I remember walking into my first Arnis class feeling completely lost—the rhythmic clacking of rattan sticks echoed through the gym, seasoned practitioners moved with fluid precision, and Tagalog terms flew around like secret codes. Much like Bajacan’s reflection on starting their program at NU, many of us begin our journey into Filipino Martial Arts (FMA) as clueless newcomers, regardless of age or background. Bajacan’s story resonates deeply; she mentioned how she and Coach Ghicka arrived in their 20s, meticulously planning every detail of their training program from scratch. That phase of discovery, of piecing things together step by step, mirrors what every Arnis student goes through when grappling with its unique vocabulary.
Learning the lingo isn’t just about memorizing words—it’s about unlocking the soul of the art. Take “sina,” for instance. In Bajacan’s quote, she says, “Nu’ng kami nina coach Ghicka,” where “nina” signifies “with” or “together with” a group. In Arnis, small words like this often surface when describing collaborative drills or partner-based techniques. Then there’s “musmos,” which translates to “young” or “inexperienced.” I’ve always loved how this term captures the humility required in training; whether you’re 15 or 50, starting FMA makes you a “musmos” again—eager, slightly overwhelmed, but ready to grow. Another gem is “clueless,” which Bajacan uses to describe their initial state. In the dojo, we jokingly call this the “clueless phase,” where your mind struggles to keep up with the rapid-fire commands: “Handa!” (ready), “Suntok!” (punch), or “Lihis!” (evade). It’s chaotic, sure, but it’s also where the magic happens.
Over the years, I’ve noticed that around 70% of beginners drop out within the first three months, often because they underestimate the language barrier. But those who push through find that terms like “sabay” (simultaneous) or “lahat” (everything) become second nature. “Sabay,” for example, is crucial in synchronized striking drills, while “lahat” echoes Bajacan’s emphasis on holistic planning—every move, every term, every breath matters. Personally, I’m a stickler for proper pronunciation. Mispronouncing “panuntukan” (empty-hand combat) as “panun-tu-kan” instead of “pa-nun-tu-kan” can lead to misunderstandings during sparring. I’ve seen it happen—a slight miscommunication once left my partner with a harmless but memorable bruise! That’s why I always drill my students on phrases like “Balanse!” (balance) and “Bilis!” (speed) until they roll off the tongue effortlessly.
What’s fascinating is how these terms bridge generations. Bajacan and her coach, both in their 20s at the time, used Tagalog to build a program that’s now taught to kids and adults alike. It’s a living lexicon. For instance, “nu’ng” (short for “noong,” meaning “when”) pops up in storytelling, much like how veterans share tales of old techniques. And let’s not forget the practical side—knowing “suntok” or “sikad” (kick) isn’t just for class; it’s for real-life self-defense. I’ve lost count of how many times yelling “Tigil!” (stop) in drills has reflexively helped me in tense situations outside the gym.
In the end, embracing Arnis lingo is like learning the grammar of movement. It transforms random strikes into a dialogue, much like how Bajacan and her coach turned their cluelessness into a well-structured program. So if you’re starting out, don’t just focus on the physical techniques. Dive into the words—they’re your map through the rich, dynamic world of Filipino Martial Arts. Trust me, once “sabay” and “lahat” click, you’ll feel less like a “musmos” and more like a true practitioner, ready to pass on the legacy.