In the Middle of Now
At Summer Camp, someone walks by me, then turns to make a double take. He hollers, “Hey, I recognize you!” Just as I am wondering who he is, he continues to say, “You are the person in the Endo seminar video. I recognize your happy smile!” Oh, so I don’t know him personally. Whew! I really do not want to be rude.
Regarding that happy smile in the video, yeah, it is memorable. It is no ordinary smile. Here is the story behind it.
Endo Sensei gave his first seminar in Washington, D.C in October 2007. He arrived a few days before the weekend seminar so that he could see what the nation’s capital was like. I and some dojo friends took turns to take Sensei sightseeing. I was supposed to be on Sensei duty on Tuesday and Thursday, so that I could work on Wednesday. Before going to work that day, I called my mom in Hong Kong. Hong Kong is 12 hours ahead of DC. So, it was evening time for them. I vividly remember hearing my father’s grumpy old man voice in the background complaining I called too late in the evening.
Everything seemed very normal that day until I called Mike after work. “I am leaving work now. I will bring home some pupusas for dinner,” I told him. Mike was quiet. “Hmm, there is something I need to tell you. Do you want to wait till you come home, or should I tell you now?” He seemed troubled. “What is it? Oh, just say it.” I don’t like guessing games like this. Mike went on, “Well, your brother called.” My brother called? He almost never calls. Why would he call all of a sudden? What could this be about? “Umm, your father died in his sleep last night.”
I cannot quite remember what happened in the next two days. I only recall a lot of staring into space and many sporadic crying spells. I didn’t eat or sleep. I simply couldn’t. I had flashbacks over and over of things my father did that upset me. I remember crying uncontrollably while mumbling to myself: “I’m sorry. It does not matter anymore. I am sorry. Please come back.” My father did not come back despite my plea.
Mike informed our dojo friends about the news. Everybody, including myself, thought I was going to Hong Kong right away for the funeral, but, no, I was not. It turned out that burial plots were so hard to come by that we had to wait for a month before a plot would become available. At my family’s advice, I booked a ticket for three weeks later. I just had to wait in DC to deal with this sad reality in an abstract manner.
Then, Friday came. "What do I do?" I had the option of curling up in fetal position at the corner of the couch, continue to stare into space and wait for the next crying spell. Alternatively, I could pack up my bag and go to Endo Sensei’s seminar . . .
When I showed up at the seminar, everybody was shocked. My face was pale and my eyes were very puffy. I bet I must look quite scary. My friends came to me to give me hugs and sympathetic words. “Why are you here? Aren’t you going to Hong Kong?" Even Endo Sensei came to see me. Just like everybody else, he did not expect me to be there. I tried my best to squeeze out a smile, “I come here for your seminar, Sensei.” “But, I thought, I thought . . .” Sensei looked at me, not knowing what to say. I look at my beloved teacher, “Sensei, my father is gone, but you are here. So, I do what is here. I am here to see you.”
I practiced every single class that weekend. I watched Sensei attentively and tried my best to replicate what Sensei showed. I joined everybody for meals after practice. There was no room for me to dwell on my father's death in any shape or form.
After Sunday morning class, Sensei's photographer asked me if he could interview me. He handed me a bunch of questions on a piece of paper and told me to try to answer them. I did. "Is that okay, Motohashi san?" Mr Motohashi looked at me with a smile, "It was good. I didn't understand anything you said, but you did very well. Let's go over there and do it again in front of the camera!" I remember a passionate partner tore my gi sleeve on the left that morning. We had to strategically pose me with my right shoulder forward to hide that.
The seminar was over, the interview was done and we all went home. I was surprised that I survived the seminar. By then, I was doing much, much better. Not that I did not feel sad about my father's death anymore, but I felt that I could handle it. No more crying spells or staring into space. I am back.
Months later, I received in the mail a copy of the seminar DVD from Endo Sensei. My interview was edited in a crafty manner to open and end the video. I looked at the smile on my face: It was so joyous and full of sunshine. Even I could not believe that was the face of someone who just lost her father. All of that, was due to the name Endo Sensei gave to his student's dojo in Toronto. Naka Ima -- in the middle of now.
Regarding that happy smile in the video, yeah, it is memorable. It is no ordinary smile. Here is the story behind it.
Endo Sensei gave his first seminar in Washington, D.C in October 2007. He arrived a few days before the weekend seminar so that he could see what the nation’s capital was like. I and some dojo friends took turns to take Sensei sightseeing. I was supposed to be on Sensei duty on Tuesday and Thursday, so that I could work on Wednesday. Before going to work that day, I called my mom in Hong Kong. Hong Kong is 12 hours ahead of DC. So, it was evening time for them. I vividly remember hearing my father’s grumpy old man voice in the background complaining I called too late in the evening.
Everything seemed very normal that day until I called Mike after work. “I am leaving work now. I will bring home some pupusas for dinner,” I told him. Mike was quiet. “Hmm, there is something I need to tell you. Do you want to wait till you come home, or should I tell you now?” He seemed troubled. “What is it? Oh, just say it.” I don’t like guessing games like this. Mike went on, “Well, your brother called.” My brother called? He almost never calls. Why would he call all of a sudden? What could this be about? “Umm, your father died in his sleep last night.”
I cannot quite remember what happened in the next two days. I only recall a lot of staring into space and many sporadic crying spells. I didn’t eat or sleep. I simply couldn’t. I had flashbacks over and over of things my father did that upset me. I remember crying uncontrollably while mumbling to myself: “I’m sorry. It does not matter anymore. I am sorry. Please come back.” My father did not come back despite my plea.
Mike informed our dojo friends about the news. Everybody, including myself, thought I was going to Hong Kong right away for the funeral, but, no, I was not. It turned out that burial plots were so hard to come by that we had to wait for a month before a plot would become available. At my family’s advice, I booked a ticket for three weeks later. I just had to wait in DC to deal with this sad reality in an abstract manner.
Then, Friday came. "What do I do?" I had the option of curling up in fetal position at the corner of the couch, continue to stare into space and wait for the next crying spell. Alternatively, I could pack up my bag and go to Endo Sensei’s seminar . . .
When I showed up at the seminar, everybody was shocked. My face was pale and my eyes were very puffy. I bet I must look quite scary. My friends came to me to give me hugs and sympathetic words. “Why are you here? Aren’t you going to Hong Kong?" Even Endo Sensei came to see me. Just like everybody else, he did not expect me to be there. I tried my best to squeeze out a smile, “I come here for your seminar, Sensei.” “But, I thought, I thought . . .” Sensei looked at me, not knowing what to say. I look at my beloved teacher, “Sensei, my father is gone, but you are here. So, I do what is here. I am here to see you.”
I practiced every single class that weekend. I watched Sensei attentively and tried my best to replicate what Sensei showed. I joined everybody for meals after practice. There was no room for me to dwell on my father's death in any shape or form.
After Sunday morning class, Sensei's photographer asked me if he could interview me. He handed me a bunch of questions on a piece of paper and told me to try to answer them. I did. "Is that okay, Motohashi san?" Mr Motohashi looked at me with a smile, "It was good. I didn't understand anything you said, but you did very well. Let's go over there and do it again in front of the camera!" I remember a passionate partner tore my gi sleeve on the left that morning. We had to strategically pose me with my right shoulder forward to hide that.
The seminar was over, the interview was done and we all went home. I was surprised that I survived the seminar. By then, I was doing much, much better. Not that I did not feel sad about my father's death anymore, but I felt that I could handle it. No more crying spells or staring into space. I am back.
Months later, I received in the mail a copy of the seminar DVD from Endo Sensei. My interview was edited in a crafty manner to open and end the video. I looked at the smile on my face: It was so joyous and full of sunshine. Even I could not believe that was the face of someone who just lost her father. All of that, was due to the name Endo Sensei gave to his student's dojo in Toronto. Naka Ima -- in the middle of now.
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