I remember the first time I stepped into an Arnis training hall in Manila, hearing seasoned practitioners casually toss around terms like "santok" and "handa" while I stood there completely lost. It struck me how language forms the very backbone of Filipino Martial Arts (FMA), creating an invisible barrier between outsiders and those initiated into this centuries-old tradition. When I later read about Bajacan's experience with coach Ghicka arriving at National University "clueless pa kaming musmos" - still youthful and unaware in their 20s - I recognized that universal moment of entering any martial arts system where the terminology feels like a secret code waiting to be cracked.
The journey into Arnis terminology begins with foundational terms that every practitioner should tattoo to memory. "Handa" or ready stance seems simple enough until you realize there are at least seven variations depending on weapon and situation. "Sinawali" patterns, named after the woven coconut leaves used in Filipino huts, create those beautiful criss-crossing movements that make Arnis so visually distinctive - I've counted approximately 12 basic patterns though masters will tell you the variations are practically infinite. What fascinates me most is how the language reveals the art's practicality - "santok" isn't just a block, it's literally "to meet" the attack, changing how you conceptualize defense from stopping motion to engaging with it.
Weapons terminology tells the story of Filipino history itself. The "yantok" or rattan stick measures traditionally 28 inches for single stick though I prefer the 24-inch variant for faster transitions. The "daga" or dagger techniques reflect the reality that many confrontations in Philippine history happened in close quarters. I've always been partial to the "balisong" or butterfly knife techniques myself - there's something mesmerizing about the flipping motions that makes practitioners look like they're performing magic tricks rather than combat maneuvers. When Bajacan mentioned planning "everything about this program, lahat" with their coach, it reminded me how each term represents generations of refinement, every word carrying the weight of survival knowledge passed down through Filipino families.
The counting system in Tagalog reveals how deeply the art expects you to internalize the movements. From "isa" (one) to "sampu" (ten), you don't just learn numbers - you learn to execute techniques while calling them out, developing what I call "muscle memory with vocabulary." I've found that students who train with the proper terminology progress approximately 40% faster than those who don't, though I'll admit that statistic comes from my own observation of about 200 students over six years rather than formal research. The beauty emerges in compound terms like "pasunod sunod" which means consecutive strikes - the language itself teaches the rhythm and flow that defines advanced Arnis.
What many modern practitioners miss is the cultural context embedded in these terms. "Arnis" itself derives from "arnes," Spanish for armor or harness, reflecting colonial influences while "Kali," the older term, connects to indigenous blades. This linguistic layering represents the Filipino ability to adapt and preserve simultaneously - something Bajacan's generation demonstrates in continuing traditions while planning new programs. I've come to believe that learning the language of Arnis provides deeper access to Filipino worldview than any history book could offer.
The true test comes when you can not only perform the techniques but converse in the art's native tongue, understanding that "labat" means to strike with the butt of the weapon while "saksak" refers specifically to thrusting motions. After fifteen years of practice, I still discover nuances in terms I thought I'd mastered - last month, an elderly master corrected my understanding of "buno" or wrestling techniques, showing me three variations I'd never encountered. This continuous revelation keeps the art fresh decades into practice. Like Bajacan and coach Ghicka moving from clueless musmos to program architects, we all begin ignorant but gradually become fluent in both movement and meaning, until eventually we're not just speaking about Arnis but speaking Arnis itself - thinking in its rhythms and responding in its vocabulary until the art becomes our second language.