Hallelujah

That's me at the left, attempting a roundhouse kick.

Ten years hence and I get this gut-wrenching sensation at the very core of my soul. Funny, I don’t remember having it as a child. Perhaps the inability of hapless devotion and feeling fear was the greatest privilege of childhood.

In the movie Legendary, there was a moment when everything went full circle. When Cal, backed up by his brother Mike, their mother, and (maybe even) deceased father, had the feeling that he was going to win the match. It was a good, close fight. Only, the cliche was tossed out of the window, and surprisingly, Cal lost. It was a dismay: a smart boy who initially fails to gain momentum in the field of wrestling seeks the help of his estranged older brother, then comes out victorious time and again – only to lose at what was supposed to be “the night”. Imagine that. I watched the final airing of this movie yesterday. I realized just how similar I am with Cal. We’re both good students who wanted to try out a sport that people tell us we’re not fit for. The only difference is that Cal continued when I’m still not very certain.

I was encouraged to try Taekwondo when I was six years old. The name of the sport was so foreign to me, yet I wanted it. Perhaps it was the thought of punching and kicking. But mainly, I think it was because of the uniform. That uniform just about gave me a feeling of authority; a sense of belonging. I remember, before I even started, coming out of my room to greet my Tito, who is a Taekwondo instructor. And I would wear a bathrobe and the bottom half of my pajamas over my clothes as thought that was my uniform. Even as a white belt holder, the uniform became my pride. In it, my kicks were defiant. But for a good, long while, I stopped. I stopped when I shouldn’t have. I stopped when I could still do it. I stopped and I didn’t know why.

And here I am again, paying for the classes with my own money, wearing the uniform again, using the gears that the white belt holder never got to use, getting coached by different instructors, getting acquainted with new faces. So much bigger; but in the field, not much wiser.

Before we went inside the Sports Complex of Ateneo de Manila University – and that’s a beautiful university which I plan to be part of next year – I told myself that I will dedicate this first, real match to two people: the first, in the person of my mother who bought all my gears for me yet could not be present; and the second, to Edge who I love dearly. The goal was to kick the opponent’s head. And that’s what I did. I kicked and I kicked until I became aware of what I was doing, which tired me out. I went against a high yellow belt holder with the same name as me, who never once did smile at me. The battle was over, and I was screaming at the top of my lungs, a voice that I have never summoned before. I could say it was a good fight. No scores were made. No formal handshakes. Just like that, I was promoted. I now have a high yellow belt in Taekwondo!

“Then it shall be in that day, that I will call My servant Eliakim, the son of Hilkiah; I will clothe him with your robe and strengthen him with your belt; I will commit your responsibilty into his hand. He shall be a father to the inhabitants of Jerusalem and to the house of Judah. The key of the house of David will lay on his shoulder; so he shall open, and no one shall shut; and he shall shut, and no one shall open. I will fasten him as a peg in a secure place, and he will become a glorious throne to his father’s house.”

– Isaia 22:20-23