Paula Quiroz is a sophomore biology major. Her favorite things are her iPod and her composition books which she uses to write random notes and inspirational sayings. Her hobbies include drawing, writing, reading, exercising, learning about different cultures, watching movies with friends and going to the beach. She enjoys sports, music, dance, martial arts, medicine and current events. She plans to join the Peace Corps after graduating and dreams of going to Brazil for the next FIFA World Cup.
I started practicing martial arts at the age of eight at an Olympic-style taekwondo school but had to leave it when I was 11 because my parents couldn’t afford it anymore. Two years later, I brought up the subject again to my parents, telling them that I wanted to go back and continue taekwondo. The school where I previously trained closed, so we looked into other schools close by and found Traditional Taekwon-do of Davie, a dojang that was conveniently across the street from my apartment complex.
The day I first walked in, I sat on a wooden bench near the door with my mom, observing the class. It was obvious that the Olympic style I was used to was different from traditional style. It should have been an all-too familiar sight since I had already practiced taekwondo. In some ways, it was. The moves were the same. The forms were the same. However, the manner in which they threw a strike or did a block was different from what I had seen in the other school.
Imagine my surprise when, having been used to full-contact sparring with full gear, I was told that only head gear was allowed in competitions.
“Self-control. Here, you must learn to control your kicks and your punches. Here, you must learn to control yourself,” said the instructor, smiling as he saw the expressions on our faces.
Still, even though this was something new to me, it clicked. As I saw more and more, something inside me told me this was where I belonged, and so began my journey into the world of traditional taekwondo. I went to class almost every day, training and practicing every move until it was perfect — pushing and stretching hard to get as flexible as possible. During the summer, I practically lived in the dojang, training every class I could during the day. I was in there around 4:30 p.m. and came home by 9 p.m.
By the time I was a yellow belt, I had a full split and straddle. Wherever my instructor told me to put my foot, I made sure to put it there. I was dedicated and determined — traits that my instructor, who we call “Sabum-nim,” and the black belts I had the luck of training with, instilled in me. They were examples of the type of martial artist I wanted to be, and my instructor let them be no less.
My instructor would tell his black belts after they finished executing their forms, gasping for air and swaying from exhaustion, “Don’t give up. A black belt is not only a person who can kick high or punch strong. They must follow the five pillars of Taekwondo [courtesy, perseverance, integrity, self-control and indomitable spirit] in and out of the school. This is not a sport. This is a lifestyle, and you must be the examples so that others may follow in the right path.”
I got my black belt almost six years after the day I signed up. Most would say that is sort of quick, but it was mostly due to my dedication to the sport. By that time, I had participated in many international seminars hosted in Florida and one in Virginia where I tested for my black stripe under Grandmaster Kwon Jae-Hwa, the founder of my federation. I had trained under him and instructors that came from as far as Germany, Cyprus and Greece. I’d competed in countless competitions, winning first place in forms almost every time, while placing in sparring and breaking.
When it came time to choose what university I wanted to attend, NSU became my first choice because it allowed me to stay home and continue doing what I love. After two years in college, it’s difficult to balance school and taekwondo, and a lot of the times I’ve had to miss practices to study. However, even when things get rough and I have a billion and one things to get done for school, I always have my instructor’s voice in the back of my head: “Don’t give up. Keep moving.”
