Reflections from MUSA Challeng III
For the past eight and a half years, I have had the immense honor of walking the Hwa Rang Do® path under the unwavering guidance and leadership of Grandmaster Taejoon Lee (Kuksanim). Each year, each challenge, each struggle has shaped me— not only as a martial artist but as a human being striving to live by the principles we are taught. Our third Luxembourg MUSA Challenge (Interschool Championships), under the direction of Instructor (Kyobumnim-KBN) Roberto Cesca, who is the head instructor of the Luxembourg Hwa Rang Do Club, was no exception. What stood out this time was the synergy and cooperation between the members of Team Kwan Chang (TKCStaff) and Teuk Gong Team (TGT-Assistant Instructors). Communication flowed with clarity—we updated one another regularly, supported each other fully, and moved forward with a spirit of mutual respect and responsibility. There were no complaints, no reluctance—no matter the age or rank. Everyone showed up. Everyone followed through. That’s what Hwa Rang Do is about.
Knowing how full KBN Cesca’s schedule was, I had already begun working proactively on logistics as early as 2024. I focused on preparations like printing, organizing, and administrative support—staying in regular contact with other Aurelien, a TGT Member, whose technical expertise was essential. When Catarina, another TGT Member came to visit Luxembourg from her university studies in the U.K., she even stopped by my home to assist with the division papers, and we caught up on her university life. These small but meaningful connections reminded me how much we rely on one another, how the strength of our Team lies in these acts of shared purpose. Due to a foot injury and other compounding health issues over the past few years, I haven’t been able to be as present in class as I once was—especially with the Little Tigers (kid’s 3 to 8 yrs. Old). That absence has weighed heavily on me. I kept asking myself, How can I still be of service? The answer, for me, was found behind the scenes: in preparing folders, organizing materials, packing boxes for the event. Even if I could not stand on the mat, I could still support the mission. Still, inside, I wrestled with guilt—especially when I knew how short we were on coverage for the TGTs. But I followed protocol. KBN had made it clear: if we cannot attend, we must speak first with the leading instructor and then secure a substitute. I did this, even when it felt difficult to step back.
Yet a few weeks before MUSA, during a kids’ class observation, KBN expressed his deep disappointment in their lack of readiness. Even though I wasn’t physically in the room, I felt responsible. Deeply. It was as if we had sent our children into battle without armor. We had failed to prepare them. That moment shook me. It reminded me why we do what we do—why MUSA exists, why we teach, and what it means to truly prepare our students, not just in skill but in spirit. It’s easy to sign them up. It’s much harder to make sure they are truly ready—emotionally, physically, and mentally. Parents trust us with their children’s development. They invest their time, faith, and hopes into what we offer. If we neglect that duty, if we don’t step in to course-correct, then we have lost our way as instructors. KBN saw that and reminded us all.
This wasn’t just a wake-up call about the kids—it was a call to examine our own team dynamic. Why didn’t we ask for help sooner? Why did we allow the pressure to build in silence? Fear of consequences. That’s what it comes down to. But fear is self-serving. Fear keeps us from doing what’s best for the students. As teachers, our role is not to protect ourselves—it is to serve the children, the students. Our egos must never outweigh their needs. We must hold ourselves accountable. The way we deal with consequences is ours to carry—not theirs. This year’s MUSA Challenge reminded me of that in a way I’ll never forget. And for that, I am grateful.
Day of the Competition
The day of MUSA Challenge III arrived with excitement in the air and a full heart. As with every event we prepare for, it is never just about competition—it is a test of our unity, our discipline, our ability to serve others selflessly. Despite all the preparations leading up to the event, the reality of the day brought its own challenges. At the registration desk and merchandise table, we struggled. There simply weren’t enough people assigned to sell the merch. I had asked a few young TGTs to handle the registration early in the day while I took on the merch booth myself. But it quickly became clear: one person alone is not enough. For future events—especially the upcoming one in summer—we need at least two dedicated people just for merchandise. It felt like a missed opportunity. We could’ve done better.
Physically, I was not at my best. As the day wore on, I felt myself getting weaker. Still, I didn’t want to let anyone see it. I was granted permission to briefly return home to check on my dog Duyu, who had also had a difficult night before the event. I took a short rest, then returned to MUSA. That balance—between pushing through and listening to our limits—is a hard one, but one I’m still learning. Unfortunately, I made a serious mistake during one of the matches regarding the bye system— something I thought I fully understood. Because of uneven judge numbers, we paused and consulted KBN. By then, KBN’s son had already done two matches when he was supposed to only have one. I had misunderstood the order. Thankfully, before continuing with the rest of the matches, I stopped and asked another TKC member for confirmation. That moment hit me hard. The bye system is simple, something we’ve reviewed many times. And yet, without practice, even simple things can fall apart under pressure. That night, I studied every elimination sheet again, determined to understand why and how I messed it up. I was deeply disappointed in myself—but I’m not here to hide from mistakes. I’m here to learn. And that mistake will not happen again. Not at any event. Despite these bumps, the spirit of the day was bright. What stays with me most is the faces of our students—beaming with pride on the victory stand, the quiet moments of comfort they offered one another when medals didn’t come. The Little Tigers and Juniors showed incredible compassion, consoling and encouraging each other naturally. That’s the real victory.
I also noticed a beautiful shift in the energy of the parents this year. Unlike past events, where many would isolate themselves on phones or laptops, this time they sat together, cheering not just for their own children but for others too. I believe that shared experience brought them closer, creating a community beyond the class itself. The participation awards were another highlight. Every student, regardless of outcome, walked away with a token of recognition—and their joy was genuine. We always say children love these small awards, but let’s be honest: adults do too. Acknowledgment matters at every age. It’s not about the object—it’s about being seen, appreciated, and reminded that our efforts mean something.
The day wasn’t perfect. There were gaps, errors, and areas we must improve. But it was real. We showed up, we gave our best, and we learned—about ourselves, about each other, and about the work still to be done. Service isn’t always polished. Leadership isn’t always clean. But growth? Growth happens in these exact moments—in the chaos, in the humility, in the love we keep bringing back to the mat. Forward we go. Together. Always.
A Personal Reckoning
When the Hwa Rang Do Division began at the MUSA Challenge, I had to collect myself—not just my gear, not just my focus, but the weight of the pain I’ve carried in silence. I had signed up for multiple divisions again, just like every year. For me, retreat is never an option. The moment I step onto the mat, I choose to rise, no matter how low I may feel inside. During Forms, I injured my left ankle, and it throbbed with every step. But we are taught not to yield to discomfort. We are taught to continue—not recklessly, but with purpose. With the rush of adrenaline and the will to embody our teachings, I finished what I began. That, to me, is Hwa Rang Do: grace under fire.
GoTooGi
A Test of the Heart My GoTooGi (Submission Grappling) match was not technical—I am aware of this. I stepped in with Sunbae (Senior) Claire, who weighs nearly half of what I do. She held her ground, defended herself with such clarity and strength that I found no easy openings. I admit: I didn’t give it 100%. Not out of ego or fear, but because she is my friend, my senior. I wanted to push her, not overpower her. I wanted her to feel her own strength. To find the eyes of the warrior within her. And she did. She didn’t panic. She didn’t retreat. She charged forward with courage— just as Kuksanim always reminds us: You win not by defending, but by attacking. Her spirit inspired me. My match with Sunbae Malvina was another story—a story that repeats itself but never loses its lesson. She is always a challenge for me, and one I deeply appreciate. She goes for the armbar with deadly precision, and the only thing on my mind was, “Don’t give her your arm.” But truthfully, my weaknesses gave me away—my lack of stamina, core strength, technique. I was left to battle with only my weight and the few techniques I could execute. But crushing someone with weight isn’t victory. It’s avoidance. Sunbae Malvina reminded me again, with grace and a swift submission, what it means to win with skill. She took my arm, and that was that. It was clean, it was fair—and I learned.
MuGi Daeryun
Through the Fire When it came time for MuGi Daeryun (Weapon Fighting), I was in pain. Still, I stepped in. Sunbae Claire asked me why I didn’t stop when Kuksanim told me I could at any moment. I told her the truth: If I start something, I finish it. I didn’t sign up for one division—I signed up for all four. And the outcome doesn’t matter as much as the act of completion. I also wanted to set an example. For Andrea (a beginner student), who often misses class or avoids discomfort, I wanted to show that even with real, constant, unrelenting pain, the mind is stronger than the body. That lesson had to be visible, not just spoken.
I learned a lot that day—yes, I pushed through doubt, fear, and pain. But I also learned that I must be wiser. Fighting through isn’t always the right path when it leads to breakdown. After the “battle,” I was barely functional. I couldn’t help the team during this time to cover the shortage of instructors in the classes. My contribution shifted to administration, which is still valuable, but I realize now that I must learn to better prevent injury so I can continue to serve in all ways, not just the invisible ones.
Lessons Beyond the Mat
What I’ve come to understand is that the pain is here to stay—neuropathic, unpredictable, but real. What isn’t permanent is how I respond to it. I don’t need to live in extremes. Not everything is black or white. There is a grey area—a space of balance, where I can accept my limits without letting them define me. The hardest part was learning not to keep my fears and doubts bottled inside until they overwhelmed me. I thought I had mastered that lesson, but the last three years have been transformational in ways I’m still learning to process. Life has changed. But I’m still here. Still choosing to show up. Still choosing to serve.
We all carry burdens. We all walk through storms. It’s in how we face them and respond to them, how we reach for help, and how we allow others to support us that defines our strength. In Hwa Rang Do, our brotherhood and sisterhood are our sanctuary. If one person struggles in silence, it affects the entire team. A few days ago, I was not my best. I acted from emotion, self-centered in my reaction. But I recognized it. And I reached out to Kyo Bum Nim and Kuksanim—because I knew that was the only way forward. As Kuksanim recently said: “There will be moments of joy, moments of hardship, and moments of despair. But in the end, it is not the events that define us, but our response to them.” I know now that I must re-center, re-align, and begin again—with humility, not defeat. It’s time to return to the path, to embrace my life fully, and to nurture the relationships that give it meaning—my family, my friends, and the family I’ve chosen through Hwa Rang Do. As Grandmaster Taejoon Lee so profoundly teaches, this is “a training of the mind and spirit, helping to keep the flame of our dreams alive through every storm, every hardship, and every moment of doubt.” I carry this flame forward—with renewed commitment, compassion, and faith.
With Gratitude
To Kyo Bum Nim—thank you for being an unwavering light in the whirlwind of responsibilities, yet always there, day or night, for your students. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.
To Sunbae Malvina—thank you for showing up when I needed someone most. You brought me cookies, yes, but more than that, you brought kindness when I couldn’t even bring it to myself.
To Sunbae Claire—thank you for your daily texts and for carving out time in your schedule to check in on me. Your consistency is deeply felt.
To all my Whobaes (Junior Students) who sent messages of encouragement—you reminded me I am not alone.
Hwarang Forever. God Bless.
This is my path. I walk it with pain, with gratitude, and with unwavering faith that this too is part of my training. Part of becoming. Part of service
