So I’ve written for you folks the story of how I found out about my past life and the abilities that came with it. Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I figure it’s time to write about the normal set of memories in my head. The actual modern life I’ve lived, not my ancient samurai life. Hopefully you’ve got an interest in it, it’ll be long. Obviously I’m not going to cover everything, just some of the basics and key points that helped get me through to where I’m at now and the person I’ve become. You know, the good, the bad, and the ugly. First thing to keep in mind: I’m old. So the early parts here happened probably before most of you were born. I graduated high school in 1996. Things were different ... simpler then.

I grew up in Utah. Nothing fancy, I wasn’t the rich kid or even the overly athletic kid at the time. I’d call myself an annoying type of athlete: enough natural athletic ability that I could do pretty much any sport, I just wouldn’t excel at it. Now, I’m 6’3” and about 220 pounds. Not bad for an old guy, huh? Course, when you run a mixed martial arts gym you tend to stay in pretty good shape. Junior high me? 5’10” and about 160 pounds. Decent height but fairly skinny. Definitely lacking the bulk that came later for me, but a build that let me be a pretty decent runner at least and keep in shape easy.

While I wasn’t overly athletic there were a couple things I did well along that realm. I wrestled and ran long distance – at least for what the track competitions for junior high were, the mile and half mile runs. Through junior high and high school I was pretty much your average guy. Good but not great grades, in good shape, ran track, cross country, wrestled, skied, and taught skiing. Played the violin, if not the most motivated of students at it. Oh, and I was also known for having parents as teachers. That’s right, I was the guy who had his dad at the junior high as a teacher and then mom at the high school as a teacher.

One of the traits I kind of liked being known for was as a protector. I was never one to like bullies and didn’t tolerate it. At the time, I thought it was due to the adrenaline of the situation. When I backed down a bully from his victim I seemed stronger than I looked at a glance. Looking back at it I know now what it was of course. My body could override the limits my mind put on it in situations of stress. On the wrestling mat I was limited by what my own assessment of myself told me: my strength was measured by the weights I could lift and things like that. When it was serious and I needed to defend someone else I could tap into some of that extra that I was truly capable of using. Thinking back, at some point my subconscious knew it was there but also knew it couldn’t truly reveal it without me looking like a freak. So small boosts unleashed were doable, just not full strength. After all, someone might ask questions if I picked the bully up and threw him down the hallway like a basketball right?

I’d love to be able to say I was the stud guy when it came to the women. I wasn’t though, so what’s the point? Sure, I dated some; but I was also a realistic and a bit of a romantic. I didn’t want to go for casual, I wanted a girlfriend. At first at least, I was definitely the shy type. I had nothing near a date though until sophomore year ended. Shy and not having a lot of money for dates made a bad combination. My high school summer job helped though. I was working games at the local amusement park. Even shy me had to meet and interact with women and girls that way. I’d even find out that I did alright at it. I was never one to be mistaken for a Romeo type of any kind. However, when it came to dances I could typically find a date or a dance partner.

Senior year wasn’t a bad year. Good enough on the wrestling mat to make the state tournament and have a decent showing, but knocked out in 4^th place. Track and cross country were similar. Made it to the state championships but limited to roughly top 20 or so. Good at each sporting event but not good enough to have colleges beating on my door offering scholarships. Sure, I might have been able to walk on at a college but that would be a lot of work while still figuring out how to pay for it. A hard plan to make work. My school though required us to take the ASVAB test to see how we’d do for military jobs. Evidently I was considered pretty smart for the military. I had recruiters from each branch recruiting me. I’d watched enough movies to have seen some of what each branch was known for with that. Army always seemed to stand out for me. I knew the physical side would be easy: I knew how to workout and could run well. I’d been a protector in school, now I’d be doing it on a larger scale was all.

It was only a month after high school graduation that I shipped out for basic training. My parents supported my decision though I’m sure they hoped I wouldn’t have to serve in a time of war. Desert Storm had been brief, we hadn’t had a long war since Vietnam really so they hoped that trend would continue. Boy, that didn’t go as planned, did it? But in their defense, 9/11 was still some years in the future. I joined the Army as an 11B – infantry, with Airborne school in my contract. All that meant was I was going to learn combat techniques and tactics and then go to school to learn how to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.

As I’d stated earlier, I was 5’10” in junior high and about 160 pounds. I’d grown some in high school, but still ended up topping out at 6’3” and 180 pounds. Still not exactly big, but fairly normal sized. The training seemed to click with me (go figure, being a soldier came natural to someone who was a samurai in a past life.) I worked hard, trained hard, and put my skills to use. I also ended up gaining an additional 20 pounds of muscle over the course of my initial entry training.

I was a newly pinned Private First Class as I got my orders for my first duty station: Japan. At the time I thought it was weird. It was almost like I could hear something clicking into place in my head when I saw the paperwork sending me to Japan.

I got the orders about a month before I would actually ship out to Japan so I used some of my downtime to start learning the language. Granted, this was 1997 by now so there weren’t language apps like there are now. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear this, but I managed to learn a pretty good amount of Japanese over that month of studying the language.

The first few weeks in Japan were mostly spent getting settled in and briefed on what to expect and do/not do while there. I was going to be there for 2 years and the unit I was in was a regular unit that wouldn’t be deploying for that time. I decided since I was in Japan I should try out one of the local dojos. The Sensei there had the reputation of being a good trainer, even if he was notoriously tough on soldiers and had to my knowledge never actually taken on an Army student. Nothing ventured, nothing gained though, right? I thought I had enough Japanese to describe what I wanted: to be taught martial arts and iaido – katana fighting. I’d seen enough samurai movies it couldn’t be that hard, right?

When I started making my case I noticed the Sensei getting an interested look and started studying me intently as I spoke. I could tell that he was sizing me up. I was a good 8 inches taller than he was and if I had to guess I’d say he was at least 60 years old, so well over double my age. The first thing he wanted to see me do sounded simple: put a white belt on and then draw a practice katana from it’s sheath at my waist as if I was facing an opponent. He walked into his office and returned a few moments later with the belt which I wrapped around my waist twice and tied at the center before sliding the sword and scabbard in at my left hip. Getting no instructions from him I angled the blade to what felt natural to me, angled with the handle forward and slightly towards my midsection so the reach across would be smoother. He had also said as if I were already facing an opponent. So I took a few steps back and visualized where the person would be. With one motion I gripped the scabbard with my left hand and pivoted it slightly as I gripped the handle of the sword, with a quick motion I smoothly drew it in such a way that the blade made a slashing motion at the mid line of my advancing would be attacker.

At the time I had thought it was similar to something I’d seen in a martial arts movie. I just couldn’t figure which one it was. The images that came to my head didn’t look like any Japanese actor I could think of; the features weren’t the same. It reminded me of a Kirasawa film, except in my mind’s eye it was in color instead of black and white. Now of course I know different. My new Sensei would go on to explain that he would accept me as a student, teaching both the sword as well as hand to hand martial arts. It wasn’t until I was leaving his dojo after making all of the arrangements for it that I had realized the entire conversation had been in Japanese.

My martial arts training progressed quickly for what time I could give when I wasn’t working. It was within six months that he was having me compete in some of the weapon demonstrations and competitions. I ended up earning several decent quality katana sets as awards for winning different levels of competitions. It was towards the end of my tour in Japan that Sensei would find out he had cancer. Pulling me aside the week before I was to leave for Georgia he let me know he had a gift to give me. What a gift it was, too. A katana that had been used by a samurai he was descended from. I can’t help but chuckle now thinking back when I took the gift from him. He had had no children and told me he was passing it to me as the closest thing to family that he had. Looking back though that old man saw more than he let on. I’m convinced that while his saying I had an old soul could have an innocent meaning, with him it meant more. Somehow he could feel the connection between us, somehow he knew that the sword he was giving me was coming around full circle – back to it’s original owner, just reincarnated.

Getting PCSed back to the states I was finally able to start the training I’d originally wanted and had in my contract: Airborne. I’d done well enough that halfway through Airborne training my instructors were saying I should go to Ranger school. I still remember my mentality at the time. 20 years old, some interesting training, and we weren’t at war. I was invincible, right? What could happen to me going Ranger or even Special Forces? Go ahead and give me the cool training, let’s do this!

Ranger school was harder than Airborne, but even that was still doable. I wasn’t a stand out Ranger candidate, but I did well enough to be in the top quarter of my class and was once again hearing suggestions I should go for more. You want me to train for Special Forces? Sure, why not. Sniper school? Ok, let’s do that too. So I ended up making it through Airborne, Ranger, Special Forces, and sniper school all before I technically got assigned to my second unit.

Once Ranger, SF, and sniper school were complete I got my first SpecOps assignment. The unit I was going to was the 7^th Special Forces Group. One of the things with military SpecOps is it’s an old boy’s network and unofficial hazing was prevalent,, especially back then. It was also a right of passage to gain acceptance in most cases. Coming from Japan there were a couple who heard I had done some training and fighting there, so when it came time to do Army combatives I was matched up with the actual instructor while someone else explained a few things.

I couldn’t say I was all too surprised. My record showed I had won a few combatives tournaments in Japan. With 7th Group specifically and the way elite soldiers worked I had expected a test to see if I was legit. I let him be the aggressor at first, feeling him out and matching him speed for speed. As I felt him start speeding up I did as well. He was good and had some training, but I could feel the holes in Army combatives training. Take down attempts were stuffed, punches and kicks blocked for the most part. Thinking back, I was glad for him I hadn’t allowed myself to tap into my past life experiences. As it was, the first ended in my pulling guard and putting him into an arm bar. The second I went with a cross collar choke, and the third was an anaconda. Needless to say, I passed my test and didn’t get messed with after that.