Learning Arnis and Boxing: Lessons I Learned as a Beginner

I was never the athletic type.

In my 34 years of existence, I had never truly embraced physical activity. I wasn’t drawn to sports or outdoor adventures, and if I’m honest, I never really saw myself in that world. It always felt like a realm reserved for extroverts—people bursting with energy, confidence, and a camaraderie I couldn’t quite understand. As someone introverted by nature, I believed I simply belonged elsewhere.

Sure, I made attempts in the past. I joined a few school groups. I even tried Taekwondo during high school and dabbled in badminton in college. But no matter how hard I tried, I never felt like I belonged. It wasn’t the activity itself that pushed me away—it was the overwhelming sense that I wasn’t enough, or that I wasn’t the right kind of person for that space.

I now realize that it wasn’t about being bad at sports. It was about not yet finding the right reason, the right rhythm, or the right place to begin.

A Chance Encounter, A New Beginning

Then came October 2024. I was walking through Al Rigga—just an ordinary day—when I stumbled upon two kabayan (a term we use for fellow Filipinos living abroad). They were practicing Arnis, a Filipino martial art that uses sticks as weapons. Something about it immediately drew me in—the elegance, the discipline, the raw cultural pride embedded in every movement.

Living far from home, you begin to treasure your roots more deeply. Seeing Arnis felt like a piece of the Philippines brought to life in the middle of the city. So I asked them if they were accepting beginners, half-expecting a polite no. But they said yes.

That small “yes” opened a new door.
I bought my first pair of Arnis sticks and a set of clothes for training. Just like that, I stepped into a world I never thought would welcome me.

Conquering Myself

I’ll be honest—the first day was hard. The sticks felt awkward in my hands, my stances were shaky, and my movements uncertain. Arnis demands more than coordination; it requires focus, awareness, and humility. Learning the 13 manners of Arnis—its foundational strikes and stances—was like learning a new language, one my body wasn’t fluent in.

I felt weak. But I also felt something new: a quiet voice inside whispering, Don’t give up just yet.

That’s the day I realized that the greatest battle wasn’t with the sticks, or with the form—it was with myself. My habits, my self-doubt, my comfort zone. Getting up early on weekends, sacrificing sleep, showing up even when I didn’t feel like it—those were my first real wins. Because before we can conquer anything in the world, we must first learn to face ourselves.

Facing the World

Once I’d learned to show up, the next challenge was showing up in front of others. Practicing alongside people more experienced than me brought new insecurities to the surface. I couldn’t help but compare myself, questioning whether I belonged in the group.

But over time, something shifted. I realized that strength comes in many forms—not just physical. Strength is also the courage to start, the humility to learn, and the heart to keep going despite fear.

The truth is, everyone is figuring things out. Each person has their own battles. And when I looked more closely, I began to admire not just their skill—but their patience, their kindness, their willingness to support someone like me. That’s when I saw: the real strength of a martial artist isn’t in overpowering others, but in empowering them.

Learning Discipline, Gaining Respect

Arnis taught me more than self-defense. It taught me self-respect. It taught me that discipline isn’t about punishment—it’s about making a promise to yourself and keeping it. It’s about pushing through discomfort and showing up with integrity.

Through Arnis, I’ve grown—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I’ve come to understand that greatness isn’t found in competition, but in community. That strength isn’t about being the best in the room, but about lifting others when they feel like they don’t belong.

I’ve never been made to feel weak by the people I train with. That’s what makes this journey so meaningful. They’ve taught me that real strength isn’t loud or flashy—it’s gentle, consistent, and inclusive.

This Is My Journey

I may not be the fastest. I may not be the strongest. But I am here. I’ve shown up. I’ve started.

And that alone is worth celebrating.

To anyone who has ever felt like they didn’t belong in a certain space—this is your reminder that belonging isn’t about fitting into someone else’s mold. It’s about discovering your own rhythm, your own reason, your own way to show up in the world.

And when you find that spark—hold on to it. Because sometimes, one small moment—a walk through the city, a curious question, a kind invitation—can change your life in the most beautiful ways.