I remember the first time I stepped into a traditional Arnis training hall in Manila, the air thick with humidity and the rhythmic sounds of rattan sticks clashing. Coach Ghicka's words about their early days at National University resonated with me - "We arrived at NU na mga clousless pa kaming musmos" - that sense of being young and clueless yet filled with passion perfectly captures the journey of many martial arts practitioners. When I began my own Arnis training fifteen years ago, I too felt like those young athletes in their 20s that Bajacan mentioned, completely unaware of the rich linguistic tapestry woven into this centuries-old fighting system.
The terminology of Arnis isn't just vocabulary - it's the living history of Filipino martial culture. Take the basic term "sinawali," which refers to the weaving pattern techniques. The word itself comes from "sawali," the woven bamboo patterns used in traditional Filipino houses, creating this beautiful metaphorical connection between everyday life and combat arts. I've always preferred this term over the more generic "double stick techniques" because it carries that cultural weight. During my training in Cavite province, my instructor would drill us on "sinawali" patterns until our muscles ached, emphasizing that we weren't just learning movements but inheriting a cultural legacy. The rhythmic counting in Tagalog - isa, dalawa, tatlo - becomes almost meditative once you get into the flow of training.
What fascinates me most about Arnis terminology is how it reflects Filipino values and worldview. Terms like "panandata" (weaponry knowledge) and "digmaan" (combat) reveal how deeply martial arts are embedded in the Philippine consciousness. I've collected over 75 specific Arnis terms throughout my research, though I suspect there are hundreds more across different regions. The beauty lies in how these terms vary from province to province - what they call "baston" in Manila might be "olisi" in the Visayas regions. This regional diversity creates such a rich tapestry that I sometimes think we need a proper linguistic mapping project to document all the variations before some of these terms disappear.
The practical application of these terms becomes crucial when you're actually sparring. I'll never forget the first time my instructor shouted "hubad!" during a drill and I froze, not realizing he meant to execute the disarm technique. That moment taught me that knowing the lingo isn't academic - it's essential for safety and effective training. The command "handa" positions your body differently than "get ready" would, because the Tagalog term carries specific cultural postures and mental states. After training in various dojos across Luzon and Visayas, I've come to believe that learning Arnis in English alone is like trying to appreciate adobo without tasting it - you miss the essential flavor.
Looking back at Bajacan's recollection of planning their program from scratch, I recognize that same spirit in how Arnis terminology continues to evolve. New terms emerge as the art adapts to modern contexts while maintaining its traditional roots. From my experience, the most effective way to learn isn't through rote memorization but through contextual practice - much like how those young athletes learned through doing. The language of Arnis lives not in dictionaries but in the sweat-soaked training halls where sticks meet and traditions pass from one generation to the next. It's this living, breathing quality that makes studying Filipino martial arts terminology such a rewarding journey - one that continues to surprise me even after all these years.