Martial arts became part of my life through training in Pencak Silat — an Indonesian martial art. For over ten years, I trained intensively, often six hours a day, with plenty of Indonesian food to refuel. Physical toughness and long training hours simply belonged to that time. MONGOLIA 
Through my studies of Mongolian culture, a fascination grew for the music and nomadic dances of Mongolia, such as the biigee (biyelgee). These dances, deeply rooted in nomadic life, carry surprising martial elements and movements comparable to Tai Chi Chuan. The movements arise from practical attunement to the environment — emerging from riding, living closely with animals — and carry insights drawn from everyday activities, including the ancient art of archery. COLD 
I remember teaching a movement class to music teachers at a music college in Ulaanbaatar during a harsh winter. It was so cold that even indoors, water would freeze. To stay warm, we began moving playfully — slow martial movements inspired by Pencak Silat. It was an intuitive moment, where movement kept us awake, alive, and responsive to the conditions around us. HOW DO YOU MOVE A CAMEL? 
Looking back, this way of moving — shaped by daily necessity — seems closely connected to the way T’ai Chi Ch’uan evolved. The martial arts of the steppes and the Mongol-Chinese countryside seem to have gained their colors through animistic and everyday experiences: studying the stars, learning from animals, adapting to the wind across vast open fields, and asking practical questions such as: How do you move a camel? Rather than relying purely on abstract philosophical or spiritual systems, these concepts were rooted in action and practice. EVERY DAY LIFE? 
T’ai Chi Ch’uan, although rooted in older traditions and inspired by ancient spiritual concepts, feels to me like a martial art that has remained closely connected to the sensory world. It is an art of attunement — to the environment, the body, the earth, and the breath. HEALTH 
It was much later that I encountered T'ai Chi Ch’uan myself. By that time, after years without regular training and a long period spent in stressful conditions, even simple movement had become painful. When I closed my eyes, I could no longer visualize my body as a whole — as if something had been switched off. I knew that moving less and less was not an option. RECOGNITION 
Within T’ai Chi Ch’uan’s movement structure, I recognized something familiar. It offered a way to slowly rebuild my body awareness. It is remarkable how an art originally developed for martial purposes can also nurture health, healing, and connection. WHAT DO YOU SEE? 
In my earlier perception, Tai Chi had seemed slow, soft, even aimless — a naïve comparison to the theatrical and musical directness of Silat. But now, through practice, I see the richness and refinement of authentic Yang Style T’ai Chi Ch’uan. Not a single movement is without direction or intent. Movements conjure spatial, dynamic, and legendary images — echoing the landscapes from which they were born, in which I recognize a Mongol-Chinese cultural heritage. TRANSMISSION 
Master Chu’s generously shares the deep knowledge of the Yang family, and his students — many of whom have founded their own large schools — offer countless opportunities to explore the practice further. A “small” shift in attention can suddenly transform a movement you thought you knew into something completely different, light, and alive. CHANCE
 Choosing to train with the ITCCA was not a deliberate, calculated decision — it happened by chance, thanks to a friend's suggestion. In hindsight, it feels like great fortune. I began my training with Martin Klett in Amsterdam, and up to today I continue to train with Andreas Heyden (Cologne), while also attending seminars and examination sessions with Master Chu.
Since 2015, I have been teaching within the ITCCA. DIVERSITY One of the most beautiful things about T’ai Chi Ch’uan is that it belongs to everyone. No matter your age, your body type, or your previous experience, you can find your own way into the art. Diversity in the class — of age, shape, background — is not a barrier; it is an enrichment. It shows how soft strength reveals itself differently in each of us. HUMANITY For me, T’ai Chi Ch’uan is a practice of humanity. It reconnects us to something simple and enduring: movement, breath, attention, adaptability. It reminds us we are not apart from our surroundings — we move with them, through them, and as part of the living world.