Black Belt Test

So I'm a beginner, but some of the others in my class--Ellen, Suddar and Seamus--have been here since last summer, and are way better ninjas than me. A couple weeks ago, they took their black belt test, and I tagged along to watch. Come along with me.

Master picks us up in the bright yellow hapkido van, which is like a mini school bus covered with silhouettes of ninjas kicking and punching at around two o'clock, and we go to the hapkido room to change and pick up the other black belt hopefuls, most of whom are eleven-year-old Korean boys. I am merely here to witness and photograph the event, which leaves a bit of time for chatting with Master. He cooly assesses me in the rear view mirror. “Elly, wow! Beautifu!” he says. Most Koreans think my name is Elly. Close enough. Master pats his face, indicating that I am wearing makeup today, and as such, my appearance is vastly improved.

“Thank you, Master. When I’m not a sweaty ninja, I look better.”
“Alli has a date tonight,” Ellen says, further clarifying.
Master laughs. “Guro station?”
“Yep.” I grin. A couple weeks ago, I met this Korean guy when I was hopelessly lost at the subway station, and we're having dinner this evening. I got caught texting Subway Station Boyfriend at a hapkido party the other night, and the Koreans are all endlessly amused by it.
“Oh, are you seeing the subway fellow?” Seamus asks. I nod. “I’m a bit worried about that, to tell the truth.”
“I don’t think you need to be.”
“Where are you meeting him?”
“Seoul, somewhere.”
“Is he a decent sort?”
“I wouldn’t know, would I? It’s our first date.” [I did go on this date. It was okay. Cross-cultural dating is hard.]
“Yeah. True. I’d feel better if you were with someone. Perhaps I feel like I should fight him for your honor.” I am almost touched by his concern, but not quite.
"I’ll be fine, Seamus. Besides, you don't have your black belt just yet.”

Master is laughing in the front of the van. Today, Master is wearing a suit, which emphasizes the fact that he used to be the body guard for the president of Korea, or at least some important political figure. Really. Master can kill a person with his pinky finger. We leave the studio, now crammed into the bus with Master’s teenaged apprentices, and the seven red belts surround us, silent and afraid. We still get a little waegook fame, just by being foreigners. The smallest of them doesn't even reach Seamus’ waist.

We pile out of the van to join the throng of miniature would-be ninjas heading into the testing gym. Bemused, I observe the various levels of enthusiasm displayed by all the participants. Like any youth sporting event, there’s the he-man kids that clearly dominate; they are practicing handsprings in the corner, and doing one armed pushups as warm up. We are afraid of them. There are the average kids, who look a little scared, and mostly just don’t want to mess up in front of their Master. I can see right away that we are lucky to have such a patient and understanding Master; many of the other Masters look like Asian versions of Mr. T. Then there are the kids who don’t care now and probably never did. They are only doing this for their dad, and one of them has a comic book tucked into his red belt that he keeps peeking at during roll call. About one in five competitors are girls, and most of them are wearing sparkly barrettes and Chuck Taylors. I silently root for them to beat the boys. In the middle of it all, my friends tower above the rest. Our ragtag hapkido class could not stand out more: Suddah is of Indian descent, but with an Aussie accent; Ellen is an almost-blonde white girl, and Seamus looks like an Irish Goliath.

Finally, the test begins. I don’t understand a thing after the national anthem, and even then, I’m not sure what to do. Hand over heart seems a cheap gesture, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m cheating on the Stars and Stripes. Then it’s three hours of pre-teen Koreans—and my friends—kicking and throwing each other to the ground. Several small children want a picture with me ("why yes, I am friends with Brad Pitt"), so I acquiesce to pass the time. Master keeps having to grab Seamus by the shoulders and redirect him, but from where I sit on the sideline, I don't think we're embarrassing Master too much. Ellen does particularly well. I wish I could do half the things she can.

As we leave, Master stops me. “Elly,” he said, holding an imaginary knotted belt around his waist. “Ten month. You, black belt.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You think I can get a black belt?”
“Yea. Black belt, okay.”
“Okay.”

written by  alli_ockinga on April 29, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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