Jiyu Waza and the Limbic Brain

Sensei was discussing with me the concept of the limbic brain, the part that controls our autonomic nervous system. More familiarly, it is the system that regulates the “fight, flight, or freeze” instinct when we are confronted in a dire situation. She points out that in the wild, a lot of prey enter the “freeze” state when captured by their predator: once it feels the lion’s jaws lock in on its neck, the antelope’s body goes stiff as it mentally discharges from reality, defaulting to the natural instinct that helps keep it from feeling pain. If the lion accidentally slips, the antelope seemingly comes back to life, rigid body contorting in a few spastic shakes. Where just a moment ago its body prepared it for death, survival instinct kicks back into gear just as quickly, the nervous system pumping jolts of adrenaline to re-activate every fiber of muscle and allow it to get away.

Underneath this human skin, we are primordially the same animals, experiencing similar urges during a physical confrontation. Depending on our natures, we default to one of the three responses, and in aikido, this is arguably most apparent when we practice jiyu waza, free-form attacks and defenses. Unbound from the confines of repeating a demonstrated technique over and over, perhaps nothing is quite as liberating—and as intimidating—as being allowed the freedom to attack and defend ad-lib. Jiyu waza is aikido’s closest to a competitive martial art’s concept of sparring in that you never know what attack will come out from the person you’re facing off with, or how your body may respond. When students get to practice it for the first time, they may tense up when they see an attack coming: the instinct to freeze. Or they may back up a few steps to give themselves room to think: the instinct to flee. The first step of doing good jiyu waza, before you get to refining ma-ai and technique precision, is to mentally overcome those two instincts that come most natural. Moving instead of freezing allows you to blend with your attacker, kicking into gear those techniques that you had to practice over and over to ingrain them into your muscle memory, to prepare you for this. Going to your partner and drawing out the attack instead of backing up helps you claim that open space and dominate.

For the students new to jiyu waza, for the timid or unsure or unconfident, even for the ones that tend to be over-analytical when given free reign to respond to an attack, it could be quite a challenge to start off in the right state of mind. Your body’s screaming at you to do something other than what you think is best to protect yourself from pain. But over these primordial animal instincts is human skin, coupled with human logic and the ability to define courage, to push strength. Standing off in preparation for jiyu waza, take a moment to claim control over your limbic brain. When “hajime” is called, it’s time to fight.

Tet 2011: Here, Kitty Kitty...

Tet 2011, the Vietnamese Year of the Cat. With the high-energy charge of the previous Tiger year, I am ready to welcome a supposedly more subdued, easier-going New Year. We started off by visiting Lion Plaza earlier in the week, stopping by the fresh flower- and fruit-markets.



All around us were traditional New Year flowers, chrysanthemums a fresh burst of yellow to welcome the spring sun, red and pink plum blossoms for luck, lovely lavender orchids, and fragrant white tuberoses commonly put on altars as an offering for the spirits of ancestors, who are invited to visit their families and homes on the First of every New Year.



Fruits traditionally put on the altar have names that pun on a popular New Year's prayer or wish: "Cau vua du xai," meaning, "Hope you have enough to spend." The Vietnamese usually offer four types of fruits:

-Mang cau (Cau): custard apple
-Dua (Vua): coconut
-Du-Du (Du): papaya
-Xoai (Xai): mango

Among other favorites (some imported from Southeast Asia) are rambutans, longans, grapefruits, tangerines, and kumquats, the last typically sold as a whole tree.


In the days leading up to New Year's, Lion Plaza comes alive with vendors selling their goods. Lucky red envelopes dot the displays on tables, and the usual murmured exchange of sellers and customers is punctuated by bursts of firecrackers to scare away evil spirits.


It has become a tradition for us to shop here every year, and to buy some fresh and lucky decorations to adorn our home.


I like to think that a house gradually adapts to its owners' unique spirits the longer we live in it, and these holidays with their festive decorations are what builds a house's character, transforming it into a cozy and rightful home.



Yes, it's true, you are usually given li-xi envelopes stuffed with money until you get married, after which you, as a married couple, distribute them to your children, your siblings' children, or simply to those younger than you. Older married couples who have grown kids would often give li-xi to their elderly parents as a gesture of "mung tuoi," or "celebrating another year of life." Everyone is said to become a year older on New Year's, no matter when their exact birthdays are, technically adding another year to their actual age. This may seem strange in Western cultures where everyone strives to be young and, at a certain point, even dreads celebrating the aging process, but in Eastern cultures, the older a person is, the more she is revered for her wisdom and life experience.

That said, sure, I kinda feel pretty clever staying single to cash in on my lucky red envelopes. And our parents want us to get married and give up on all this?


Sure, maybe in another year or so. ;) Chuc mung nam moi to all our family and friends! May 2011 be filled with fortune, prosperity, and wealth for you all, and may another year of wisdom also bring with it all that you have been hoping for in life.

Vertical Impairment

I have always known the world from this petite point of view, from this five-foot frame that puts me mostly neck- or sometimes chest-level with those whom I am facing. When I need to react quickly to an attack, I focus on people’s torsos and not their eyes, anticipating how the body draws back for a punch, or how the hips shift to gear up for a kick. Used to this perspective, I do not usually notice how tiny I am until I see pictures of myself lined up with other people. Sometimes, I overcompensate by lifting my arms too high for an ikkyo, or reaching up too far when attacking with a shomenuchi. I do this unconsciously, but Sensei keeps me in check, lectures me about being sure to bring my training partner down to my level.

I guess I’ve chosen the perfect art, founded by a man who was roughly my height. In aikido, the taller person adjusts in order to do an effective technique, and the shorter person stays in his or her comfort zone. I’ve heard my fair share of short jokes, and I’ve gotten used to sassing back, “Try living off rice and salt or rationed sardines for your growing years and see how tall you grow to be.” Yes, I feel dwarfed in what seems like a dojo—and often a world—filled with giants. Yes, when someone runs at me full-forced during jiyu-waza, I fight a brief moment of panic at the idea of being steam-rolled into the mat. Yes, it’s a challenge when you’ve got less muscles and tiny hands and wrists. But just because you are short, it doesn’t mean that you’re not confident. And just because you are small, it doesn’t mean that you can’t be strong. We all have our uphill battles, things to overcome to get our aikido “just right.” The sooner we embrace the challenges, the faster we can start working on conquering them. Besides—the weather is great down here.

Legacy

Sensei's knees have been bothering him lately; he couldn't get into seiza anymore, and he'd bow the class in and out by standing in front of the shomen. He would start demonstrating a technique and then remember that he couldn't get down into a seated pin, so he'd change it into a technique that didn't need one. At the end of class when it came time for our usual closing of kokyu dosa, he'd have two Sempai demonstrate it instead of calling up an uke. After class when some of us students would get together and practice for our tests, he'd sit aside in a chair and preside over us. He'd gaze onward with a look I know well--that "being on the sidelines" look, that uncertainty of whether an injury will ever properly and fully heal, that look of longing for what his body was capable of before. It's the chink in one's armor, the realization that there exists a kryptonite to our otherwise unwavering practice.

But despite his reluctance to demonstrate seated techniques, I still see Sensei's passion in the art, his dedication toward his students, and his determination to pass on his own teacher's legacy. When a white belt was struggling with the concept of te-katana during kokyu dosa, Sensei gingerly got down on his knees to show him the proper alignment of hand blades and hips. When another student couldn't quite bend at the knees low enough to do a proper shihonage on me, Sensei had me hold on to his wrist so he could demonstrate. Mentally, I protested, "Don't do it if it hurts, Sensei." But logically, I knew the familiarity of pushing through the pain and the "inconvenience" of whatever got between you and your aikido.

I get a flashback of my grandmother's old kitchen, a dark yellow-and-brown linoleum floor, upon which rested a pestle and mortar. She was showing me how to pound the ground-pork-and-shrimp mixture, getting my wrists to learn the repetitive grinding and turning motions that transformed the solid chunks into a sticky, fine paste for one of her trademark recipes. "The texture is what makes the meatballs come out just right," she told me. I noticed her struggle in her squatted position on the floor, wanted to ask her if she needed to take a break while I continued to pound the meat, but the determination in her voice as she was lecturing stopped me. Out loud, she was saying, "Let's continue." Inwardly, she was hinting, "Let's continue because I don't have much time left to teach you this."

Last night, I dreamt I could do perfect high falls. I sailed into the attack, understood perfectly where that taking-of-balance point took place, and flipped through the air carelessly like a dolphin taking off from the waters to do somersaults against a background of sky. I landed with the grace of an ice skater, got up, and did it again and again. There was no panic at the point of take-off, no sloppy rotation that demanded more spring, no jolting pain upon impact with the mat. But then I woke up and realized that, as much as I admire them, I am still intimidated by high falls, still terrified of taking ukemi for koshi nages. I still can't do some of the jo suburis, and I'm not certain I can get through the entire 31 jo kata by myself.

Those before us will always strive to pass down their legacy, and we the students will struggle to learn and perfect it. Sometimes it seems like time stretches out before us with its infinite patience and generosity; but once in a while, a chink in the armor reminds us that we may not have as much sand in the top half of the hour glass after all. What would we be able to accomplish before the last grain falls? How much of that rich but elusive legacy could we hope to grasp and pass on to those that come after us? Tick-tock, tick-tock...

Christmas 2010

Tung loves Christmas. It's filled with cozy fires in the hearth, presents, lots of time spent with family, and good-food overload, which pretty much sums up his favorite things in the world, not counting cars.



This year, we bought a real tree for our very first Christmas at our new house. We toted it home in reliable Lil' White.


Tung put up the ornaments after we got it into the tree stand and in its place in our living room.


Viola! Ze finished tree. Ooooh, sparkly.


The first dinner party was with Tung's family. Servin' up some pasta with chicken cooked in coconut juice...



...and a buche-de-noel from my mother.


Whoa, presents galore! And the Sen family's rat terrier, Ziggy.


"Which one is Ziggy's? Which one is Ziggy's?!"



Tung with his mom...

...Tung with his dad.


Tung's sister, Vi, with her boyfriend, James.


"Whatcha get, Tung, whatcha get?" It's a headset for audio and gaming from his dad!


Yup, once a writer, always a writer. Made even cooler with the digital-memory, Livescribe pen technology.


Next up, we had a dinner party for my family. Servin' up some "nuong vi" and "ca cuon." We cook pre-marinaded beef, calamari, shrimp, and onions on a hot griddle straight at the table, rolled in rice paper with fresh greens and vermicelli. Who needs a turkey or ham, anyway?


Posing with my parents.


My brother Johnny (left), his girlfriend Duong, and my other brother, David.


"Please help Gosey open present. Please, please open! Gosey been good all year--Gosey promises!"


"Oooh, oooh! New toy! Gosey is so happy!"


"Phew. Gosey is all tuckered out. Christmas is hard work."

Uniform

Sensei says that aikido is like a uniform we wear for as long as we train in the art, even after we leave the dojo for the day, for we practice its principles both on the mat and off. Those shihonages that torque my wrist are like the annoying tag that I forgot to cut off, sharp edges jabbing into my sensitive skin. Those ikkyo pins that send a stab of pain shooting up the bad elbow are like the garment’s chafing, stiff collar, hard to ignore. I have to stop yanking on my ikkyo uras and remember to use my hips during the turn; after all, it’s not the skirt that keeps riding up. Those breakfalls look unnatural on me, and I confess they’re not my usual style, though everyone seems to be quite taken by them these days. And those koshinages, bane of my existence, both because I am so bad at them and yet long to do them right so badly—they stick out like flyaway threads gone awry and untrimmed.

I’ve never been one for uniforms. Throughout school, even though I admit to the weirdness of the Goth, heavy-metal, and flamboyant-fashionista looks, I understood them to be an expression of individuality. Uniforms, I felt, suppressed that freedom and creativity. But something about my aikido uniform I’ve gotten to like, the ritual of getting into and out of it almost every day. I like the loose, billowing hakama pants, how they’re just long enough to tuck my feet in the skirts for warmth as I sit seiza in the cold winter months, awaiting instruction. I like how the stiff koshiita, which I despised at first because it hurt my back after doing rolls, now serves as a reminder for me to keep my back straight. I like pulling my long hair back in a sporty ponytail and clipping the flyaway hair in barrettes to keep it off my face as I train. And though I used to think that all uniforms are the same, I’ve come to appreciate the uniqueness and quirks of each of my gi’s.

I haven’t yet completely broken my aikido uniform into the tell-tale signs of hard use. Sometimes, I’m groping in the hakama vents to pull down a gi jacket too intent on riding up. Sometimes, the hakama has its rebellious days, refusing to fold at the correct creases. But I will get to owning it like a second skin. I will continue to practice and exercise until it looks good and fits right on me.

Housewarming - Friends Edition

Tung and I held a housewarming for our friends, separated from the housewarming for our family because, let's face it, only so many people could fit in a house at once, and throwing two Asian families together must hit some sort of legal room capacity in the event of a fire escape. We had such a good time with everyone!

Tung's coworkers from Actel (now MicroSemi) kicked it in the back yard around the BBQ grill used to serve Top Dogs hot dogs to everybody. Special thanks to Gene (in red) and his wife Veronica for coming early to help us grill those bad boys.


We thought distracting their two kids with our Wii was a fair trade-off. Heck, while we were at it, we'll distract everyone else's kids with the Wii!


My coworker Alba also graced the house with her family's presence:


Along with the Sudres--bonjour, mon amis! I love the striped-shirt family theme.


And Elia's hogging the blogging spotlight a bit here, but who could resist this adorable picture of her? Wheee! Sitting on a platform wall, wheee!


We got to see some old college buddies from our San Jose State days. Here is Randy (freakishly tall Asian dude--some sort of mutant gene there) and his lovely girlfriend, Kat.


A gang of us used to kick it at the former Clark Library at the center of campus with Bryan (pictured below). Well, more correctly, I was studying like a good student and Tung and his guy buddies would oggle at girls in their bachelorhood days and play prank jokes on each other in the Men's restroom, but who's counting.


And who can mention SJSU without some of my lovely ladies from the English Major program? Liane (in pink) and I are still pen pals to this day. Yes, we write each other longhand and send it through traditional snail-mail post, because we're geeks that way. And Stephanie (in white)--haha, we had such hardcore Asian-American lit pride. Good ol' days.


My friend Julie and I go way back, all the way to the 3rd grade when we first met! She is just one day older than me, but clearly the overachiever already with husband and baby daughter...


...Ms. Bella pictured below, blissfully zonked out on our guest bed. "Bah, parties are for adults. They don't know what good sleep they're missing out on."


And here is part of my Aikido of Silicon Valley crew. I'm surprised we all resisted the urge to put each other in wrist locks and start throwing each other in hip throws on the lawn. What a happy, sweet group picture--you'd never guess we go beating each other up on an almost-daily basis.


Thanks, everyone, for all your gifts...


...and for encouraging the alcoholism in us. You all are the greatest buddies, really, and much too kind. The house would have been "lukewarm" without you (and all this booze).