Street Fighting; Rioting for ... Jesus?

Philip woke me up at 8:30AM. I got dressed in my workout clothes for the 1st time since I've been here. We showed up at Mojo Gym and I met my Street Fighting teacher. These were the 1st 3 things he said to me:

1) His name's Jobby (not sure how it's spelled)
2) "Please take off your shoes."
3) "This is not a sport."

Sweet. There was only 1 other student named Aaron. Aaron had problems with his stance, balance and keeping his hands up. I overheard Jobby telling Aaron he should try harder because he began before me and yet I was doing better. But to Aaron's credit, he was lighter on his feet than I was.

We drilled 4 different variations - boxing jab-cross, kung fu jab-cross, palm jab-cross, and hammerfists. The burn out was Jobby holding up pads for us to strike continuously. Any gap between the strikes we throw was met with strikes from him. I went 1st. I got tired. I wanted to give up as I was taking too many hits that I couldn't even see. But I knew he wouldn't stop. I caught a 2nd wind until time limit was over. Aaron did ok. This advanced student named Mike showed up, began his drills ... and accidentally kicked Jobby in the penis!

MIKE: Ay! Sorry, ha!
RYAN: (laughing out loud)
JOBBY: (trying to laugh it off) Effective, right?
RYAN: Right!

Then it was Mike's turn for the burn out. He actually gave up, first crying, "Mercy!" until finally collapsing on the floor and declaring something that sounded, "Defeat!" Mike told me he was a boxer, but when he saw the Street Fighting training, he converted.

Jobby's motto that he wants to instill in us: It's not finished until it's finished.

Jobby then wanted to spar in Escrima (stick fighting) when he found out that I'm an Escrimador. He took out 2 sticks from his bag ... but no pads/safety gear! Luckily, the family needed me a.s.a.p. so I had to postpone that stick fighting session. We agreed to schedule some private classes since the Street Fighting class is only held on Saturdays, but I'm going back to the States this Friday. I found out Jobby's day job is that he's a doctor. Impressive.

I got home and hit the showers and hurried. Today was the big day (according to my parents). It was the fiesta with the Jesus Nazareno, a.k.a. the Black Nazarene - a monument of Jesus carved out of black wood from Spain. We went to Philip's coworker's place in this ghetto area. On the way there, we saw where my dad grew up on 2nd Street when he was in high school (though the building was no longer there), before our current ancestral home was built. We also saw his old high school, San Beda College, which was later also attended by Philip, and Auntie Zelda's old high school across the street from it.

I ate the most out of everyone again. We stayed in this 4-story house that had absolutely no furniture whatsoever except for 2 tables, a few chairs, and a kareoke machine on the top floor. There were parades of long carousels of religious icons carried by people. Everyone who was a part of the procession was required to be barefoot as part of their sacrifice in exchange for their prayers to be heard. When the Black Nazarene arrived, the street went apeshit. It was basically a stampede where luckily no one was hurt. People were crowd-surfing - I shit you not - just to touch it! I repeat, crowd-surfing! Everyone was taking turns grabbing a long, thick rope attached to the Jesus, believing it had healing powers. It was the coolest thing I've ever seen in terms of religion. Then we ate dinner and I ate the most out of everyone again.

Auntie Aida came to visit with someone who's supposed to be my distant cousin named Glen. Again, I swear I don't have an actual family tree anymore. It's like they make these people up as they go along. Apparently, my mommy has been helping to fund Glen's nursing education. If he passes and becomes a nurse, he'll be moving to the States and living with us. And we just found out that the Black Nazarene only now reached the church, making it officially a day-long procession since it started in the morning. Holy Fuck.