New York was loud. Cold in the winter, cruel in the summer. But somehow, Ashan never let it change him, not at first.
At ten years old, he was still that quiet kid with the still eyes.
He trained in his room every night.
He played Bruce Lee DVDs until the discs skipped.
He tried to punch like water.
He tried to think like a dragon.
He wasn't strong.
He wasn't fast.
But he was devoted.
He remembered who he was.
And every now and then, his father would stop by his doorway and nod in approval, saying nothing, just watching the ghost of the Korr clan awaken in his son's fists.
---
But things change.
Not always with a bang, sometimes with a slow fade.
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(Age 11)
It started small.
His father picked up extra shifts. Then two jobs.
Training together became rare. Then gone.
Ashan's teachers said he was "smart, but distracted."
His mom told him to stop practicing so late and focus on math.
His classmates were louder, taller, meaner.
And the more he tried to talk about Bruce Lee, about martial arts, about anything that meant something, the more they laughed.
"Bro thinks he's Jackie Chan."
"Go back to YouTube, kung fu kid."
"You think you're a ninja or some sh*t?"
Ashan stopped shadowboxing at recess.
He stopped watching Bruce altogether.
He buried the DVDs. He buried the island. He buried himself.
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(Ages 12 to 15)
Middle school was a blur.
Each year, Ashan fell a little more:
He stopped running.
He stopped stretching.
He stopped trying.
He ate more, for comfort, for numbness, for something to fill the silence.
By thirteen, he couldn't fit into the same jeans from two years ago.
By fourteen, he had a gut, a hunched posture, and no desire to look in a mirror.
By fifteen, he didn't even feel angry about it anymore.
Just tired.
Numb.
Apathetic.
And worst of all, normal.
His grades hovered just above failing.
He didn't have friends. Just a few classmates who talked to him out of convenience.
He laughed sometimes.
But it wasn't real.
---
He Forgot Everything
He forgot the way his feet used to land like whispers on hardwood.
He forgot the feeling of a clean punch slicing air.
He forgot what his father once told him:
"The world will forget us. But you don't have to."
---
Ashan didn't just forget Bruce Lee.
He forgot Ashan Korr.
And that was the worst part, not that he failed.
But that he stopped remembering he was ever meant to rise.
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(Age 16)
It was a rainy Thursday in April. The kind of cold rain that soaks you without a sound.
Ashan had stayed home from school, a 'stomach ache', or maybe just tired of pretending.
He sat on the couch, hoodie over his eyes, scrolling YouTube with one finger.
Click.
Some trash meme.
Click.
A video about a guy bench pressing 400 lbs.
Click.
Click.
Then,
"Be like water, my friend."
That voice.
That voice.
Ashan's thumb froze.
The hair on his arms stood up.
He didn't know why.
He didn't remember why.
But something old stirred
On screen: Bruce Lee stood in that old black-and-white interview, his face as serious as ever.
"Empty your mind. Be formless… shapeless. Like water."
Ashan sat upright.
Suddenly, he remembered…
The scent of incense.
The glow of the fire pits back home.
The shine in his father's eyes when he trained.
The Korr blood humming quietly beneath his skin.
---
"Boards don't hit back."
"Knowing is not enough; we must apply."
"Willing is not enough; we must do."
Ashan's hands trembled.
Not from fear.
Not from sadness.
But because he remembered who he was.
And who he was not.
Ashan immediately ran back to his room.
---
He stood.
Opened the closet.
Dug through piles of forgotten notebooks and dusty jackets.
There, beneath a bundle of tangled wires: the old Bruce Lee DVD set.
He pulled it out slowly, like unearthing a relic from a tomb.
Then… he dropped to the floor.
Tried a push-up.
His arms shook.
His stomach sagged.
His breath caught halfway down.
He collapsed.
But he didn't curse.
Didn't give up.
He got up.
And tried again.
And again.
And again.
Until he held a shaky plank for seven full seconds, face red, veins bulging, fists clenched.
Not because he was strong.
But because he had to earn his name back.
---
For the first time in five years, he sees not a joke… not a loser…
…but a warrior, reawakening.
---