Strength

It's a funny thing, the way I can perform some moves in kung fu and yet be so weedy at others. I went along, feeling deeply tired, a bit emotional, and worried, challenging myself to: a) be alert, b) not cry, and c) have confidence. It was a trial to maintain a, b and c, but somehow I did it, although I was acutely aware of my failings as I performed the moves.

Instructor N has become super-strict in the past couple of weeks. I regret telling him that his holiday stand-in was "Nice, and very strict" the other day... He's a good chap, though, and I think he is utterly fraught, as some of us are going for our first grading soon, and our efforts will reflect his teaching ability. He sat with his head in his hands the other day as we did our moves. Lord.

There's great camaraderie building in class. There aren't that many of us, and over the months, those of us who have attended regularly have got to know each other well enough to laugh, joke and encourage. The other regular female club member, V, whose spirit appears light, but has hidden, dark depths, has become a friend.

Lots of odd things have happened this month: good, bad and weird. I'm not quite sure what to expect next. But then again, was I ever? I know that I have become a little more resolute in the way I deal with things, even though I am still just as upset by the bad/weird. The good, when it comes – and it does – is often tinged with the vibrancy and sparkle you'd associate with seeing stars or the glistening, glassy surface of a mountainside lake. These times are not to be taken for granted; they are beautiful and peace-bringing. You can immerse yourself in their glow, but cannot hold such moments in your bruised hands.

Sometimes, strength is knowing when to just let something be, to let it drift, catch the wind and blow away so that it can embed itself where it is more suited. It may indeed float back to you (but you may have moved elsewhere).

Paradoxically, strength can also be knowing when something needs to be dealt with, such as the ghost in my nightmare. I suppose I am haunted, in a way, by something: my personal poltergeist. When I told S about this particular dark dream, it took only two minutes to recount, yet it had managed to ruin much of my day.

That aside, I do believe in ghosts. Real ghosts. I've seen some (not just the ones that inhabit dreams). They fascinate me.

This phrase I read the other day, penned by Ernest Hemingway, stopped me in my tracks: The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.