The Gi that Changes Character

(October 25, 2010 Tumblr Post)

I hurried up the winding stairs. I needed to get to the fifth floor of the building. My heart kept on pounding as if something unacceptable in my part were going to happen. Perhaps, this was just an ordinary reaction to going in an environment where there are no peers whom I know well. Or perhaps I was afraid that I might get embarrassed during the night. I breathed deeply as I arrived on the last floor, pacing, now relaxed. I opened the door and saw a familiar woman, conversing to another, fixing something inside her bag. I stepped in and rapidly bowed, saying, “Senpai, osu!”

“Osu!” she smilingly responded.

There were a few people in the waiting room. A child, on the secretary’s desk, was doing her cute things so childishly and confidently as if she were the daughter of the owner. Some boys in white were going out the classroom to the back of a divider, probably undressing their Gi. The environment was most awkward, especially when I don’t have a close acquaintance to chatter with while waiting. Senpai—that is how Karate students, or even Japanese, call their seniors—the woman whom I greeted earlier, was sitting on the other couch in front of me. I looked at her cheerful face and asked, “Senpai, is my Kimono already done?”

“Not yet,” she answered in Bisaya with wide eyes, “I believe you will have it next week.”

What a bummer! It had been a week since I ordered the uniform. They better make it fast. I, being in an awkward situation, focused my attention to the place, looking at the walls and frames with photos about aerobics, karate and ballet recitals, opening my bag as if I were to get something, finding something I do not know, and finally deciding to pick the bottled water. I drank. It is completely natural of me.

“Why were you absent last Thursday?” the woman said, again beaming, her usual expression whenever she talks to her students.

I did not know what to reason, for I felt my true reason was not valid. I could not tell her I felt awkward that day, that I feared I might have class with two black belts—those ones whom I do not know well or ones who are not so ideal to become my teachers for the night. I did not want to be a disturbance to those seniors (as I might slow their practice down for my being novice—like what happened last Tuesday, just this week, that I had to go home without asking permission, before the class commenced. I stammered and spoke in my dialect, “Uhmmm, I was not here, yeah…” For having such an unclear answer, my stare stuck on the floor, never wanting my lie to be detected through my tense eyes.

“We’re going home early tonight.” The woman informed me as I directed my sight on her with a mild facial expression. “Our barangay’s having a miting de abanse and we are to attend.”

“Ah, yes. I see that,” I responded, slightly beaming at her, never overly as she might think it insincere, “Our gym’s also having one tonight. The place’s really noisy when I passed by.”

Several people went out the classroom, young ones and one or two adults. I threw my glance at the classroom door and saw a sweaty brown man with a black belt on. I gave him a fast bow and an osu, exactly the same as I did earlier. After his reply, I sat down again on the cozy couch, trying to chill down and wait until my nervousness is extinguished by my own silence. I thought not about anything. It was pointless experiencing the same ordinary fear over and over again. It takes time to be accustomed to an environment and to its people as for me. I remained meek.

The middle-aged brown man informed me about my uniform and that I might be able to acquire it next week. His wife, the woman I conversed with, suggested that he give an absent student’s new Kimono to me as that student might not enter class until next month. And so mine, which will have probably been finished this following week, will be that student’s.

And so, with the woman’s very commanding manner of suggesting, the brown man offered to me the Kimono. How wonderful it is to hold such white clothes… and an obi. I felt so complete that time.

The woman urged, “Wear it now.”

Of course I was most uncomfortable to immediately wear the uniform before washing it. It’s new… and definitely unwashed. I saw ‘6 1/2’ scribbled on the Uwa-gi and on the Zubon, some colored marks still visible in some parts, and very short strands of red and green threads stuck.

“You can wear it there,” the woman pointed out the counter-slash-cabinet, just at the back of the settee I was on.

I went at once beside it. I tried to take my pants off, (and good heavens!) slow enough to be halted by the brown man (You wouldn’t try to take your clothes off at the pathway, now would you?)

I transferred to the other side of the room, where other students were putting on their gi. Having no knowledge on how to properly wear the uniform, I went back to seek the guidance of the woman or the brown man; but unfortunately both just got out from the waiting room. To home. I was too shy to call them and inquire about the kimono-wearing procedures. I paced through the room like an innocent child, wondering where his parents are.

In the room, there were other boys now preparing for the class. I had to ask assistance to a small, confident, playful, jovial purple-belt child in the age of 10 or 11… or 12. Now I seemed like an oblivious, naive, idiotic teenager dressed by a younger boy.

The boy made me twist my zubon as the back part was on my front. I took off the pants, the boy beholding my sensitive physique without any awkwardness, until I had it the right way. He tied the strings of my pants and tightened it, just enough, and then covered my upper body with the uwa-gi. I handed the obi to him and the boy strapped it around my waist, and knotted it finally.

“Thanks,” I said with my usual low-pitched, almost inaudible voice.

I was ready.

I entered the classroom and lined up with others. In my right were my seniors. I chose to be the leftmost, as I was the newest in the white belts; and before me was the only lad in t-shirt and jogging pants, who appeared meek. As the instructor scrutinized all of us, he saw this lad and ordered him to change places with me. We did, though that boy was my senior. I did not try glimpsing at him for I was uncomfortable taking his place. I was in my gi. And the whole period was almost uneasy.