Everybody has a past, but the question is; when we look back at our past, do we see a story that shapes our future for good or do we get entrapped in the tragedy of our past, leaving our future ugly.
J Daniel
My name is Liu Bingwen and I'm a Chinese American or what some people may call a half-caste, half American, half foreigner, so to speak. Whatever that is. I was fifteen years old when I lost my father. He was one of the greatest Kung-Fu martial artists that ever existed. His name was Master Zhang Bingwen and he was known as the undefeated champion in his heyday. His master was the great Wang Wei, who was also the reigning victor during his time because he was trained by the great Master Wong Fei-hung.
The undefeated trend passed on from generations of great Kung-Fu masters, down to my father but when it was my turn… well, let's just say that I wasn't fortunate enough to inherit my father's exquisite fighting skills. I became nothing but a scared, dull, lazy little boy that only cared about being a kid; reading comic books and sleeping all day long without a care in the world. I was a disgrace to my father as he had hoped that I would carry on his legacy, to become a great master like him someday.
He taught me everything he knew about Kung-Fu but with all his efforts, yet I didn't care to learn anything about Kung-Fu. It wasn't because I couldn't apprehend my father's skills and instructions, because my intelligence level was a bit higher than most, to be frank. Rather, It was because I chose not to learn the importance of self-defense.
"You must learn to defend yourself for I will not always be around to protect you," he said to me one day while he and I were having a father-and-son conversation. As usual, it was the same topic every time: the significance of self-defense and being a man. "You're a young man now." he pointed, then added: "One day, you will find a good wife and have a family of your own. Your family will depend on you to protect and provide for them to the best of your ability. It will be your duty to make your family proud to have you as a part of their existence, instead of bowing their head in shame due to your cowardice and laziness. Do you understand what I am telling you, son?" I looked at him and nodded yes.
I was a kid, what did I know about being a man and having a family one day? Did my father have a crystal ball that I didn't know about? Besides, who is to say that I'll ever have a family one day? Dad concluded the conversation with a sigh, then returned inside the house to finish smoking the rest of his peace pipe, giving me space to think and breathe for a second.
My father and I lived in Foshan City; a city known as The Capital of Chinese Kung-Fu. The town is situated in the Pearl River Delta in Guangdong Province. Foshan constructed many different Kung-Fu sect schools. Later, those schools thrived vastly making Foshan one of the most famous and well-respected cities all over the world. The Hongsheng Marital Arts Center was the first center to be established, making it one of the largest Kung-Fu Center in China. It was founded in 1851. The founder of Hongsheng Martial Arts Center, Chan Heung created an effective self-defense system called the Choy Li Fut; which developed into a very popular form in China. Foshan City wasnt just filled with warriors, the city was filled with doctors and healers too. Case in point, Foshan City is the hometown of Wong Feihung. He was a folk hero in Foshan and a practitioner during the Hung Gar in modern times.
I grew up in Foshan City. My dad had lived there since he was a kid. My mother is an American who married my dad and lived with him in Foshan City. I loved everything about Foshan City, especially all the impeccable Kung-Fu martial artists that lived there. As a child, I would watch my father train, then fight his opponents. He was an impeccable combatant. He traveled around the world and participated in many Kung-Fu martial art competitions, in which he was never defeated. I looked up to him because he possessed the energy and focus to be great in all aspects of life's work, family, religion and fights.
Quiet as kept, I always wanted to be like him, but I was different from Dad. I wasn't as mentally and physically strong as he was. unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to model his rites of passage and combat techniques, all my efforts to learn Kung-Fu, in addition to wanting to become undefeated like my dad was a waste of time. My father was displeased with me beyond belief.
I was his only hope of carrying on his legacy but looked how that turned out.
Dad died when I was fifteen years old. My mother and I relocated to Dengfeng City, which is located in Zhengzhou. The city regarded as "The Land with the Greatest Number of Tough Guys." There are over sixty Kung-Fu schools and institutions in Dengfeng City, training more than sixty thousnd Chinese and overseas students. When you visit the city, you can feel the enthusiasm for Kung-Fu amongst local people. The Shaolin Temple was built in this city. Shaolin Temple is a world-famous temple throughout the world, and it is dubbed as the cradle of the original and the most influential Shaolin Kung Fu sect in China.
My mother did the best she could to raise me with little to no resources. Being a parent is not an easy task, but my mother held on like the strong woman that she was, indeed. My mom was an excellent woman. She loved and cared for me more until her demise. She was a fish and wine vendor, selling whatever she could to make ends meet. My guardian made sure I had everything I needed but what she could not give me was time. A second chance to prove to my father as well as myself that I can become the man he always wanted me to be: strong, responsible and accomplished. I wanted to do the things that I took for granted when my father was present. Suddenly, I realized that time does not wait for anyone to progress in life, neither does it give others an opportunity to have a last dance with someone who knows you better than anyone else, who believes in you even when you're as useless as two nickels together.
My father-God rest his soul, believed in me when I didn't have enough logic to believe in myself. He tried to teach me the essence of Kung-Fu, but did I listen? Had I once bothered to get up on Saturday mornings and beg him to teach me how to do this move or that move or even how to block a punch or a kick? No. Had I asked him if he could teach me how to fish, swim, sew or cook, so I can become a productive person? Not a chance.
My Dad had only six students when he was alive. He did not like a lot of people around him. Did he have paranoid personality disorder? Maybe. All I know is that my dad was a loner. He loved being by himself because he was a thinker. If he were with a big crowd, he would have lost focus at the matter at hand. The closest person to him was my Mom. He loved her more than anything in the world, besides me. I was his pride and joy until I got older and began rebelling against my father's rules and so on, which sadly enough, led him to slowly drift away from me.
I was four years old when my Dad taught me the art of Kung-Fu, along with his six brilliant students. Although everyone in town wanted to learn and master the art of Kung-Fu from my father, for some odd reason, he refused to teach them. Why, I'm not sure. I just knew that he wanted me to be the best amongst all his students, so he forced me to train harder every day. I would take extra time to train after all his students had gone to rest. My Dad said after taking a break from training his students, "With hard and constant preparation, comes perfection." He was right, but somehow, I just could not get it together.
I was clumsy.
I kept making wrong move after another, almost breaking my father's personal belongings into pieces with various fighting equipment such as the sticks and other things. Dad's students laughed and pointed at me, whispered amongst themselves about how foolish I was and how I'd never get the moves right like their master taught me. They were right, I was as freaking lousy as they come. Yet no matter how hard I trained, I was the worst. None of his efforts to make me the best fighter worked.
The day of the fight arrived, and I was as nervous and confused as they come. Geez Louise! Had Dad forgotten that he had a better chance winning a dog fight than putting me in a damn fight with someone else? Why was Dad so adamant about putting me in a fight with someone with better coordination, skills and more expertise in the art of Kung Fu? What the hell was he trying to prove? It's bad enough I suck at the art of Kung Fu.
I'd be in even worst shape if my body parts are broken.
I remember the day he set a fight between me and Chang- his best and brightest student. He was ten years old but looked a bit older than his age. What the heck were his parents feeding him? The village? But I had to give to him, Chang was a bad mother scooter! He knew Kung Fu like he knew the back of his hand. That was how sharp and smooth he was, not to mention the girls adored him. Nice-looking, sharp and quick. true indeed, but that guy was dangerous, nonetheless. I would add that he was overly focused, but that would be an overstatement.
That day, I got the beaten of my life. Each time I took a swing at Chang, he would either block it or dodge it and land a massive kick on my chest or a gigantic punch on my face. None of my efforts to defeat him worked. I triple kicked him. Did it faze him? No. He just wiped the blood from the side of his mouth and smirked. I tried breaking his hind leg with my Achilles heel. Did that work? Hell no! The asshole dodged the move, which made him only more determined to break my face in pieces. I landed a sucker punch on the left side of his abdomen. Did that work? I wished! He laughed it off, then finished me off with more killer moves, with a punch here, a kick there and some other stuff I can't recall due to blurry vision and a possible brain concussion and lacerations.
I was beaten as if I had stolen his prized possessions. Even though I tapped and yelled loud enough for the world to hear, "I quit, I quit! Please let me go!" my father refused to call off the challenge. I wasn't sure who was worse, Chang or my father. He was so disappointed in me that he stood there and watched his pupil beat the living daylights out of me. It was only due to my mother's interference that I survived the brutal beating.
If looks could kill, my father would have died right then and there. My mother was so angry with him that she hadn't spoken to him in two weeks. I didn't care because Mom saved my life. If it hadn't been for her, there's a chance that I would have been dead on the spot. Instead of sleeping on a nice, cozy bed, I would have been lying in a grave. I wondered what possessed Dad to do what he did. He could have easily told Chang to leave me alone and dubbed him as the winner, no problem. I wouldn't have uttered a word because I was the loser, and he clearly was the winner in the challenge. Thinking about it now, makes me wonder, Was Dad suffering from a mental illness that no one knows about? Was Dad beginning to see Chang as the son that he always wanted instead of me? Various notions ran through my mind as I sat and recalled begging Chang to let me go, in addition to watching my father, my flesh and blood- sit back and allow a student, a damn stranger finish his only son off. I was hurt beyond belief, but then I realized something: you can receive admiration from others more so than someone you love.
Within that period, I was being nursed by my Mom. She applied herbs to the wounded parts of my body every day. Twice before leaving for work, three or four times afterward. God, I was in so much pain! The most painful part was my right hand. Chang broke my right hand. It nearly killed me to move my pinky finger. It took a few months before my hand could heal completely. Mom insisted that she would never let me get hurt again, so she stopped Dad from training me. I stopped attending his classes until he died. Flashbacks of Chang beating me nearly to death, brought me to tears more than anything. Yes, Dad's death was a tragedy, but watching my father allow someone else to harm me hurt me more than I care to admit at times.
Mama made me study hard at school, so I could become a healer or a doctor as most people would call it these days. I've always wanted to know more about how the mind and body operate, in addition to wanting to apprehend more about the tools of self-healing and curing others. "I'm proud of you son," she said to me one day when she was cooking my favorite meal. She handed me a glass of water, smiling. "You're a wise boy."
My great-uncle was the Grandmaster at the Shaolin Temple. He was an impeccable fighter. His name was Grandmaster Wang Zi-ping. Most times, I would go with my Mom to the temple to visit him. I always loved to visit the temple, because there were so many Chinese artifacts in the temple and the beautiful sceneries were something to behold. Above all, watching all the shaolin monks and students fight and train was thrilling. Their discipline and devotion to their way of life was so inspiring.
A year after we relocated to Dengfeng City, my mother became ill. I wasn't sure what kind of illness she had, but I knew that Mama would cough, sneeze and vomit all the time. I wondered if it were the food that she ate that made her ill or if Mom had an allergic reaction to something else, but I knew that I was worried. More frightened for her more than myself. She was all I had. If I were to lose her, then I'd be alone, with no one to guide me in this cold world. Who could raise me if Mom were to leave this planet? Uncle Wang? One of Mom's siblings? Dad's sibling, perhaps? "Come on Liu!" I said to myself, sniffing. "get a grip!" I added. I wiped the tears from my eyes, sighing. If it's not one thing, it sure as hell is another.
One day, I came home and saw her sleeping in her room. It seemed as if the illness had worsened. I placed my hand on her forehead, to see if she was warm or not.
She wasn't.
Her temperature was extreemly high. Quickly, I grabbed a small towel and put some cold water on it. I cleaned her face, then placed the towel on her forehead, in an attempt to reduce her temperature. Mama opened her eyes and smiled, then winked at me. Apparently, Mom was happy to see me. " Lui …, you're a good boy and I know that you're going to grow up to become a great man someday. I want you to know that I'm proud of who you are now and what you'll become, " she said. Mom coughed and sneezed into the air, but nothing landed on me. If something had landed on me, I didn't notice it. I didn't care.
"Don't talk like that, Mom!" I said. "You're going to be fine, you're not going anywhere. Save your strength and rest, so you can get well." It was obvious that she needed me to hear what she has to say, so she continued speaking. " Listen, I want you to know that no matter what happens, I will always love you and I will always be with you. You're my sweet boy and I love you so much!" she said, with a paled voice. It took nearly everything in me not to weep at her words. I loved her more than life itself. She was my best friend, my confidante, my world, my everything.
I'd just lost my father. I couldn't afford to lose my mother, too.
After finishing her statement, she raised her head gently and kissed me on my forehead. She returned to sleep, folding her hands across her chest and smiled peacefully. "I love you too, Mom!" I said. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine." I replied, kissing her cheek. I left her to rest and returned to my room. Later that evening, I ran to the Shaolin temple to inform Grandmaster Wang Zi-ping of her condition, letting him know that her condition had worsened. My aim was to get him to help me take care of her and make her better. "You came to the right person, Liu." he said, rising from his seat. "I'll help you take care of your mother. She's a good, solid individual. Give me your address and I'll be there." he added and requested.
I wrote my information on a sheet of paper, handed it to him, thanked him for his help, then left the Temple; happy to know that Uncle Wang agreed to help me take care of Mom. I returned home to get some much-needed rest. It was almost night fall and my Mom was still sleeping when I arrived home. I had a plate of bread and fried fish for dinner. Afterwards, I handed a plate of food to Mom and gently encouraged her to eat her meal. She ate a lot, which made me happy because eating was something that she was unable to do since she got sick. She felt much alive and that gave me hope, knowing that she was getting better every time.
I'm sure that by tomorrow morning she will be up on her feet again, I contemplated, nodding. My heart swell at the sight of Mom's health improving each moment. That made me happy more than anything else in the world. God is so good to me and my family. After dinner, Mom returned to sleep, so I left her and returned to my room to rest, too.