JAZMIN Alag enters the carpet in stillness, then explodes into motion. Her feet strike the floor with precision, arms slicing through the air in sharp, controlled arcs. Every turn, leap and landing is executed with a calm intensity that holds the audience in place. In those few minutes of performance, the 19-year-old athlete commands complete attention, not just for her technique but for the quiet confidence behind it.

Jazmin moves with a precision that belies her age. Every stance is deliberate, every strike measured, shaped by years of discipline, repetition and quiet resolve. Crowned a gold medallist at the 9th World Kung Fu Championships in 2023, Jazmin’s victory was not only a personal milestone but also a statement about who belongs in a sport long associated with a single culture.

Born in Negeri Sembilan and educated at Chung Hua High School, Jazmin is not Chinese. It is a fact that once made her feel out of place in a discipline deeply rooted in Chinese history, philosophy and aesthetics. Today, she stands among its finest practitioners, representing Malaysia on the global stage and challenging assumptions about race, tradition and ownership in sport.

Jazmin Alag’s accidental beginning

Her introduction to wushu was informal and unplanned.

“It was my elder brother Juztin who started first. I used to tag along to his training sessions. When he came home, he was always extremely tired. I asked him if it was exhausting and he told me to try it myself. So I did,” she told theSun.

She was six years old when she joined her first training session. Even at that age, she remembers the anxiety clearly.

“I already had trouble blending in at kindergarten. Coming here every evening definitely added to my fear,” she said.

Finding safety in one coach

What helped her stay was not the sport itself, but the people within it. Jazmin credits her early years in wushu to her coach, Miss Tai, who took on a role far beyond technical instruction.

“She took me into her care and taught me every step and skill. She put extra effort into motivating me and saw talent in me before I did,” she said.

For a young child struggling with belonging, that support was transformative.

“I think you just need that one person in your life to tell you that being different is okay,” she said.

Culture versus athletic identity

Wushu exists at the intersection of cultural expression and athletic performance. For Jazmin, that distinction was not always clear.

“Initially, I actually thought, felt and behaved like a Chinese girl. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a Chinese girl. It felt like cultural expression. I felt like I was showcasing a culture and its fine art,” she said.

Over time, her understanding evolved.

“I slowly realised who I really was. That’s when it became more about athletic training. But I still have that little ‘Chinese girl’ feeling in me,” she said.

Navigating difference without bitterness

Jazmin does not deny that being non-Chinese in a traditionally Chinese sport came with moments of discomfort.

“In the beginning, yes. There were moments where I felt different. Sometimes it showed in small ways like assumptions or expectations,” she said.

Rather than framing those experiences as exclusion, she chose another perspective.

“I didn’t see it as exclusion. I saw it as motivation. I worked harder and let my performance speak. Over time, respect comes from consistency and results,” she said.

Gold on an international stage

Her perseverance culminated in gold at the recent international wushu championship in Hong Kong, a defining moment that validated years of discipline and self-belief. The victory was personal, but its implications extended beyond medals.

“Today, I’m proud to show that wushu belongs to anyone who is willing to learn, respect the art and give their best,” she said.

Unequal access, growing possibilities

Beyond race, Jazmin believes access to sports in Malaysia is shaped by multiple factors.

“Opportunities are different, not only based on race, but also depending on where the athlete comes from, their school system and the type of sport,” she said.

Some communities, she noted, have stronger pipelines simply because the sport has been established there longer. Still, she remains hopeful.

“I believe things are improving. Talent can come from anywhere. What matters is building systems that make opportunities accessible to every committed athlete,” she said.

Representing something bigger

When Jazmin competes today, she feels she is carrying more than personal ambition.

“I feel like I’m representing something bigger, while allowing my community and myself to be part of it,” she said.

Her journey has shaped her belief in self-initiated change.

“I want to send a message that we have to create our own opportunities instead of waiting for them to happen,” she said.

Redefining belonging in sport

For young athletes who believe wushu is “not for them,” Jazmin’s advice is grounded in simplicity and encouragement.

“I would say, jia you, which means add fuel. You’ll never know your talent unless you take the first step. If you don’t like it, move on to the next thing on your list,” she said.

In a sporting landscape still shaped by tradition and perception, Jazmin’s story offers a different narrative — one where commitment, discipline and respect matter more than racial or cultural labels. Her gold medal shines brightly, but its true significance lies in what it represents: a future where Chinese sports are not defined by who is allowed to participate, but by who is willing to show up, train hard and excel.

For Jazmin, the journey continues. And with each performance, she quietly expands the definition of belonging.

 The Sun Malaysia