Forty years is a long time to do anything, but forty years in Kajukenbo can’t be measured in calendar pages — it’s measured in sweat, bruises, blood, breakthroughs, and the quiet discipline of showing up when no one is watching.
I started training in an era when Kajukenbo was still closer to its roots: raw, improvisational, and unapologetically practical. The floors were harder, headgear didn’t exist, and the expectations were higher. You didn’t come to have fun. You came to be transformed.
Over four decades, I’ve watched this art evolve while never losing the heartbeat that makes it unique. Kajukenbo has always been a living system — adaptive, experimental, and brutal. It doesn’t care about trends. It cares about what works. It cares about protecting your community. It cares about who you become under pressure.
What I’ve learned in forty years isn’t flashy. It’s not the stuff of movie montages. It’s the slow, steady forging of character:
- Discipline isn’t a slogan — it’s the willingness to train when your body is tired and your mind is louder than your spirit.
- Respect isn’t a bow — it’s how you carry yourself when no one is looking.
- Lineage isn’t a certificate — it’s the responsibility to honor those who built this art with their sweat and their scars.
- Protection isn’t a technique — it’s a mindset of mutual responsibility, inside and outside the dojo.
- Perseverance isn’t dramatic — it’s the quiet refusal to quit, year after year, even when progress feels invisible.
Kajukenbo gave me more than skills. It gave me a community. It gave me a standard. It gave me a mindset to move through the world with clarity and purpose.
Forty years later, I’m still learning. Still refining. Still showing up. Because this art doesn’t end. It deepens.
To everyone who has trained beside me — past, present, and future — thank you. You are part of this story. You are part of this lineage. And together, we carry Kajukenbo forward with the same grit, humility, and fire that shaped it from the beginning.
Here’s to the next round. The next lesson. The next generation.
Kajukenbo for life.
Tested in the Arena
1988 – First Competition
My first tournament was more about testing my nerve and instinct rather than polish. Two third place trophies under pressure.
2025 – Recent Tournament
By 2025, competition had become less about proving myself and more about honoring the path. That final tournament felt like closing a circle and handing the fire to the next generation.
“Experience can’t be taught, it is earned through hardwork, time, and critical analysis.”
– Kekoa, Head Instructor of Lua O Nā Koa
