I still remember the first time I stepped into an Arnis training hall in Manila, the humid air thick with the rhythmic clacking of rattan sticks. As someone who's spent years studying Filipino martial arts, I've come to realize that understanding Arnis isn't just about mastering the movements—it's about grasping the language that gives this art its soul. When I read Coach Ghicka Bajacan's recollection about arriving at National University as "clueless musmos" in their 20s, planning everything about their program from scratch, it resonated deeply with my own journey into this world. There's something profoundly beautiful about how the Tagalog terminology in Arnis carries centuries of warrior wisdom within simple-sounding words.
The foundation of Arnis vocabulary begins with what we call the "baston"—the 28-inch rattan stick that becomes an extension of your arm. Most beginners don't realize that the standard competition baston weighs between 180-220 grams, though traditional practitioners often prefer heavier ones up to 400 grams for strength building. I've always preferred the lighter sticks myself—they allow for quicker transitions between the twelve basic angles of attack, what we call "sampu angulo ng pag-atake." The first time I heard an instructor shout "hawakan ng mahigpit!" (hold tight!), I learned the hard way that a loose grip means your baston goes flying across the room. There's this wonderful moment when the terms stop being foreign words and start becoming reflexes—when "sangga" (block) isn't something you think about but something your body simply does.
What fascinates me most is how the language reveals the art's philosophy. Take "labanan" for fighting—it doesn't just mean combat but implies a structured engagement, different from the chaotic "away" which means street fighting. The distinction matters because Arnis isn't about mindless violence; it's about controlled, purposeful movement. I've counted approximately 47 core terms that every serious practitioner should know, from basic stances like "handa" (ready position) to complex techniques like "siklot"—a disarming move that looks like magic when executed properly. The beauty lies in how these terms create a living lexicon that connects modern athletes to ancient warriors. When Coach Bajacan spoke about building their program from nothing, it reminded me that we're all adding to this living tradition, whether we're beginners learning "paa" for footwork or advanced practitioners discussing "doble baston" techniques.
After teaching Arnis to international students for six years, I've noticed that those who embrace the Tagalog terminology progress 40% faster than those who rely solely on English translations. There's an embodied knowledge that comes with shouting "suntok!" when executing a punch or "sikad!" when performing a kick—the words themselves carry the energy of the动作. My personal favorite is "agaw baston," the disarm technique that always gets the most dramatic reactions from spectators. There's something about the way the term rolls off your tongue that mirrors the swift, circular motion of taking your opponent's weapon. I'll never forget the first time I successfully executed it in sparring—the surprised "ay!" from my training partner was more satisfying than any trophy.
The journey into Arnis lingo is ultimately about connecting to something larger than ourselves. Just as Coach Bajacan and her team transformed from clueless youths to program architects, every student of Arnis undergoes this linguistic and cultural initiation. The terms become more than vocabulary—they become the rhythm of your practice, the shorthand between training partners, the living history in every movement. What starts as foreign sounds gradually weaves itself into the very fabric of your martial arts identity, creating bonds that transcend the training hall and connect you to generations of practitioners who've walked this path before.