let lemons be angry

It was because of my blog that i made an unlikely friend exactly two years ago. Oh wondrous blog? No, that friend doesn't even read it now.

I have a punching bag! It looks like a red head on a stick that wobbles, and it is the best surprise present any girl could receive from her father. It is not an outlet for frustration, or a practice target for real scum-s. It is simply a punching bag, for punching. I'd always wanted one, but didn't ask for it seriously because i couldn't think of place to hang it in my room. But this one is built on a stand, solving all needless dilemmas.

My father bought me a pair of boxing gloves when i was ten. I would punch his clenched fists for fun, and my bed pillar when i was angry. I wanted to be more dangerous and more prepared, so i asked for more. He taught me to throw attackers who lunged straight for my neck, by using their own force against them. It was mysterious and wonderful, the aikido theory. A deft sidestep and a pull, and Vin Diesel would be sprawling on the floor. He taught me to throw attackers who came from the side. He taught me to reach out my arm and point to infinity, for a straight arm that couldn't be bent by opponents. He taught me to roll, the fastest way of avoiding attacks when one is lying on the floor. He taught me to use my elbows for defense. Because of all this secret training i had, i still have fighting dreams, in which i square off with hostage-holders, wolves, snatchthieves, miscellaneous evil characters, and always win. (this paragraph strangely sounds like it's from a particular lit book we did about ghosts and orchids.)

I scared some boys a couple of years ago by stabbing my plate in a fit of rage. If they knew what else i can do, perhaps they wouldn't have been afraid of a little fork.

My father loves it when i want to learn self defense. And i say self defense, because i'm not into this for blood and glory, oh no. Because his father taught him all this too. They lived in the days of real gang fights and gang territories and unlit streets, so learning to throw a punch was a must. My dad won the few fights he got into as a little boy, because his father taught him to go for the kill: the temple and the sternum. Of course we laugh about it now, these inappropriate things to teach children, but i will always keep it in mind. For now, i am happy just punching a bag, and dreaming that i can do much more than that.