Amanda Takes Off...

Friday night Master mentioned that there was a tournament Sunday and did I want to come with? I said sure and showed up Sunday morning at 7 am to join ten kids (mostly 12 year olds), seven of whom I'd never met, to go to the tournament together.

(More photos can be found in the Suwon Tournament album under the Gallery tab.)

Studious was supposed to show up but didn't, which made my position during the day rather interesting.

We met Master's friend who teaches in Ha-an Dong and his students and piled into two vans together. Master doesn't own a van and had borrowed one from another friend's studio for the weekend. (Most studios here have vans to shuttle kids around before and after class. Neither Master nor his brother own vans. It's one of the ways Master's studio is atypical.) Together we drove to Suwon, the capital of the province, an hour away on a good traffic day.

The tournament was province-wide (whereas October's tournament was city-wide) and held at Suwon University. When we got there I sort of herded the students around (interesting since my Korean levels are not up to speed) until Master and his friend found an area for us to set up camp. His friend had brought two teenage boys, presumably older students at his studio, to help out. They very shyly introduced themselves to me.

Master of course was "very busy, I am very busy" and couldn't be everywhere at once. He asked me to take photos with his beautiful digital SLR. I used this camera at the last tournament and while it means I don't get photos for myself, using his camera is a joy and delight and I'm tempted to go to Yongsan and buy one for myself. Oh, what a glorious camera it is. (OK, enough coveting thy Master's digital SLR.)

He set me up on the sidelines in a desk close to the ropes rather than against the wall like everyone else. I asked if that was OK (it was in the way of traffic) and he said, "Yes, you stay here." He then called me on my handphone to say, "So-and-So is on court X." Sometimes he'd come in during "not busy" times and use the camera or check out my photos ("Amanda, you pro!") but often it was the phone that kept me updated on who was competing where.

I freely admit, it felt awsome to be the photographer and I got a kick out of answering the phone in Korean and using a few phrases in Korean, "Where is So-and-So? Where are you?" I can hold 30 second phone conversations when I know what to expect, but the people around me didn't know that was the limit to my conversational skills.

After poomse competitions (where The Girl and Ghost took home green medals and a few other students got medals too) we had lunch. The kids had brought their lunches and a few were eating snacks (sucking snails out of their shells) but I hadn't brought any lunch. Master's friend bought us three different types of gimbap and some tofu rice cake things that were quite good. We sat down and chatted a bit in a blend of languages.

One of the kids asked if I was competing and Master said, "No, she doesn't have dan rank yet." The kid looked at me incredulously and I tried to tell Master that I'm not sure I can compete here at all. (WTF tournaments have a rule that people can only compete under the team of their nationality or something. This was a KTA tournament but Master said the rules were very similar.) Master didn't know about the Kukkiwon 6 month residency regulation, either, so I asked him if I was his first foreign student. He confirmed what I thought to be true and said in English, "First...and last!" He grinned and said, "So hard!"

I knew he was joking but I said, "Oh, but you do such a good job!"

He said, "I kidding, kidding."

I said, "I know."

He said, "Everyone," pointing to the other people at the tournament, "say 'you speak English?' 'Ehhhh.'" He put his fingers close together for emphasis. "She speak Korean?' 'Ehhhh.'"

I said, "But katchi, OK!"

"Katchi, OK!"

I said in Korean, "Tongil, our studio. One foreigner." He nodded and laughed. I think he understands that I like being the only foreigner there.

I told him in a blend of broken Korean and simple English that I know foreigners who have been here for months and still can't read, go out drinking every weekend in Itaewon, etc. He said with a big smile, "You don't like them, I know. But I make better. Hundred pushups, now!" Then he said, "Foreigners here, no Hangul? OK. 'Itaewon,' 'hogwan.'" Good point, I suppose. If that's all you need to know...

The three of us went outside and had some coffee while waiting for the striking/breaking competitions to start. I looked around at all of the other studios, kids running around, coaches coaching, people practice and thought I love this.

In high school I was a debator for three years. We had tournaments every weekend from October through January, and later if you made it to State or Finals. For the first month or so tournaments were only Friday nights, but then they were Friday and Saturday affairs. We'd also go to out-of-town tournaments. I quit during my senior year because I was in my second year of college full-time and getting tired of it. I was burnt out.

I had forgotten in the nine years since then how much I really enjoyed the tournament atmosphere. The electricity, the nerves, the coaching, the coaches meeting old friends, the hustle of everything, the bags and coats strewn about trustingly, how exhausting it is, all of it. And this was my first time approaching it from the not-competing but helping side. (In October I was a spectator.) I just felt so alive at the tournament, and I wasn't even competing!

The striking competition was held after lunch. Master asked me to take pictures but an official kept pushing everyone back so there were no good angles. Master asked me to stand at the very front, behind the folks printing out certificates. I said in Korean, "He says 'back, back'!"

Master put on an innocent expression and said in English, "No Korean, Amanda. 'Excuse me, excuse me,' 'Oh, I sorry, English? English?' 'What? What? Um...'" Then he switched to the fighting cheer used here, "화이팅." I looked at him and he said it a few more times. "화이팅, Amanda, 화이팅" he said conspiritorially.

I put on my most innocent look and walked over there (with less swagger and stomp than I usually possess) and acted both like I belonged and as if I thought I were invisible. For the entire first age group (six of our students, more than an hour) it worked. The official made other people move but left me (and two other people taking pictures) alone.

I was relieved and excited. I text messaged him "화이팅!" and caught sight of him across the room where he gave me a big thumbs up. At one point the other master approached me and asked where Master was and how many kids were left. I answered in self-corrected Korean and the woman standing near me turned, smiled at me, and patted my arm.

Unfortunately, someone unlocked the door I was standing near and that meant more people going in and out and the official getting unhappier and unhappier. Master joined me and we spoke in a blend of languages for a while, quietly. Eventually a whole studio stood there and screamed for a friend and the official pushed everyone out. Master left, mouthing 화이팅 to me with the confused look on his face. I stood there and looked as innocent as possible and said, "Hmm? But only three people. Three people," pointing. It didn't work. He glared at me and pushed me out. Master stood on the other side and shrugged. "Good job. 화이팅!"

When the striking competition was over, we gathered in the common area. On my way there some teenage boys from another studio stared at me and said, "Hello! Hi!" I waved at them, mentally made an English word into Korean pronunciation, and said to Master "미국에 아만다예요. 한국에 무비스탈이에요." ("In America I am Amanda. In Korea I am a movie star." Not perfect Korean, but understood.) He burst out laughing and told me I should go freespar them.

I said, "They have dan, I don't." He said, "You could do it." I was tempted to play up the movie star thing, act ridiculous, have Ghost take pictures of me with the teenagers, but I decided against it. Chances are I'll see some of these people again at future tournaments.

We took some group photos and I taught the kids the Tongil Thumbs Upsign. Some other studio's kids watched me, jaws open, as I counted in Korean and taught them the sign. Master then asked me to go with the kids to the van. Walking down the hill three teenage boys said, "Hello! Hello! How are you? Nice to meet you!" I turned to face them as they were walking up the hill and said, "We haven't met! I don't even know your names!" They simultaneously told me their names and I told them mine in Korean and said, "반갑습니다." They grinned and ran off. Master was standing at the top of the hill. He had seen it all. I bowed to him dramatically.

Taking care of the kids was fun. They goofed around, took photos with my camera, and got piggy back rides. I started standing on one foot with them on my back, leaning this way and that to practice my ever-lacking 중심.

When Master finally arrived the kids whined that they were hungry. He told our group he'd get them hotdogs. I made the mistake of showing him how I'd been practicing my balance and he said, "No, foot here!" and made me lift my knee in front of me. Shoot, this was much harder than standing with my leg stretched out behind me. He said, "OK, one minute! One minute, success, I pay! One minute, fail, you pay." The ajumma making our hotdogs looked amused.

Three minutes later the children all turned to me, bowed, and said in perfect English, "Thank you, Amanda." I was amused that every single one switched to English although Master told them to tell me "kamsahamnida."

We were still waiting for the other team we were sharing the vans with to finish up so we set the kids loose on the soccer field. We chatted a bit about taekwondo, dan rankings, foreigners, and how Master wants me to learn good words in Korean (I had told him that all the bad words I know in Korean I learned from the studio, which is true).

He asked if I liked being a movie star. I said that on the streets it got tiresome but it didn't bother me at the tournaments because I was with Tongil and they don't stare at me. He said that foreigners don't often take taekwondo here and don't come here for taekwondo so everyone wants to know who I am.

He also said that a lot of foreigners don't like Korea. I said that I think a lot of people come here for the money, booze, and women. He said, "But you, taekwondo. Good. Good."

He got a phone call from his father, an eighth degree black belt who will be testing for his ninth dan soon, who founded our studio 30 years ago. He left for a minute and then asked me to join him.

His father was standing there.

I shook his hand using both hands, bowed below my waist and listened very closely to see how much of his Korean I could understand. I told him what form I was working on, when I thought I would test, and he wished me luck. It was a brief meeting, but I felt extremely honored to meet him. I think I would have felt the same to meet Master in America's father, too.

I asked Master if he wanted something to drink and when he agreed, suddenly the children reappeared begging for drinks. I said in Korean, "Master and teacher have drinks!" Some children from the 6 pm class said, "Amanda's a teacher?" Master almost choked on his water.

We left late, a long ride home. I was tired—we all were—but very content. The whole weekend, from Friday night's dinner with the boys to being the photographer and losing the balance bet made me feel less like Amanda the (American) Studiomate and more like Amanda the Studiomate Who Is Foreign When It Benefits Us.

The boys made me lose my foreigner-never-pays-for-meals-status. I was also trusted with the cigarette secrets. There were no teenage boys present to take are of me, to keep track of me; instead I was entrusted with the camera and the care of the students, despite any language barriers. Master called me in Korean and I answered in Korean. Master made a bet with me like he would with the other students, though they usually have to do pushups when they lose.

The studio has never been hostile to me, but the whole weekend sort of felt like, "OK, Amanda, you've been here long enough. We know you don't speak the language, but you're one of us now. Unless we want you up against the ropes and in unaccessible areas, then we'll pretend you're a movie star. Because it helps us, the group."

It feels good.