Twinkle Toes Taekwondo
A continuation of an amusing & inspirational anthology about my neighbour Joáo and his passion for taekwondo
Since last Christmas, my highly-spirited and spritely neighbour Joáo has been wearing his newly acquired red and black ‘Chodanbo’ belt proudly parading in its glory whenever he has the occasion. According to Evie, his is legendary level stuff. This sunny morning, he is in his pearl white dobok rolling out the recycling bin, AirPods in the ears, shaking to some beat with an unapologetic swagger. My thoughts wander off. I have yet the chance to ask Evie to indulge me further when without warning, startling me out of my reverie, a deep gruff voice booms through the open door, “ready for the gym in that… ”
From behind the kitchen counter, I spotted that thin reddish black horizon flashing by, and bit my tongue. The memory of our last encounter and wink left me reeling with dizziness and in wonderment. I totter to the door with my most radiant smile, “well, how do you do!?”
The air starts to sizzle sending waves of nervousness rushing down my legs, ricocheting back and forth like a blue water beetle on its back crunching at the waves, droplets of water on its feelers twinkling in the sun.
“Urmmm… I’m was wondering if you and Evie would like to help Archie out at The Open?”
The Open is THE regional annual taekwondo tournament open to all ages. At the last Open lead-up, Joáo humbly defeated arch-rival Tennessee in spectacular fashion.
“Of course, we’d love to!”
I make a mental note to check dates with Evie, and quickly run through some random list before nodding slowly to the memory of the infamous twinkling gloves and the extraordinary ways Joáo makes magic out of mayhem, while wearing them. I could scarcely contain my growing smile. Joáo, who had been watching me all this time, twinkles warmly too and sticks out his bristling gloved hand, as if to shake on our agreed date.
A date? I have woken up on, between sateen beige sheets on a firm but neat, narrow bed in some random room with the blinds down. I may have been seventeen. A standing fan is whirring silently on low. I hear the stirrings of someone next door padding around softly. A hazy orange glow is approaching, the door flings open and a dark hooded figure boldly steps in, as if in a dream. I blink then, I am waking from a dream.
I break out of my strange dream as if to re-enter another, the feeling of strong and sturdy arms bodily holding me close, … Joáo’s skin against mine, his cool lips rest lightly on my burning forehead momentarily, and everything in that moment is coloured in vintage like a déjà vu … a kind of eternity.
On repeat.
A book falls out of Evie’s school bag. She tells me later that at break time, she had showed Archie the cartoon on its front, which is a cute drawing of a young boy in various taekwondo stretches. The book titled, Cho-Dan-Boy, turns out to be a children’s illustrated hardcover about a funky young dad, learning to overcome life’s ups and downs by competing in taekwondo, and his son following in his footsteps, inheriting his gems of wisdom. Although the book also describes the challenges at length (which (I thought) is the message of the story in emphasising the journey not the destination), Evie was at pains to explain that mobility issues and accidents are her concerns since her knee injury running into Archie two weeks ago. I guess we read what we choose to see.
Love is… complexity drizzled over with lychees and honey; whisky on ice, shaken and stirred. Round succulent marinated pitted olives in garlic rolling liberally across an oily tongue, parted lips poised for attention as if waiting…
“Mum?”
Evie shakes me out of my mid-afternoon fantasy and tells me that i have fallen asleep while reading to her. It has been late-Spring for awhile and sometimes we sit out and watch the scorching summer storms part her fiery lips, but not today.
“What’s the time, Evie?”
“Time to go to The Open!” Evie grins with excitement.
I pinch myself again to make sure I am not still in my imaginary machinations about mysterious strangers in unusual situations.
In my head all day is the déjà vu playing on repeat, as I watched Joáo execute one roundhouse kick after another, leaping and pouncing, spending the morning hours warming up while waiting in anticipation for his turn. It is going to be a difficult fight, I’ve heard. I turn the other way just in time to see Archie and Evie sneaking away to the cafe. I suppose they have had enough of the vigorous warm-ups.
I wonder to myself if I’m meant to be doing anything else apart from holding this list in my hand, looking for the afternoon’s young participants gathering round. My attention begins to wander… Suddenly, as if lifted out of an ocean of sparkling blue, Joáo’s reverberating timber voice whisks me away from the fairy chatter in my head,
“Whatcha’ dreamin’ about?” he asks.
I turn to face him confronted with yet another memory of my glasses dislodging one evening when Joáo sprang into the air unleashing a flying side-kick with a ferocious “KIIHHAAAPP” that echoed in my head for days after. I discovered later that the ‘kihap’ is a deeply stirring battle cry in taekwondo. Though all I could think of at that time was the remarkable twinkling of his toes during his astonishing mid-air kick.
I smile musing to myself… twinkling toes taekwondo… before catching his eye. “Oh! Nothing…” I let our a small cheeky laugh adding, “hey, I really like your gloves today, best of luck!”
Joáo grins from ear to ear. He points to his sparkling-white feet pads, he is hopping up and down, “good luck to these, too!!” Just then, Archie turns up from behind and quips, “twinkling toes, Dad, twinkle toes see you home!”
“Yeeaaah, mate”, Joáo grimaces, spins and punches the air spiritedly.
The buzz of activities and swathe of announcements send the pair to a waiting line. I relax a little and sink into a different kind of late afternoon slumber. I put the unmarked list of names down and sit to watch the animated competitors streaming back and forth. Retreating into yet another familiar re-play of an unfamiliar reverie repeating this time with a slightly wicked twist.
Life is… complexity drizzled over with lychees and honey; whisky on ice with a slice of lemon, shaken and stirred. Round succulent marinated pitted olives in garlic and ginger rolling liberally across an oily tongue, parted lips poised for attention as if waiting…
… for the beast to awaken. I have woken up tousled on an incredibly comfortable double bed between blue sateen sheets in a familiar dim room with the blinds drawn down. I may have been in my thirties. A ceiling fan is whirring silently above. I hear the stirrings of someone in the next room padding around softly. A hazy orange glow is approaching, there is no door, my feet feels warm under the covers. A half-man half-creature boldly steps in. I close my eyes so as not to wake from this dream.
And woke up he did. With a great roar and a … “KIIHHAAAPP” … like a disgruntled Behemoth announcing its entrance without trepidation. More accurate to scene would be the description of a strong sleek jaguar with larghetto long steps stretching out a powerful lazy yawn; a demeanour unbroken in spirit, his claws outstretched and twinkling under bright lights as discernible as luminous bodies of light shimmer on its rippling back.
The afternoon heat is beating down outside but the arena is air-conditioned, and the noisy level of the crowd cheering for Joáo is beyond staggering…
