ey what's up

I've been moderately busy throughout my holidays and despite all the groans and complaints about having to trudge back to school nearly every week and brave the heat and humidity and give birth to new brain cells, I have to admit I enjoy being occupied with something.

Basically two weeks of march was spent going out to shoot for a project, and now we're in the midst of editing. Although of course, I'm keeping my hands clean from all the technicalities so I find myself coming back for orientation meetings (I am a lame ass game master) and of course, of course muay thai. Ah muay thai. Every day I find myself falling even more in love with the sport. People think it's brutal and mindless, what with all the punching and kicking, but I think it's a beautiful thing because of it's traditions and customs tied to it, as well as the values that come along.

Initially my mother was very supportive of it, remarking that I should get myself up and fit. I later realized that she wasn't really taking me quite as seriously as I'd hoped, carelessly saying that my school's muay thai was simply "aerobics". It rendered me furious and gave me a renewed goal to prove to her how wrong she actually was. As weeks went by, I found myself suffering from more and more muscle pulls, pains and bruises and I made the mistake of telling her. She, along with my father all of a sudden sported a protective front and expressed their out of no-where distaste of me taking up muay thai. Now it seems, according to them, every time I get punched or kicked brutally by someone from the class, it provides good reason for me to quit. The thought infuriates me because I think of all the energy I spent on coming for trainings, letting out my all. The hugest hurdle I had to overcome was feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, wearing a hijab to trainings and fearing being judged or snickered at by the others. Of course none of that matters anymore, but I still think of my very first class and how hard my heart was thumping at the fear of being outcast or looked down on. It was more or less one sole reason that allowed me to give my all and pummel everything out there, show them that just because I looked different, I wasn't all that different after all.

I've met the greatest people there. It awes me that the older ones slow down and take into consideration that there are newcomers so they do all they can to make us comfortable. They are immensely patient in their firmness and beyond understanding it really is very touching. I think only last week this one senior kept saying how my punches weren't up to standard (more or less hinted it) and would stand on vigil with his arms crossed till I got it. When we went on to kicking I tried my hand...er..leg at it and looked up at him for approval. I'll never forget how widely he beamed, just like a proud father and remarked, "Ah...so you're a kicker, not a puncher!" I'd never felt so confident of myself in weeks.

Well anyway I'll wrap up since this post is getting a tad too long. There are about three more weeks left before school starts and I better cherish it aka stay in bed a whole lot more. My mind has been a whirlwind of emotions and I've affected people with my stubborn bouts of mild depression (so not cool) and I think I owe a lot of explanations to people but it can wait. cheerios.