sakura spring 12
- I'm not very comics-updated, but Disney buying out Marvel IS A BAD IDEA. That is all.
- Still feel like a fish out of water. Despite now knowing how I want to write the four-person story, and knowing the country names now...I still can't write it without feeling completely incompetent.
Anyways. Some taichi for you all, partly to calm my writer stage fright.
...................
Can't be a doctor, can't be a writer. Too scared to be a doctor. Too frightened of other awesome people to be a writer among their ranks. What the hell am I supposed to be?!
.................
Here again is that Youtube video, just so you understand what I'm driving at.
..................
April 25
I was not able to sleep well that night. His words worried me, that is true, but I also could not shake off the feeling that we were watched. I kept on alert the whole night, sometimes even walking off to his bedroom to see if he was alright. I peeked in a few times. He still slept in that exhausted way I saw in the hospital. Defenseless, if anything happened.
I woke up early and headed to the reception area. I pushed the table and the mats to a corner. The reception area created enough space for the routines.
I went through the eight basic steps, slowly, focusing on each movement, remembering how my master taught me. Hoping that focusing on those would help me concentrate on what was important.
But my concentration wavered, and I found myself completing the sixteen basic steps, then the twenty-eight. All in the efforts to calm myself down, to keep me from worrying more than I should.
I ended the steps, and found myself bowing to Hibari-san, wearing a judo practice uniform. He placed his hands together in front of him, and bowed to me.
My knees almost gave way. I felt like I floated on air as I placed my hands before me and bowed to him.
I assumed the first position, feet together, arms to the sides. He followed.
I bent my knees, slowly, flowing, followed by my hands before me. He imitated by squatting military-style with his arms thrusting forward. He frowned through it. I shook my head with a smile, trying not to giggle.
I returned to the first position, and repeated my movements, slowly, flowing, as my master taught me. He tried again, stiffly. Again I shook my head.
He growled.
I placed a hand in front of me. "I think you are missing the point, Hibari-san."
"Explain."
"Tai chi chuan is a soft martial art. Its focus is the balance of mind and soul. Strength in battle is not its focus."
"Then it is pointless."
"Not so. As the heart is balanced, so the ability to fight is balanced."
"Hm."
"Tsuni-nii says you meditate sometimes."
"So?"
I placed my feet together again. "Tai chi chuan is like meditation as your body is in motion. It requires the same focus of mind and soul."
"Ah."
"Shall we try again?"
He nodded.
I stayed standing for a long moment, just breathing in and out, focusing my mind and soul. If he did not seem to get the focus correctly, I could not seem to focus on anything except the man in front of me. Breathe in, breathe out. This man, is just a man. Who makes mistakes. Who gets injured. Breathe in and out. I will pass the wisdom of my master to him, and that is all there is to it. I have to do it right, or I will not help him. I will do this right.
Feet together. Feet apart. Hands in front as you breathe in, then breathe out. Slowly, flowing.
His movements were still awkward, but it started to smoothen, to flow.
Bring arm from one side, as scooping the wind, bring back to the front. Other arm. Bring arm from one side, taking the wind with you, bring back to the front. Form a ball of wind, and release it again before you.
He followed, slowly, stiffly, but with more grace.
I guided him through the individual parts of the third position. The right leg first, then the right arm, then the left leg steps to the side, and the arms follow, taking the breezes through the fingers. It took a few repetitions, stopping as his knees bent too far, or his shoulder position was too awkward.
His movements were still all too calculated, but they continued to smooth out, a little bit at a time, as water smooths out the rocks in a stream. He truly was a quick learner, memorizing the elements of the eight basic positions in that morning, when it would take other people a week or two. I know it took me three days not to fall over when I raised my leg for the sixth position.
The judo uniform drenched in sweat, and even his hair and forehead were soaked. But he did not ask for us to stop, and refused to stop when I asked him. Even as he lost balance in the sixth and seventh positions, he refused assistance, and stood up on his own.
It took us several hours. It was his first time, after all. But I guided him through the completed eight movements, slowly, flowing. I watched as he went through the movements, watched the signs of the stiff grace I had seen in several fights, that effortless economy of motion I admired in him.
He looked so much like my master, in all the pictures I had seen, in those training films I had watched. He looked so much like him.
I missed my master.
I missed him so much, so much. I missed him so much. He was gone, I did not know how or where or by whom. He was just gone. I missed him so.
I dropped to my knees, my hands covering my face. The tears wet my cheeks and my hands. I could not stop them from flowing. I could not stop.
I felt his hands on my shoulders, one each. But the feeling of a person, any person, any soul, beside me, overwhelmed me, and before I knew what I was doing, I wrapped my hands around his waist and cried into his uniform. All the tears I bravely kept away, they flowed out, all of them. I could not cry to Tsuna-nii, there were other people who had died as well. I could not cry to Lambo, he would not understand. I should not even cry to him, but I could no longer stop.
My master was gone, and there was no one else to cry to.
He did not do anything, and I did not expect him to. But he did not push me away, and for that I was grateful.
I let go, finally, as it finally sank in who he was, who I was crying to, crying my eyes out. I looked up at him, and saw him frowning. Not with menace, but he was frowning.
I quickly wiped away what tears were left, and bowed profusely. "I am sorry, I am sorry. It will not happen again. I'm so sorry."
He walked away and left the room.
................
And this is the kind of stuff I will always be stuck writing, writing comfortably. Dammit.
................
Goodnight.
EK 8 )
- Still feel like a fish out of water. Despite now knowing how I want to write the four-person story, and knowing the country names now...I still can't write it without feeling completely incompetent.
Anyways. Some taichi for you all, partly to calm my writer stage fright.
...................
Can't be a doctor, can't be a writer. Too scared to be a doctor. Too frightened of other awesome people to be a writer among their ranks. What the hell am I supposed to be?!
.................
Here again is that Youtube video, just so you understand what I'm driving at.
Click to view..................
April 25
I was not able to sleep well that night. His words worried me, that is true, but I also could not shake off the feeling that we were watched. I kept on alert the whole night, sometimes even walking off to his bedroom to see if he was alright. I peeked in a few times. He still slept in that exhausted way I saw in the hospital. Defenseless, if anything happened.
I woke up early and headed to the reception area. I pushed the table and the mats to a corner. The reception area created enough space for the routines.
I went through the eight basic steps, slowly, focusing on each movement, remembering how my master taught me. Hoping that focusing on those would help me concentrate on what was important.
But my concentration wavered, and I found myself completing the sixteen basic steps, then the twenty-eight. All in the efforts to calm myself down, to keep me from worrying more than I should.
I ended the steps, and found myself bowing to Hibari-san, wearing a judo practice uniform. He placed his hands together in front of him, and bowed to me.
My knees almost gave way. I felt like I floated on air as I placed my hands before me and bowed to him.
I assumed the first position, feet together, arms to the sides. He followed.
I bent my knees, slowly, flowing, followed by my hands before me. He imitated by squatting military-style with his arms thrusting forward. He frowned through it. I shook my head with a smile, trying not to giggle.
I returned to the first position, and repeated my movements, slowly, flowing, as my master taught me. He tried again, stiffly. Again I shook my head.
He growled.
I placed a hand in front of me. "I think you are missing the point, Hibari-san."
"Explain."
"Tai chi chuan is a soft martial art. Its focus is the balance of mind and soul. Strength in battle is not its focus."
"Then it is pointless."
"Not so. As the heart is balanced, so the ability to fight is balanced."
"Hm."
"Tsuni-nii says you meditate sometimes."
"So?"
I placed my feet together again. "Tai chi chuan is like meditation as your body is in motion. It requires the same focus of mind and soul."
"Ah."
"Shall we try again?"
He nodded.
I stayed standing for a long moment, just breathing in and out, focusing my mind and soul. If he did not seem to get the focus correctly, I could not seem to focus on anything except the man in front of me. Breathe in, breathe out. This man, is just a man. Who makes mistakes. Who gets injured. Breathe in and out. I will pass the wisdom of my master to him, and that is all there is to it. I have to do it right, or I will not help him. I will do this right.
Feet together. Feet apart. Hands in front as you breathe in, then breathe out. Slowly, flowing.
His movements were still awkward, but it started to smoothen, to flow.
Bring arm from one side, as scooping the wind, bring back to the front. Other arm. Bring arm from one side, taking the wind with you, bring back to the front. Form a ball of wind, and release it again before you.
He followed, slowly, stiffly, but with more grace.
I guided him through the individual parts of the third position. The right leg first, then the right arm, then the left leg steps to the side, and the arms follow, taking the breezes through the fingers. It took a few repetitions, stopping as his knees bent too far, or his shoulder position was too awkward.
His movements were still all too calculated, but they continued to smooth out, a little bit at a time, as water smooths out the rocks in a stream. He truly was a quick learner, memorizing the elements of the eight basic positions in that morning, when it would take other people a week or two. I know it took me three days not to fall over when I raised my leg for the sixth position.
The judo uniform drenched in sweat, and even his hair and forehead were soaked. But he did not ask for us to stop, and refused to stop when I asked him. Even as he lost balance in the sixth and seventh positions, he refused assistance, and stood up on his own.
It took us several hours. It was his first time, after all. But I guided him through the completed eight movements, slowly, flowing. I watched as he went through the movements, watched the signs of the stiff grace I had seen in several fights, that effortless economy of motion I admired in him.
He looked so much like my master, in all the pictures I had seen, in those training films I had watched. He looked so much like him.
I missed my master.
I missed him so much, so much. I missed him so much. He was gone, I did not know how or where or by whom. He was just gone. I missed him so.
I dropped to my knees, my hands covering my face. The tears wet my cheeks and my hands. I could not stop them from flowing. I could not stop.
I felt his hands on my shoulders, one each. But the feeling of a person, any person, any soul, beside me, overwhelmed me, and before I knew what I was doing, I wrapped my hands around his waist and cried into his uniform. All the tears I bravely kept away, they flowed out, all of them. I could not cry to Tsuna-nii, there were other people who had died as well. I could not cry to Lambo, he would not understand. I should not even cry to him, but I could no longer stop.
My master was gone, and there was no one else to cry to.
He did not do anything, and I did not expect him to. But he did not push me away, and for that I was grateful.
I let go, finally, as it finally sank in who he was, who I was crying to, crying my eyes out. I looked up at him, and saw him frowning. Not with menace, but he was frowning.
I quickly wiped away what tears were left, and bowed profusely. "I am sorry, I am sorry. It will not happen again. I'm so sorry."
He walked away and left the room.
................
And this is the kind of stuff I will always be stuck writing, writing comfortably. Dammit.
................
Goodnight.
EK 8 )