Love. Not usually a word used to describe or define me. But actually, one would find it surprising, myself included, that 'love' has made me into the stoic, iron-jawed warrior I am today. Or maybe, a 'lack of love' is a more accurate idea.

I have felt the tension of intense training sessions, the swell of my heart after a victory, apprehension in the fear of making a mistake, the excruciating pain of pushing myself harder, the chill of disappointment, and the bitter taste of defeat. I have lived a life that others can only imagine—one where they assume every emotion has been addressed. All except one, that is…

I have yet to feel the taboo sensation of love.

To be truly loved.

This sentiment I have been lacking has given me a clear description of what I am, but never who I am. It is easy for me to say that I am a Kung Fu Master, a warrior, a tiger…

But who I am? A whole lifetime of contemplating has not gotten me any closer to the truth. I could clearly say that, "I am Master Tigress, leader of the Furious Five", but doesn't that just bring me back to the already answered question of what I am? Or even simpler, "I am Tigress". But even that is not a worthy response. Have I been Tigress my entire life? Did I ever have another name –one perhaps given by parents?

I have been able to suppress these thoughts for long periods of time—to the point where I no longer even acknowledge their existence. But not being able to know who you truly are…isn't that the core basis of Kung Fu? I learned this from Po, believe it or not. That silly panda revealed more to me in that one conversation in Gongmen City than I to myself in over twenty years. Po had been struggling with the same concept that I had been for almost my entire life. He got a taste of it, while I had been practically drowning in it. His questions were even the same: Who am I? Where did I come from? What happened to my family?

That was why I hugged him—let my guard down, indulged my compassionate side. Despite our obvious differences, he and I were the same in that short moment. Someone understood my pain. Who would have thought that, that go-lucky, noodle-loving panda could have reached down into the depths of my heart and held out the missing pieces for me to see?

I hide my grief well. No one other than myself knows how often I would spend my time wondering and dreaming who my parents were when I was a cub living at he Bao Gu Orphanage, while at the same time, trying to live down the cruel title of "monster" at just my sensitive, seven year-old self. Few also know just how hard I used to fight and strive for my master's approval in my later years, only to be brushed aside like a mere piece of furniture and knowing that my all was not enough.

To let people know just how at war I used to be, and still am with myself would make me appear vulnerable and weak. I have been too badly scarred by strangers to allow them to get any closer to the core of my being.

And therefore, I have hardened myself: hardly letting anything in or out. Of course, that does not mean I have forgotten what love looks like.

I have trained myself to turn a blind eye to the open, daily displays of parental affection. I pretend not to see how children are hugged and kissed by their mothers, and praised by their proud fathers. I hardly ever see it now, but there are those rare moments when I catch myself staring in awe, eyes wide and mouth agape, and ask: how can I truly ignore what I have never felt, never experienced?

I am much less affected by this now than when I was a cub. Shifu would often ask me why I would keep my head lowered, eyes directed only on the road ahead of me when he and I would leisurely walk amongst the Valley citizens on days off. To me, telling him the truth –that I was doing it to protect myself from heartbreak— would only make him more frustrated with me. I wanted to stay strong; even if that meant fighting furiously the urge to cry. So I stayed silent. I have remained silent.

But I have constantly been told that I am too hard on myself. Does that same idea apply here? Do I owe myself a little solace—a little relief?

Can my questions be answered? My wonderings confronted? My deepest desires granted?

The key to all these locked secrets can be none other than what I've lived without my entire life:

Love.