Eskrima Quotes

The young guy peered through the door and didn’t see me. I was huddled against the wall, motionless, crouching at waist level for him. He swiveled when I moved but before he got a chance to react, I brought the eskrima stick up into his groin. I didn’t know him or what he was here for, so I didn’t swing with full force, but it still ruined his day. Just like Mom taught me. He

swiveled when I moved but before he got a chance to react, I brought the eskrima stick up into his groin. I didn’t know him or what he was here for, so I didn’t swing with full force, but it still ruined his day. Just like Mom taught me. He let out a scream and I rose, driving the point of my shoulder into his solar plexus – that’s the place in your stomach where if you get hit, you’d say you got the wind knocked out of you. Wheezing and gasping, it sounded like he was going to get sick on me. Mom says that

shoulder into his solar plexus – that’s the place in your stomach where if you get hit, you’d say you got the wind knocked out of you. Wheezing and gasping, it sounded like he was going to get sick on me. Mom says that happens sometimes, so I moved out of the way as he fell to his knees. An eskrima stick to the back of the head put his lights out. As he fell, I caught a faint whiff of a pleasant scent – sweet yet pungent, cologne of some sort I guessed. It was unlike anything I’d ever smelled before. I liked it. A

Oldie took another swing and I sidestepped, my feet carrying me into the kitchen. I brought the eskrima stick overhand and cracked him on the head as I let out a little giggle. I couldn’t help it, really. Day after day it was study, study, study, practice, practice, maybe watch a little TV, wonder why I’m not as good at fighting as

Oldie took another swing and I sidestepped, my feet carrying me into the kitchen. I brought the eskrima stick overhand and cracked him on the head as I let out a little giggle. I couldn’t help it, really. Day after day it was study, study, study, practice, practice, maybe watch a little TV, wonder why I’m not as good at fighting as Mom, and then one day you wake up and there are two men in the house. And I’m beating them both senseless without giving it my full effort. What does it say about me that I haven’t seen a living human being other than Mom in twelve years and my first instinct is to knock them unconscious? I’d worry more about it, but Mom’s been gone for over a week – coincidence that these guys show up now? Mom comes home every day after work. Set your watch by her: with only an occasional exception, she was home at 5:34. But I haven’t seen her in a week. I thought about leaving, but what if it’s a test? There was an alarm, after all; she could have been monitoring, and then I’d fail the test – and that would be bad. We’ll define “bad” later. After

The young guy peered through the door and didn’t see me. I was huddled against the wall, motionless, crouching at waist level for him. He swiveled when I moved but before he got a chance to react, I brought the eskrima stick up into his groin. I didn’t know him or what he was here for, so I didn’t swing with full force,

me into the kitchen. I brought the eskrima stick overhand and cracked him on the head as I let out a little giggle. I couldn’t help it, really. Day after day it was study, study, study, practice, practice, maybe watch a little TV, wonder why I’m not as good at fighting as Mom, and then one day you wake up and there are two men in the house. And I’m beating them both senseless without giving it my full effort. What does it say about me that I haven’t seen a living human being other than Mom in twelve years and my first instinct is to knock them unconscious? I

Jack had taught him this along with so much else. How to find peace. How to embody stillness. How to punch an eskrima dagger between the fourth and fifth ribs, angling up at the heart.

I once asked Punong Guro Sulite how a warrior was created. This is how he responded: “We teach, encourage, guide, and train a man of great potential and of the right character. After he has realized his fullest potential, we then introduce him to the harsh realities of combat and allow the combative equation itself to become his teacher. As each fight that he wages chisels away everything not of a warrior, anything weak or uncharacteristic of a warrior will be burned away by the scorching hot flame that is combative truth. What survives and is left standing tall and strong after this process is a warrior in every meaning of the word.