Way of the warrior and the lessons we keep
The essence of the path of the Martial Arts lies in the peace and happiness of all human beings — Hironori Otsuka.
When I was a kid, I was one of those who said “hello” to strangers on the street, hugged trees and chased butterflies. I had extra large cheeks, those great to squeeze, due to my extra kilos for always being indoors reading and playing video games instead of playing on the streets. I grew up in a neighbourhood dangerous enough to turn my parents into those super protector kinds.
That made me a nerd. One of those who usually ends up inside a trash can in those bad and silly movies from the USA. Bullying? Never heard of it. But I do remember all the names people gave me, all the pointed fingers, of the struggle it was to go to school and have to live among those people “way cooler and aggressive” than me.
I lost count of how many times I had to go back home shaking, full of anger and with my fist closed, after being chosen as the star in the spotlight for the whole audience to laugh at me. Be it because I had some bad words stuck in my back or because my underwear was pulled up and stuck to my head, or even because someone kicked me and dropped me on the floor during the class break.
I realized it was a good idea to try to be more like the heroes I admired.
I realized it was about time to learn how to fight.
I started with Judo. And soon, I was missing stand up fighting. I wanted to know how to kick and punch in the face those who laughed about me. Then came Tae Kwon Do. Too many spinnings. Not that practical. And money started to make a difference. For the first time, I saw an issue that never showed up before in the stories I read: a master collecting the payment from the student. What could feel more like real life than that?
After a few overdue payments and the disappointment with the training, I went looking for a new place, maybe more interesting than that and where I wouldn’t feel ashamed anymore for being the guy who never pays.
And the next target was táng láng Kung Fu. The all-mighty Mantis.The fragile insect that turns into a hunger predator. Poetic, isn’t it? Until the payments got delayed. Again. And the charges started. It was extremely uncomfortable to feel I couldn’t be there, and still, want to stay more than ever. As time went by and without significant changes to the situation, the shame knocked me out once more, and another Martial Art was gone.
The next one was free of charge! Capoeira on an evangelical church. But, you know, I never heard about any true Christian warrior, especially with a name in a Martial Art with deep African roots. So, obviously, it didn’t last long. It was for free, but in the fine print, they wanted my tithe and my soul.
My last failed resort was Ninjutsu. I was learning how to vanish in the shadows. To climb walls. To turn my body into logs. I even planted a bonsai. But my best move was still the invisible payments. And this time, I was feeling at home. To the point that I didn’t even wait for the situation to get worse and just dropped it before the checks started to pile up, even though I never forgive myself for missing this opportunity.
After that, I had a huge hiatus until I could pay for it by myself. I was not a kid anymore, and I was still focused on learning how to punch and kick somebody’s face. Then I met Muay Thai. And it was love at first sight. Or first knee, as you wish.
This time there were no delayed payments. What kept me from feeling at home was to see that no one there had the same commitment as I did. No one else there wanted to be a killing machine — a monster. If anything, they wanted to sweat and lose a few kilos. You felt lazy just by looking at it.
Eager to find something with more meaning and perhaps more commitment, I started to practice Jiu-Jitsu. Without dropping Muay Thai. I totally understood why Brazil revolutionized the entire world after getting in touch with the Japanese concepts. Our swing and way to see the world were fundamental to raise the “human chess” bar. I fell in love one more time.
there was some excitement, but I would never call home a place with the same type of kid who made my life hell when I was young.
There was some commitment in Jiu-Jitsu. Even more than in Muay Thai. Many more advanced students. A lot of hardcore people. It felt nice. But with it came all the Bad Boy stereotypes. The macho man. The dude who mixes flirting with offending girls on the streets. The kind who can make you sick. Then again, there was some excitement, but I would never call home a place with the same type of kid who made my life hell when I was young.
Life goes on. My bonsai was big enough to bear fruits. And I was not practising as often as before. Work didn’t let me. There was not enough free time. And other fights seemed more important now. Politics.
As always, the art changes, the problems remain. Again, it was very difficult to find a place to call home. Political Parties, movements, collectives. At least payments were not a problem this time. Only opinions were. Or how superficial they were. Or the lack of practical action when solving problems and helping those in need.
Until one day, I was invited to join another initiative — this time, way closer to where I grew up. At Favela da Vila Prudente. The location really got my attention since I always heard about “giving back to the community”. Could it be more literal than that?
Anyway, I was always the kind who liked to try new things, so I would not let this one go.
And that ‘s how I met the “Projeto Funçao”. A social project led by two crazy guys. One that came all the way from the north side to promote culture and change some lives there in the east side of town. The other one lent his own house to his neighbours to use it as a classroom. And he would even bring coffee and treats without ever charging one single coin. Go figure…
Already in the first meeting, something really got my attention. It was a humble house, but it was always open. Wide wide open. There was always someone coming and going.
And there was plenty of coffee, cheese bread and smiles from the host, for everyone passing by. That was Master Edu. Master Miyagi for the close ones from the area and friends. Why Miyagi?
Oops. I almost forgot. In his free time, Master Edu turned his house again into a different kind of classroom. A Martial Arts Dojo. And there, he taught some high-quality Karate.
My eyes were blinded by the glow of the aura that involved the giant warrior in his late sixties and no more than one point six meters tall. He always wore a clean, well-ironed kimono, as required by discipline and tradition. And was always leading his students with steady movements and a smooth voice. Daydreaming has never been so real to me.
Everything was too good to be true — engagement, action, solidarity. Everything there combined and crowned with a dash of my favourite hobby.
It was really cool to arrive for a class, lecture, or help with some activity and see the kids training with the Master at the entrance. It was possible to fit almost 15 students there in an improvised way if everyone paid attention to where they were kicking.
And after so many comings and goings in the alleys of the oldest favela in the city of São Paulo, the invitation that warmed my heart came: “Oh, I heard you can fight, right? Do you want to train with me? Drop by wearing loose clothes, and let’s do it.”
And so it was, with these simple and straightforward words, that, after many years, I tried yet another different martial art: Master Edu’s Wado-kai karate.
the invitation that warmed my heart came: “Oh, I heard you can fight, right? Do you want to train with me? Drop by wearing loose clothes, and let’s do it.”
It wasn’t the fiercest. It lacked a few punches, kicks and knees to the face as Muay Thai had. It lacked the Jiu-Jitsu glamour. But it felt like home and warmed my heart in a way that I had never felt anywhere else. The kids were practising with adults. People were helping each other, working together to prepare, organize and clean up the training area. The stories of each one there, from the sisters who came from Heliópolis to João, an excellent bricklayer who left work and ran to the Master’s house to practice on Saturdays. Only the finest, each one training in their own way, with different intensity, but with a lot of dedication.
I still hear Master Edu’s voice every time I stretch, telling me to start from the feet, ankle, go up the thighs and end up with small pats in the back to loosen up the muscles.
And of course, after training and the final stretch, the “young kid’s jump” to getting off the ground and standing without using your hands to support your body. Pure fun to karatekas of all ages.
Other than that, the countless stories that only further spiced what was already good. All the people that Master Edu rescued back from the drug-dealing life. The championships he participated in. All the courses he attended as student and as a guest speaker to share his experience. A true-born Master in the broadest sense of the word.
I had many experiences in Projeto Funcao and the favela. Be it living with the people at the church, helping with other actions, or just going to the village’s fair and celebrations.
Until, as if they were bad checks, political disillusionment with the country and the fear of raising a child who had just arrived made me abandon not only one more training place but this time the country.
10,000 km away between my new address and the only place my body and mind have ever called home as sweat trickled down my head.
Here in this distant and icy land, I began to search again. Academies, fighting clubs, sports associations. Even an actual Brazilian BJJ school. Funny to call it BJJ, though. The B stands for Brazilian, and of course, in Brazil, we only call it Jiu-Jitsu.
But home? That way, unlikely. Difficult. Very difficult. And even impossible right now.
Along with these sensations, there were always questions: did I do it right? Is it worth it to be so far away from everyone like that? Friends, family, everything?
The answer to all this I still don’t know.
What I do know is that I will never be able to call Master Edu’s dojo home again.
Today I found out that he is no longer there.
He passed away that day. Went to another place to teach and help people in other ways.
While leaving, he left me a question and another lesson. Master thing, you know? Teach all the time. Whenever you can.
He told me: “Lee, what have you been doing for your community? Don’t you need to help anyone else just because you moved far away? That’s not what I taught you.”
The answer runs dry and bitter down my throat, wrapped in a mix of solitary, sepulchral silence.
And the lesson?
If it was worth moving, maybe I don’t know now. Maybe I’ll learn and find out later. But one thing I know.
If you have something to say to someone, say it.
If you have something to be thankful for, be grateful and say “thank you”.
And mean it. Leave no room for mistakes.
Make your admiration and the importance that people have in your life crystal clear while they are still here. That’s when they will need to hear it. It’s while we are alive that we need to be praised for our deeds.
Because saying “thank you master” when the dojo is empty is not really saying thank you. We are just mitigating the longing that will now never be cured or ceased.
Go in peace and thank you, Master Edu, for all the coffee, teachings, and wisdom shared.
Oss!
