Martial Arts Will Kill A Man, But What We Don’t Know About Martial Is… How We All Got There

I’m jotting down these thoughts to immortalize the essence of my birthday conversations and the reflections it brings forth in the realm of martial arts.

This narrative revolves around the intricate web of lives intertwined by the “piss-spit-and-fire” that is martial arts. Within this realm reside myriad of archetypes, each drawn to its sanctuary for reasons as varied as human experience.

Recently, a well endowed men (you’re aware of my penchant for sex, so let’s just move past that, shall we?) strolled into my office, sat down, and shared his story, eventually leading to, well let’s say, some pretty good sex. But there’s more beneath the surface here.

You see, martial arts serves as a compelling force, drawing individuals from various backgrounds. It’s within this context that he and I found connection through storytelling.

Let’s start by considering the man plagued by the shadows of his past, tormented by bullying and familial strife. His journey to the dojo symbolizes a quest for redemption, a yearning to assert his identity and carve out a meaningful place in the world. Such individuals, not born into martial arts heritage, seek solace among kindred spirits, craving a sense of belonging.

The dojo offers a surrogate family, one built on principles of dignity and respect. However, this sense of belonging often evolves into a cycle of reciprocity, where one feels indebted to the grand master. Eventually, you might find yourself atop his roof, laying tiles, or tending to leaks in the dojo, or assisting with mat cleaning duties.

Then you start questioning the reality of what the hell is going on, is this a cult?

Then there’s Mack, born into a lineage steeped in martial tradition. His path was not of his choosing but one of obligation, driven by the relentless pursuit of perfection under his father’s watchful eye.

For Mack, superiority is not a goal but an inherent truth, bestowed upon him by virtue of his lineage. He never had a choice, it was expected of him.

A major rant about to begin here… Just like “Toni Tony Tone,” an intelligence operative I once harbored silent affection for over many years (whenever he appeared in my life), we see familiar patterns.

Though I may hesitate to revisit my youthful romantic entanglements, this particular bond endured well into my 30s (and through my marriage to another man) and started at age 14.

His expertise in the field, demonstrated by over 71 targeted kills, echoes the lineage of his father and his father, all seasoned in the art of war. He had no say in the matter. Like Mack, he was shaped from the very first moment he drew breath. His father had “plans” for him.

Our story reached its climax in Santa Clara, following a night of karaoke in a run-down Korean bar, where he abruptly departed after calling me a whore because I didn’t want to be his lover.

In that instant, his use of words like “whore” made me realize he did NOT feel what I had felt all those years as I waited for him.

Back when I was living in a cabin training every single day in tactical forms at the age of 25, I was prepared and enthusiastic about the prospect of marrying him and having children. But he never arrived. Instead, he kept accepting more contracts, placing work above all else.

And then, when he finally reappeared, he resorted to calling me, “whore.” It’s men like him who end up in brotherhoods not out of choice, but out of necessity, and it profoundly affects those they care about.

And then there was another fleeting encounter with a man on my birthday, a brief meeting that left me certain I had fallen for him from the moment we crossed paths. His revelations resonated deeply with me, igniting a connection that proved challenging to sever, even though it was never meant to be. He pursued with intensity, only to depart abruptly, leaving as swiftly as he arrived. While some of us strive to build healthy connections, this individual couldn’t even spare a moment from work to meet halfway for a simple coffee or tea.

My writing has always served as my catharsis since childhood, so I’m simply airing out these thoughts to the general public at large. Ha.

If you engage romantically with a writer, cause them harm, or share intimacy with them, chances are you’ll find yourself depicted in their writing at some juncture, often serving as a lesson or narrative element. That’s precisely why I suggest that if you value your anonymity, it’s best to avoid getting involved romantically with a writer. Just a friendly tip.

While Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is a popular martial art (And this solitary well-endowed individual, whom I genuinely admired — and still do — practices… I’m not disparaging the sport, but let’s be honest, it’s rather haphazardly executed, it lacks the finesse and elegance of traditional Jiu-Jitsu).

I’m not implying that this guy was oblivious to the fact that he might be depicted in writing; he should have exercised better judgment. It’s a straightforward conclusion to draw. Don’t fret, I have legal protection against defamation. Besides, I refrain from discussing individuals in a manner that could be construed as defamatory. However, many of them lack integrity or respect for women, so they make their mark. If you catch my drift, wink.

Nonetheless, he was quite endearing this man. I harbor no ill will towards him, and it’s worth noting to fellow men that I attach no significance to financial transactions.

Money holds no sway over me. I earn my own income and provide for myself. If I desire someone’s genetic material for my offspring, I’m likely to provide anything for my offspring, but I would never burden them with debt like Mack or Tony. I would never coerce my child into following my martial arts lineage. If they prefer playing video games and behaving in a manner I find foolish, I’ll emphasize the importance of responsible behavior until they correct their course. Additionally, I may apply hot honey to their Nintendo controllers to discourage such behavior and ensure they focus on more productive activities. Like getting out of the house and not being a “horse’s ass.”

However, what more can I add?

Oh that fleeting encounter on my birthday, how do we end up in martial arts was pillow talk, and it led to understanding some of us were the outcasts, the ones who were bullied, the ones society overlooked. But then we found ourselves at a dojo, and in that moment, we knew: “This is where we belong.”

And then there are people like us, the social outcasts seeking a sense of belonging that society at large fails to provide as we transition from childhood to adulthood. Teaching maturity is an intriguing aspect of martial arts training.

Maturity isn’t merely about self-discipline or obedience. It’s about having a deep understanding of what is right for you and having the courage to stand by it, rooted in an innate sense of what should and shouldn’t be done. Perhaps that’s why I often reference my past romantic endeavors, fleeting as they may be, because truth be told, I find most people lack the drive and entitlement to achieve their goals.

I could describe my daily routine in intricate detail, but few would believe the level of productivity I achieve. At 39 years old, as a woman who has endured three rapes, brutal attacks, and a childhood steeped in poverty and familial turmoil, I’ve learned to excel against all odds. Martial arts became my lifeline, not because I was a social outcast, but because from the moment I drew my first breath, I felt as though I was meant to perish. That’s how I stumbled into a dojo — I yearned for survival in a world that seemed determined to kill me.

Facing molestation, rapes, physical abuse, homelessness, and parents battling mental illness, I consider myself fortunate to have found solace within the walls of that dojo.

I walked in and declared, “Give me a fucking gi, I’ll do whatever it takes to learn even if it means giving you my blood.” And learn I did, absorbing every lesson offered to me by my mentor.

Despite my affection for various men in my life, my true love will always be the mat. It’s steadfast, never faltering, never demanding, and if you commit to it, it unfailingly reciprocates. That, to me, epitomizes love. That, to me, embodies maturity.

Maturity isn’t bestowed upon us by the martial arts we engage in or the pursuit of it. It emanates from within, manifested in how we treat others, how we treat ourselves, and the value we place on ourselves and on our training.

May the men who have entered my life, only to exit or tread upon me, find inner peace for themselves and for others. Indeed, maturity is a fascinating concept, isn’t it?