds later. He spoke clearly, all traces of a Japanese accent gone from his voice.
"Once in a while," I replied, munching on the chocolatey pastry. It was a lie, of course. I stuff myself with junkfood constantly. But one must defer to wisdom.
"Never," he admonished.
I had to stop myself from making a quip about his zen habit of smoking. One must defer to wisdom. And common sense. "Girl dies in kendo accident" does not a good headline make.
If you're wondering why I'm so self-righteous about the whole smoking thing, it's because I haven't touched a stick in months.