Looking back on a previous post about bogu, it’s funny how very little time has passed between the first time I struggled to put my bogu on properly to now, where it has become something of a routine. After all, I only started wearing it in mid-July, and I can still remember how terrifying it was suddenly being put in the ranks of people who all knew how to do it properly. Suffice to say, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight with my bogu.
That Saturday afternoon, I felt completely out of place and clumsy. Even in unpacking I was unsure. Where do I put my men? Which way do the kote face? Why is my men slipping on down on top of my kote? Before anything had happened, I already had that sinking feeling that precedes a major screw-up (much like when I realise my 2000-word essay is due in two nights). Everything was wrong. Then the mensuke order came. I tried desperately several times to put on my tenugui, and by the time I finally got the thing to stay on my head (albeit looking like a complete mess doing so) everybody else, including those of my generation who had been using bogu for a bit longer, was standing up. I tried putting on my men calmly, but it wouldn’t work. People were standing before me now, ready for kirikaeshi. At that moment, any calm I possessed left me and I frantically tried to tie my men up quickly. Predictably, I failed. It was only through the intervention of James-senpai that I could finally get it to stay on my head. I remember how ashamed I felt that someone else was tying up my men for me, how I was unable to do anything but sit there and wait silently. The thought that was going through my head was that I was a burden on my senpai, and I let that affect the rest of my day.
For the entire length of my first time in bogu, I was disoriented, tense, and hesitant. Every blow that connected to my armor seemed painful. Being the last person in bogu also meant that I didn’t hear the instructions, so my kirikaeshi was all over the place. I didn’t lift my shinai enough, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and Marleen-sensei informed me after the session that my blows were too powerful. At the time, I couldn’t understand, as I was already feeling discouraged and utterly ashamed before she said it. That only made me feel even worse. It was only the first time with bogu on, and I felt terrible. How could I possibly go on like this, having to depend on other people to help me put my own armour on? That feeling swirled on as I packed my bogu in silence and walked on home. Awatea tried cheering me up on the way home (as my way home passes his Hall of Residence), but I was too full of self-pity and regret to really cheer up. I couldn’t sleep, and wondering why suddenly kendo became scary and hard (conveniently forgetting that kendo was somewhat scary and hard when I only started four months before).
But there was an important lesson that came out of that, something that I hadn’t learnt up till then. Practice does make perfect. Or at least close to it. For far too long I had slacked off and relied to being able to suddenly remember how to do things at the last minute. It was something that had so far worked in my academic life, but it was shown to be ineffective in real life. That night, I resolved that I would practice putting on my bogu until I got the hang of it and stopped being an embarrassment to myself. And that I actually did. For the first time in my life, I found something that I could take pride in getting better at. Well, apart from cooking and living on my own, but those are entirely different stories. For the rest of the week, I devoted my spare time to practice putting on my bogu. Much of it I re-learned from videos and manuals online, as the materials I originally had couldn't show me precisely what to do. By the next session, I had progressed significantly, from barely being able to put on my armour to being able to at least keep it on for more than fifteen minutes without worrying. I was still slow, but I had gained some confidence. As a result I was much better prepared to take on the day’s keiko. I actually felt proud. It's probably a small thing for most of the others to whom it was a routine, but for me it felt like I had finally done something worthwhile for my time spent.
About a week later, after I had posted the Tuesday session (July 31st, 2007) reflection on the blog (see below), Robin-senpai (Parrington, that is) came up to me and asked me about how I felt about putting on my bogu. He had read the entry, and wanted to give me a bit of his own thoughts on the subject. He told me that it didn’t matter how quickly everyone else put on their bogu, and that I didn’t have to worry about being slow. After all, even the best senpai were beginners once, beginners who also more or less struggled to put on their own armour. What mattered was that I did so properly, even if it meant being a little slower than everybody else. Eventually, I’d be able to do so quickly and efficiently enough to keep up with the rest. That helped put things into perspective; I wasn’t the only person in the club who couldn’t put on my own armour. There would be new beginners, and in time I may be in Robin’s position, helping a kohai realise that just being able to put on bogu by yourself was an achievement, no matter how slow or difficult it may seem at the start.
If someone were to ask me now whether wearing bogu is easier now that I’ve had some experience, I’d say that it’s still not. It’s still as uncomfortable and awkward as it was a month ago, and there are times when I feel wearing it is such a hassle. Plus, doing keiko in it is still as tiring and dehydrating as it was before. But compared to my first time, I’m a lot more used to my armour now, more aware of little details I couldn’t quite grasp before. Where before it required my entire do hang off on one string to make me realise a loop was undone, I can recognize that a string is slightly loose just by the general feel of how the do feels within seconds. I learned how to make knots that will stop the kote strings from coming undone every five minutes in a keiko. It’s as if the more I wear it, the more it becomes a part of me, just as my shinai became an extension of my body after four months of feeling awkward and strange to swing.
So, just as with my kendo in general, putting on the bogu hasn’t gotten any easier. If anything, wearing the bogu now means that the challenges will only get harder and harder as I proceed along the long road of the sword. But I've seen that one thing is for sure; if I practice long and hard enough, then one day I may improve my skill...and perhaps myself in the process.
Cheers to that thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment