Standing on the Mat Once Again

Subtitle: The 32nd National Aikido Demonstration, Attended While Battling Cancer

Aikido is truly a mysterious martial art.

It does not compete to defeat an opponent, but rather competes to serve the opponent a little better.

It does not seek to overpower in order to control, but instead seeks a way to control in order to protect.

It is a martial art that mobilizes every known technique in search of the safest possible outcome — a martial art that tries to protect, as much as possible, even the opponent attacking you.

The more you learn it, the more you fall for it; the more you dig into it, the deeper it gets — that bottomless depth is exactly what Aikido is.

Looking back, Aikido was the martial art I found like a lifeline clinging to the edge of a cliff, at a time when my life, weighed down by illness since childhood, felt stuck against a wall and I felt so thirsty for something more.

It’s true that the flashy action of Steven Seagal films was one of the reasons I first became interested in Aikido, but the moment I first visited Teacher Jeong-jak’s dojang in Seoul and actually experienced Aikido for myself is still as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

It was as if some mysteriously powerful force disarmed all of my strength, and some strange, tingling energy wrapped around me and tossed me this way and that — that’s exactly the sensation I felt.

That’s how I fell for the charm of Aikido, and I still haven’t managed to break free from that charm even now.

I can never forget the very first demonstration I took part in, on that opening stage back then.

The 10th National Aikido Demonstration in 2004. It was the very first stage I stood on right after starting Aikido, and the excitement of that day still remains deep in my heart even now.

After that, I attended the National Demonstration every single year without fail.

Except for just once — the 31st demonstration.

The cancer that was discovered so unexpectedly, and the radiation and cancer treatments that followed suddenly and urgently. Because of the aftereffects and side effects of that treatment, I was completely unable to attend the 31st demonstration.

The spot I had always kept filled had to be left empty with regret, and for me, it was the one and only demonstration I ever missed.

And so, as time passed once again, the 32nd National Aikido Demonstration was held.

Of course, I am still fighting cancer. I received my 15th cancer treatment just a week before the demonstration, and while carefully watching how my condition was going, I anxiously waited — and my body barely recovered just in time before the demonstration began, allowing me to attend.

Rather than a fully planned participation, it was, in truth, an attendance that barely came together because my body allowed it at the last moment.

That’s how difficult the circumstances were under which I attended this demonstration.

Upon hearing the news of my attendance, my seniors each called me one by one, asking “Are you really okay?” and telling me “Please don’t ever push yourself too hard.” Their worried voices made me realize, once again, just how much my body still hadn’t fully recovered.

When I stepped into the event hall, the seniors and juniors who knew me welcomed me warmly, their eyes brimming with tears. Meeting their gaze, and feeling their hands grasp mine one greeting at a time, I could feel in my very body, with warmth, that I was still alive. At the same time, I was able to newly realize just how fortunate I am to have such precious people in my life.

No one said anything especially grand, but in their eyes I could feel genuine, heartfelt love and concern. And that look alone was more than enough to heal me.

Of course, I could not move my body as splendidly as before. Neither the big movements nor the powerful throws were like they used to be. But even so, I was able to spend that time fully and completely enjoy it. Perhaps what mattered more than looking splendid was the simple fact that I was able to stand on that spot once again.

Even within the dark tunnel called cancer, because there existed a martial art called Aikido, and people connected through that martial art, I was able to place my feet on the mat once more. The 32nd National Aikido Demonstration was not merely a place to showcase a martial art — for me, it was a place of healing, where I confirmed that I am alive and felt the love of the people around me.

As long as my body allows it, I want to keep learning, sharing, and living within that deep world that Aikido teaches.

Lastly, I want to give my endless thanks to my beloved wife, Hong Hee, who went through so much hardship nursing her unworthy husband.

I love you.