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Bartlomiej Somiak

@bartacus

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Jiu-Jitsu black belt at RGA HQ 🥋

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Yesterday's competition training didn't quite tell the whole story.

First, I had done a weightlifting session three hours before class, followed by a swim and a sauna. Then I rushed to the shops and barely had time to eat. The class was in the Gi, which I hadn't worn in over two weeks. As everyone knows, this requires a mandatory week of grip adaptation. The academy even had to lend me a Gi. That's how unprepared I was.

It goes without saying that during the bouts I was taking it easy. Most guys I sparred with were significantly heavier, and I had an elbow injury limiting my defensive abilities. Of course, not every submission was a consequence of that. Some of those chokes and arm locks and foot locks and knee bars were purely educational. Take the straight foot lock, for example. Instead of using my usual escape, which tends to work, I tried something different. I grabbed his collar, stayed low, and walked around in a circle. It failed, naturally, but I learned something. You can't take the same route every time like a postman. Where's the growth in that? I chose learning. I chose growth. And if I tapped out fifteen times in ten minutes, it's because I'm a great training partner who elevates others too. That's a fact.

Likewise, when attacking, I would catch and release. This explains why I finished the ninety-minute sparring class without a single submission. A couple of people also straight-up ducked me. Maybe they were tired, afraid, or simply didn't like training with me. The last possibility is difficult to comprehend. I'm great to train with, I never injure anyone, and I'm a black belt. What more could anyone want? Oh well. Their loss. Those who trained with me had good rounds, but that's always the case when I'm involved. I should get involved in competition training more often, like back in the day, when my ego was somewhere above the stratosphere. These days, of course, I've brought it down to earth.

At the very least, I walked away from yesterday's training with a moral victory. They might have won the submissions, but I clearly won the masterclass in staying completely, unapologetically unbothered.

#jiujitsu #bjj #compclass #rogergracieacademy by @bartacus

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9 hours ago

He slipped on a school pavement. The floor wasn’t wet. From across the playground, he heard, ‘Nice balance!’ He looked up and saw a group of boys laughing and pointing at him. He wished the ground would swallow him whole. The break was over, but as the days went by, he kept thinking about what had happened. The pavement had got the better of him in front of the boys. How unfortunate! They’ll never like me now, he thought.

On his way home one day, he looked up and saw a sign saying, ‘Local Gymnastics Club.’ He had walked this route many times before, but had never paid any attention to the little gymnasium that had always been there. He didn’t need it. But that day, despite his doubts, he walked in to ask about gymnastics training. The next day after school, he was already being taught basic moves, and before he knew it, he was landing on his feet like gravity had forgotten about him. Front tucks, back tucks, handstands, handsprings, and the occasional face plant straight into the foam pit.

His coach signed him up for a tournament. He started competing so often that somewhere along the way, something weird happened. He stopped recognising what was driving him, and the memory of the dry pavement that had started it all began to fade. He won his first medal, then another, chasing that gold like a schoolboy running to catch a morning bell he’d already missed. But there were no bells for him anymore, only training 20 to 30 hours a week and travelling for competitions. The medals kept coming, the competitions kept coming, and his apparent confidence kept growing. But whenever someone visited him, he found a reason to show them his room and his achievements, arranged by colour and size. The playground had long been empty, but he was still trying to win it over.

No matter how many medals he earns, in his mind, every polished arena floor is still just that school pavement.

#amwri̇ti̇ng #storywriting #storytelling #writingcommunity #stories by @bartacus

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2 days ago

I swear, if I ever hear anyone tell me I'm delusional again, there'll be trouble. Other people, yes. But me? Oh, come on. She's wrong about this, and he's wrong about that, and she's certainly wrong about that, and that, and that. But I am right. And I can immediately tell you why.

Nothing major. I'm just a decent human being. I have countless strengths and very few weaknesses. I'm moral, loyal, and more trustworthy than most people. In fact, you could say I have no vices. I've checked. I'm never rattled, rarely get angry, and my warm heart never turns cold because I can compose myself like I'm composing a symphony. The modern Mozart. Everybody listens.

My intentions are always pure. I've never smiled at someone's good news while secretly wishing it wouldn't last. I want the best for everyone. They all deserve it, right? My enemies and my friends, too. When I wish someone luck, I mean it. Treating everyone equally isn't some power play to distribute rewards as I see fit. It's genuine concern, pure altruism. I never sabotage, never steal, and never let someone else take the blame for my mistakes. What are we even talking about? I always play fair, never make excuses, and never cover my tracks. Everyone loves me. Everyone believes me. Nothing I've said here is a lie.

When my friend got a promotion, I congratulated him and shook his hand. Soon, he had a new car, a new flat, and a holiday abroad planned with his girlfriend. Good for him, of course. I wasn't jealous. Why would I be? He was lucky the company paid him so much. Anyone could have done the job. He'd simply been in the right place at the right time. Some people know how to make themselves look good, that's all. I've never been good at playing those games. I'd rather let my work speak for itself. And let's be honest, I've always been the more talented one.

Of course, I haven't told him this. What's the point? He seems happy, and probably wouldn't even understand it. Besides, one day he'll realise that money, status, and power aren't everything. Some people take longer than others to learn. Bless him, really. It must be so exhausting trying that hard just to keep up with me.

#amwri̇ti̇ng #writing by @bartacus

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2 days ago

I entered the steam room and, before I could even sit down, I saw and heard her rubbing her back against the wall. She rocked from side to side like a pendulum, really applying herself to each turn. As she did it, she moaned, ‘Oh dear,’ followed by, ‘This is so nice,’ and ‘Wow.’ She always had a blue, plastic corner-shop carrier bag with her. I didn’t know what was inside, and I didn’t want to know.

I’d seen this lady twice before, but today the steam room was busy. As she changed levels, angles, and walls, performing her bizarre routine, you could feel the whole room deflate. I was struggling myself, but this was a golden opportunity to run a social experiment. Two guys covered their faces with their hands, looking elsewhere. One lady couldn’t take it. She rushed out with a deadly serious expression, marching with the determined stride of a schoolkid on their way to the secretary to snitch about someone stealing their lunch. I guessed she was going to report her. I didn’t blame her. One by one, we were losing people. Finally, the woman grabbed her plastic bag and left.

Only two of us remained: me and another guy. The OGs. The king of the hill. Surviving that room was tough. We locked eyes.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. But we’re definitely not alone.’

I left and returned for my second round. The other guy had fled, leaving me alone with Satan herself, performing her rituals against the tiles. I couldn’t help myself.

‘What does this do?’

‘Back good,’ she replied. ‘It’s like a massage, and the heat helps with blood circulation. It’s good for injuries. I feel great. Try it!’

‘No, I don’t like touching the walls.’

‘Try it, you will shower after.’

‘No, I’m good.’

She shrugged. ‘Okay, follow your feeling. Follow your heart. That’s what I do. I don’t care what people think. Fuck the whole world!’

‘Have a good day,’ she said as she left.

I sat there in the fog. I wasn’t about to start rubbing my back on the walls, but I had to give her one thing: she didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought.

Fuck the whole world. Good one.

I still don’t want to know what’s in that bag.

#amwri̇ti̇ng #storytelling #storywriting #writingcommunity by @bartacus

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4 days ago

It has been fifteen years, and I still think about you so much. The intimacy and love we shared gave me some of the best moments I've ever experienced in my life. You cheered my wins and carried me through my losses. In this toxic world, you were the only one who was mine. I miss you, my cigarette.

For a chunk of my life, everything revolved around getting my hands on a smoke. Sometimes I could afford a pack of L&M Lights or Marlboro, but often I had to go on a scavenger hunt. I would go out, sometimes in the middle of the night, searching. Anyone unlucky enough to enter my peripheral vision would be approached; no one slipped by unnoticed. 'Have you got a spare ciggy?' was the standard greeting everyone in my neighbourhood knew by heart. Then, one day, the routine abruptly stopped. I quit, but I never really said goodbye.

All these years later, you're still on my lonely mind. I dream about you. I hold you between two fingers, just above where the filter and paper merge, and carefully calculate every move. I know precisely when to inhale and how long to hold the smoke in my lungs before releasing it into the atmosphere. Huuu, hah. Huuu, hah. Huuu, and hah. A tiny breathing star burning at the tip of the paper in the dark, shining brighter than my future. The stimulant works so vividly, so indistinguishably from reality, that I can't tell I'm sleeping. But then the other side of my brain kicks in. For fifteen years, I haven't touched you, even when hungry, low, drunk, stressed, or excited, even when tempted and you were within arm's reach. I resisted every time. What made me give in and become addicted to you again? I start to worry, then wake up. No smoke. No ash. The monster is no longer under my bed. It only waits for me in my sleep.

See, you thought you owned me. You thought I'd never leave you, but I did. And even when I miss you, when you visit me in my dreams or stare at me as I walk past you, you'll always be the one that got away. Or the one I got away from.

#amwri̇ti̇ng #storywriting #storytelling #writingcommunity #stories by @bartacus

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5 days ago

I woke up and glanced at my laptop. It said 6:15, or maybe 7:15, I can’t remember, but either way, I was going to be late for work. I checked my phone, one of those ancient brick models. While everyone else had moved on to iPhones, I was still rocking a relic like a proper fresh-off-the-boat foreigner.

The phone showed a time exactly one hour ahead of the laptop. What the fuck!? Of course, I trusted my ancient weapon over a computer. I mean, I was opening beer bottles with it. I assumed the laptop had malfunctioned and started manually adjusting the time. But the damn thing kept changing itself back. After a few desperate attempts at brute-forcing it, I gave up and rushed out.

This was about ten years ago in Ipswich, Suffolk, where my UK journey began.

I sprinted to the bus stop, panicking. A bus turned up, not my usual one, but I thought, Fuck it, I’m taking it if it gets me an inch closer to work. Of course, it went in a direction I’d never been before. I got off and asked people for the time. Their clocks matched my laptop, not my phone. Finally, the penny dropped. The UK clocks change twice a year. It must have been the spring one, or the other one. I don’t know. You feel like an idiot trying to figure this shit out. But I had time, and that was all that mattered. I was on a mission.

When I finally burst into the warehouse, I was drenched in sweat like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible. I arrived only a little late. My co-workers didn’t seem too fussed. I told my supervisor, ‘Listen, my laptop showed the wrong time, and I kept readjusting it. I thought I was going to be late, and I was shaking. It’s been stressful for me, and…’ He didn’t know what I was on about. But the story quickly spread. What intrigued me was how seriously everyone seemed to take it. No laughs, no smiles. Just polite nods, like they were speaking some secret code I didn’t understand.

But whatever it was, I clearly wasn’t in on it.

#storytelling
#amwriting
#writingcommunity
#writingstories
#writer by @bartacus

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6 days ago

I brought him home once. Just once was enough.

I was twelve or thirteen when my mum and I moved to Warsaw. The year was 1998 or ’99, and I was attending a primary school near where my grandma lived, even though I lived with my mum forty minutes away by tram. This boy was a year older than me, but he was in the class next door because he was repeating a year. He and I fought a bit, but somehow we got along. I often brought classmates home after school. I wanted company because I felt lonely back then, so I decided to bring him over once, too.

My mum was at work as usual, so the two of us sat in my room. He had a battered football with him. Everyone played football back then, even if we had to use a volleyball instead. Even the goals had proper nets made of string, not metal. I miss being young.

It was a very long time ago, but I still remember his exact words: ‘I’ll give you my football as security. Will you lend me your Walkman for two weeks?’ He said it as if his ball was worth far more than my Walkman. I didn’t have a football at the time, and I was excited to finally own one.

Then he disappeared from school for a few days. I heard he was ill. I started to worry, but I genuinely believed he would come back to collect his ball and return my Walkman. When I finally spotted him on the school stairs during a break, he ran up to me. ‘I got robbed in the city!’ he said. ‘I was with a friend who tried to stop them and got punched in the face. Let’s go ask him.’ At first, I didn’t believe him. But when he brought over his friend, who was a few years older than me, and the friend confirmed the story, my doubts vanished. I don’t know how long it took me to realise I’d been conned.

They’d played a perfect one-two, and I never saw it coming. I was sad. I just wanted a friend. Instead, I lost a friend who, twenty-five years later, remains as vivid in my mind as the battered football he left behind.

#story
#storywriting
#storytelling
#writingcommunity
#amwriting by @bartacus

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7 days ago

Next week I’m starting therapy at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. They exclusively treat diseases of the nervous system, the best in the business, and I’ve been fighting for a spot for two years. It feels like getting a job: assessments, interviews, and waiting for someone to contact you, with a consistency about as reliable as winning the lottery. But hey, I got it, with the help of my scientific background and charming personality. And when it comes to treating neurodivergence, these guys know what they’re doing, and so do I. This therapy is only just being developed because Tourettic OCD is not an official independent diagnosis in the DSM-5, the folder that lets you get away with murder. Currently, one can have both Tourette’s and OCD, but not Tourettic OCD, and the latter is a different beast, needing different treatment if one hopes to go amongst people without being labelled as a public health hazard. It’s ridiculous how dumb people are, especially here, dumber than the design of plumbing with its two separate hot and cold taps. On or off. No mixing allowed.

Luckily, my therapist is a behavioural psychologist from India, and people over there are smart. For example, he sees ADHD as an advantage, not a deficit. But he especially impressed me with his astute responses to a complicated problem I was describing, and trust me, I’ve seen experts in this country who don’t know their head from their elbow. I’ve been selected for a trial because, again, I’m special, and I’ll help him understand and develop appropriate treatment methods for a condition that I know like the syntax of my writing. I can feel it, even if I can’t explain it.

In exchange, I get my therapy, of course. It’ll keep me occupied for the next few months, and I look forward to it. No judgement, no sideways glances, and no narrow-minded verdicts from a clueless public. Just a room full of people who finally speak my language.

#therapy #cbit #tourettesawareness #ocd #amwriting by @bartacus

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9 days ago

I’m forced to take another break from training. My elbow has flared up again, and it’s my other arm now. I will probably eventually need surgery, but that’s none of your business. This ongoing injury of mine doesn’t come from Jiu-Jitsu, it’s a little bit of Jiu-Jitsu, but my doctor said it's rather from a combination of genetics and being an idiot, which, I guess, both could mean the same thing. Either way, I can’t train. So what should I do with my days given I have no money, no job, and my plan to get rich and radiant might need to be parked just for a little bit longer? This sucks.

I have suggestions. I could change hobbies, maybe change countries, or maybe just man up and stop being a pussy. Shit happens, and life keeps rolling the same way I used to roll those Rizla papers on a wooden table, burning down fast. What helps me stay optimistic is the fact that my potential outside of Jiu-Jitsu is high. It’s hard to measure. You never know what you’re going to get from Bartek, a walking paradox who might languish today, but will flourish tomorrow.

Guess which hand. Good luck, champ.

#injury #training #writing #happy #sad by @bartacus

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9 days ago

So it looks like our coach Kywan turned out to be a genuine gentleman. Who would have thunk it? The sequence he performed at the Polaris competition was fundamental, textbook Jiu-Jitsu on display. His opponent hesitated to tap when caught in a tight arm lock. Kywan could have broken his arm, but instead asked him to surrender, politely, with his now-famous 'Tap, brother' already doing the rounds around the academy. I was just there. What a legend!

Kywan is infamous for having a relaxed, don’t-give-a-fuck attitude regardless of the circumstances he finds himself in. I respect that. It takes balls. More than most people have. But those who know Kywan will know what a good person he is, and after Saturday night, so will many of those who didn’t. Those who judge people solely by appearances just got a bucket of cold water dumped straight over their heads. And I’d happily dump another one just to make sure the message sank in. Saturday night was a masterclass in proving people wrong. Not by shouting, intimidating, or beating your chest like King Kong, but by doing what Kywan does best: not giving a fuck, and winning anyway.

Thank you, Professor Kywan.

#kywangracie
#jiujitsu
#nogi #rogergracieacademy #polaris by @bartacus

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12 days ago

Everyone who has ever achieved great success stood on the shoulders of giants. No matter how talented, dedicated, or motivated you are, without help, it’ll only take you so far. I don’t have such help. I don’t have any help, in fact, and I’m lonely a lot. Every day feels the same. Suppers alone, breakfasts alone, and everything I’ve ever achieved, I did so alone.

When I asked around for a job, many promised the moon. The stars, such as they were, spread their ignorance amongst themselves in their little circle of mutual insecurity. That’s the only time they can shine, or when they drench their faces in brocade. They search for comfort in groups like sheep. They might comfort each other, but they don’t fool me. I might be dyslexic, but I can read them like a book. I don’t need groups, just the right person who’ll launch me into the sky, way above their orbit. And when I succeed, when I’m rich and radiant, people will try to become my friends again, be chatty with me again, get close to me, but I’ll look right through them, just as they’ve looked through me.

You ignored the spark. You don’t get to share the fire.

#writingcommunity
#writing #sucess
#writingessays #lonewolf by @bartacus

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13 days ago

It suddenly struck me that at this point in my Jiu-Jitsu training, I should probably train smarter, not harder. No shit, Sherlock! I’ve done Jiu-Jitsu for over a decade, earned my black belt a while ago, and everyone and their dog knows how good a training partner I am. But I’ve tried for some ten years to control my instincts and train light when I need to. Forget it. I’ve come close several times, I mean really close, but never succeeded. So there’s no need to tell me if you’ve been to the gym today, if you’re taking it easy, or if it’s your first session back in two weeks. I don’t care. During the next six-minute round, you’re a threat to my existence. I will fight like my life on line, and after that, it’s all love again. God forbid the professor is watching, or some hot girls are watching, then I go completely Super Saiyan. Nothing subtle about it. Everyone can see me. Everyone can hear me. Every round is the grand final. The main event. Until the coach gives me the legendary silent nod of approval from across the room. We’re animals, and I’m just trying to survive here, alright? Just like my brothers and my sisters. Everyone struggles. Don’t get it twisted.

#jiujitsu #training #bjj #blackbelt #jiujítsulifestyle by @bartacus

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14 days ago