Cho Chikun's "My Resume" (1): Talent and Psychological Trauma

Original title：趙治勲（囲碁棋士・名譽名人）　私の履歴書（1）才能とトラウマ

Original article: The Nikkei

Author: Cho Chikun, Honorary Meijin

You might not know much about me, but perhaps you've heard the name Sumire Nakamura. She is a 15-year-old professional Go player. She's one of the most popular figures in the Go world, but what I focus on is her outstanding performance in the game. Her playing style is free and visionary, so much so that I study her games myself. However, Sumire Nakamura also went through a concerning period.

Three years ago, when she transferred from the Kansai branch of the Nihon Ki-in (Japan Go Association) to the Tokyo headquarters, I started worrying about her. At that time, I thought, "It wouldn't be too late for her to come to Tokyo after winning more in Kansai and becoming a top player there." I was concerned that her talent might be overshadowed in Tokyo, where there are many strong players. However, my worries were completely unfounded. After coming to Tokyo, she continued to win and even earned the title of Women's Kisei. This year, in order to further improve her skills, Sumire Nakamura chose to transfer to the Korean Go Association. Her attitude of striving to improve herself in a highly competitive environment is truly admirable.

But why was I so concerned? The root of it lies in my own childhood experiences.

I came to Japan from Korea when I was six years old and was suddenly placed in a dojo filled with strong players. Although I was hailed as a prodigy in my hometown of Busan, I was still just an amateur. Initially, the level difference was too great, and I was no match for them, compounded by the language barrier.

Even in practice games, the number of handicap stones I had to give my seniors kept increasing. The proud rural prodigy was thoroughly humbled. Although stories of bouncing back from such situations are common, for me at that time, I had completely lost my fighting spirit, mainly because I was too young.

Later, I finally became a professional at the age of 11 and eventually became a regular contender for titles. I won a record 76 titles, which seems like a happy Go life on the surface. I am immensely grateful to my teacher, Minoru Kitani, and my seniors.

I feel 99% gratitude, but the remaining 1% still holds the thought, "If I had come to Japan later, I might have been able to play more freely and with more integrity." I know many players never win any titles, so my words might sound like "complaining for the sake of it," but I cannot feel proud of my games.

Perhaps due to childhood trauma, I've never been able to shake off the mindset of "no matter what, I can't win." I always look at situations pessimistically and can't make decisive judgments. I wish I could confidently say, "Yuta Iyama (holder of multiple major titles, a top player in Japan today) is nothing special," but the reality is the skill gap is too large. In my games, sadness and frustration always accompany me.

Go is a game where two players alternate placing black and white stones on a 19x19 board, competing for territory. Because there are almost no "prescribed moves" like in chess, it has a high degree of freedom, with endless variations, making it very profound.

I have to admit that encountering this "greatest game created by God" made me who I am today. However, after more than 60 years, I still know nothing. Now it's too late to ask for guidance from AI (Artificial Intelligence), and as a player with honorary titles, I don't want to play games that would be embarrassing.

Ichiro Suzuki said at his retirement press conference, "I have no regrets about my baseball career." But in my case, it's the complete opposite—every day is full of regrets. I am a mediocre person with a slight talent for Go, stumbling my way across the board. I want to share this experience with you.