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Let me tell you a story, one that started over 13 years ago when I first walked into a Wing Tsun class, not quite knowing what I’d signed up for.

I can still picture that first session: the sharp sound of fists cutting through the air, the relentless rhythm of chain punches hammering away like a factory machine. Now there’s elbows and kicks thrown into the mix too, but back then? I didn’t overthink any of it. Questions weren’t really my style. My approach was dead simple: turn up, graft hard, keep your head down and crack on. No grand expectations. Just sweat, the odd bruise, and a stubborn refusal to pack it in.

Then 2015 rolled around. The summer that properly changed everything. My first seminar in Hungary. Six days of relentless training, two sessions daily, each one clocking in at two to three hours. The heat was absolutely brutal, and the atmosphere? Near military. We’d line up before every session, hearts thumping, not quite knowing what was coming next. And then I met SiKung and the higher-level masters for the first time. It felt like stepping into something legendary, like these weren’t just people who were good at martial arts, they were the art itself. I was absolutely knackered by the end of each day, but the buzz? Unreal. That camp wasn’t just training. It opened my eyes. I wasn’t just learning how to throw a punch; I was part of a lineage, a tradition that stretched back generations. Something far bigger than me, sat in a sweaty hall in Hungary.

As the years went on, my mindset shifted. I stopped just mimicking movements and started pulling them apart, searching for the logic hidden in every strike and stance. Structure became crucial. Relaxation became crucial. Patience, well, that took some work, I’ll be honest. But slowly, I climbed the ranks. Eventually, I reached master level. Then came the curveball: teaching.

At first, I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Could someone as spontaneous as me handle that kind of responsibility? Could I keep things flowing without losing the thread? Then it clicked. Teaching wasn’t about me anymore. It was about the students, their progress, their trust. That responsibility didn’t weigh me down; it lit a fire under me.

I remember asking my SiHing during a private lesson, “Can you help me become a good teacher?” His answer wasn’t some profound speech. It was simpler than that. He believed my attitude would guide me. That was enough. From that day, everything shifted. I started replaying classes in my head, questioning every explanation, refining every answer. Clarity became my mantra, just like Siu Nim Tau, the first form, the quiet one that guards countless secrets. Every time I come back to it, I find something new, like the old masters whispering reminders to keep the art honest.

Over time, I found my groove, not just as a martial artist, but as a teacher. I learned to stay spontaneous, crack a joke when the moment called for it, and keep the energy alive without forcing it. And somewhere along the way, I realised Wing Tsun London isn’t just a school. It’s a forge for leaders, a sanctuary for growth, a place where individuality and respect sit side by side. You don’t just learn to fight here. You learn to become the best version of yourself. Sounds cheesy, maybe, but it’s true.

So how did I get here? Determination, mostly. A relentless drive to uphold the high standards set by Sifu and the SiHings. I started this journey for myself, but somewhere along the way it became about something bigger. The people, the art, the legacy we’re all part of.

And as for you? Roll the dice (sorry, I mean the chain punches) and see where you land. No expectations. Just enjoy the ride.