The world isn’t a playground—it’s a battlefield. Every move you make, every choice you take, determines whether you survive, thrive, or fall victim to someone else’s game.
I don’t argue. Arguments are distractions. If I sense violence is a possibility, I get quiet. Silence isn’t submission—it’s calculation.
I always check exit points. I never sit with my back to the door. I don’t get wasted in public spaces.
The first time I left America to live somewhere else was the first time I walked without a weapon. It felt unnatural.
I avoid spots where the ratio of men to women is off and alcohol is flowing. That’s a recipe for chaos. I stay away from the dregs, the environments where violence simmers under the surface.
The only crowds I tolerate? Amusement parks, beaches, concerts—places where people come for an experience, not for a problem.
Flip-flops? Only at the pool or the beach. Anything else? That’s moving sloppy. (My protocol in the States)
I size everyone up. Always. Weaknesses, tendencies, tells—I make note before they even know I exist.
Lessons from the Fight
At 19, I had a friend with decent hands. One night, I met him at a bar. He was mouthing off to a girl. Another dude—short, stocky, built like a brawler—told him to chill. He wasn’t loud, just firm. That told me all I needed to know: this guy is a problem.
My friend didn’t listen. It escalated. “Let’s step outside.”
I was asked to put his gold chain—$15K worth—in the car. The walk took 30 seconds. By the time I got back, he was mounted, getting tee’d off on. His so-called “friends” just stood there watching.
I pulled the guy off him. Didn’t swing on him—wasn’t my fight. He got his fair one. The dude was a gentleman savage. Let me pull him off, no extra aggression. That was that.
A few days later, I go to 7-11. The cashier asks, “What happened to your boy?” I say, “What do you mean?”
“Dude got black eyes and bruises.”
Oh.
Lesson?
- Treat everyone with respect until disrespected.
- Know where you are.
- Know the people you’re with.
- Know the energy of the space you’re in.
Rules of Engagement
Avoid low-level environments. If it’s too cheap, too grimy, or full of desperate people, trouble is inevitable. Never wear flip-flops outside of the beach or pool. You can’t move like a warrior in sandals. Lace your sneakers. Wear boots if necessary. Be prepared to move—fast. Never sag your pants. Never wear them so tight you can’t run or throw a kick. Function over fashion. Never sit with your back to the door. Always know the exits. The first rule of survival is control over your surroundings. Stay sober in public. Losing control means losing options. Options are power. If you must go into hostile areas, make sure someone in your party is armed. Never stand around watching a street fight. If it’s not professional, it’s unpredictable. Mobs turn quick. Avoid rallies, marches, or sales events where crowds swarm. Focus on making more money, not fighting over a discount TV.
- Never associate with loudmouth, emotionally weak men. They start wars they can’t finish.
- Never associate with combative women too entrenched in masculinity to listen. Chaos follows them.
The Mall Incident: Strength in Numbers
At 15, I got a call. My boy was having problems at the mall. I told him I’d be there after work. When I arrived, he had words with one guy. Just one. But instead of handling it, he dragged it out.
Thirty minutes later, ten cars pulled up. Packed.
Now I’m hurdling bushes, running through the parking lot, looking for an exit. The mall was closed. Thank God a service door was open.
I ran through the empty halls, called my ride. He said, “Meet me by Macy’s.” I got to the lot and dipped.
The next week, I showed up with real friends. No nonsense. No talking. Just action. We surrounded his kiosk, his little cell phone stand. I told him, “I know where you work. I can touch you anytime.”
His face said it all. He knew.
Lesson?
- If you move sloppy, it will catch up to you.
- If you escalate, be ready for the consequences.
The Bar Incident: Reading the Room
I was in a group of 14 at a town bar when I was 22. A former friend of mine had just gotten out of the police academy. I hadn’t seen my friends in a while. I was doing karaoke with some older gals when I look in the crowd and see my so-called friend choking someone out.
He was the only one in the group I actually trusted if things went down. The others? Associates. They quietly left during the incident. Now it’s just me and my drunk friend against 15 locals. I’m yelling at him to leave. There’s no way we could win this, but he’s hard-headed, still talking smack. I’m keeping people off him, but they’re brave in numbers. I dipped, called the cops, and said my friend was an officer about to get jumped. I prayed I didn’t get touched that night because if I did, I’d come back with real ones. And it wouldn’t end well.
The Karaoke Bar: Alcohol and Ratio of Men
I was about 27 or so. On a second date with a delicious lady. We went to a karaoke bar. Got a private room. Pitchers of beers and tequila for three hours. When I arrived, the ratio was good. Upon leaving to pay, that had shifted—three girls, 20+ guys. I tell my date, we gotta get outta here.
I go to pay the tab. When I come back, this dude has her pinned at the bar. Arms on the bar, her back against it—cornered. All she had to do was move, but she froze. She was from the West Coast, new to NYC.
I step up. “I’m with this girl.”
He asks, “Is she your girlfriend?”
I think, here we go.
I crack a joke: “Do you even lift?”
BAM! Sucker punch. Then another—BAM!
Now I’m sober. I fall back. He tries to jump on me and end me. As I’m falling, I see the next punch coming, deflect it, and put my legs around his neck. At the time, I was wearing a push dagger around my neck. I’m thinking—it’s Friday. If I get arrested, I won’t be out until Monday.
I dig my thumbs deep into his eyes while squeezing his neck with my legs. I’m on the floor, alone. I don’t know who he’s with. The bouncers break it up, and we spill outside. His eyes are tearing, watering. He rubs them and asks, “Are you in the military?”
Hand on my dagger, I say, “Get the fuck away from me.”
I dipped. Had to boogie. Not sticking around.
The Code of Survival
- Move like you’re alone, even in a group. You can’t rely on everyone.
- Trust only those who have proven themselves—through action, not words.
- If violence is inevitable, close the space unless the opponent is much larger and you’re unequipped.
- Never argue when things might turn violent. Arguments are luxuries for the safe.
- End threats fast. There’s no such thing as fair. There’s only survival.
- Train for worst-case scenarios.
- The best body is one that performs, not just looks good.
- If you pull a weapon, you’ve already decided to use it. Anything less is foolish.
Never operate from an idealistic fantasy. The world is what it is. Adapt.
Final Thought: Move Smart or Pay the Price
The world doesn’t play fair. It doesn’t care about your feelings, your morals, or your excuses. Move sloppy, and you’ll get caught slipping. Move smart, and you’ll stay two steps ahead.
Pain is inevitable. But whether it makes you sharper or weaker? That’s a choice.
What’s yours?
