The day I jumped out of a plane. Willingly.

Yup, I did it.

I took the plunge.

Or should I say, the jump.

In Paihia, Bay of Islands, North Island, New Zealand.

I paid good money in to fly up 12,000 feet in a little Cessna, strapped to a big, hairy ang moh and free fall to the ground. Well, a parachute showed up sometime in between. 

(For those of you who still have no idea, I went tandem skydiving.)

And good thing I did it while still young (mostly) with my heart beating strong. Otherwise, I think my heart really would have popped out of my mouth.

The whole build-up of anticipation started with my jump being postponed by almost 2 hours due to weather conditions.

So we’re in the middle of the peak of New Zealand’s summer, everyday was hot and sunny. But on the one morning that I planned to skydive, the damn clouds decided that they wanted to blanket the sky and threatened to loosen their tear ducts on me.

For 2 hours, I stood with the skydiving team in the middle of the Keri-Keri airfield, shivering against this unusually strong wind, and waiting for a “hole” to open up in the otherwise overcast sky.

The “hole” is skydiving jargon for a clear spot with no cloud cover. It wouldn’t be fun trying to fly a little plane through cloudy conditions and then attempt a dive where you can’t see a thing.

I chose to do my dive with the company Ballistic Blondes (love that name! The owner is blonde. And pretty ballistic. Hence Ballistic Blondes. Get it?? Although there's only 1 blonde. So I don't know where the plural comes in.) because they were the only ones that were licensed to land on the beach. And mind you, Paihia’s beach is a very narrow strip, so it would take a lot of skill and an impeccable safety record for the aviation authority to allow them to do this.

Skill they definitely had. Paul, my American tandem diver, had more than 5,000 jumps under his belt. And the 5 skydivers on the team had more than 40,000 jumps amongst them. And as Paul added on the drive to the airfield, “It might comfort you to know that I’ve never killed anyone on my jumps before!”

Comforting indeed.

However, that morning, it seemed that we would have to land in the rural fields instead because the winds were too strong.

When we finally got onto the plane (me and 6 big ang moh men squashed into the little Cessna that had duct tape lining the joints. I told myself if was for decoration.) and flew up into the sky, our pilot, AJ, confirmed that the wind speed was going at 240 knots.

Paul shook his head and delivered the news to me while we were 6,000 feet in the air. At this speed, we could be blown more than a mile off track and could land in one of the hotels along the beach instead of on the beach proper.

He’d rather keep my bones unbroken. Good call.

So we were going to land in the middle of Haruru Falls instead. (Which isn’t really a waterfall of any sort, just a lot of grass. And cows. No sheep though. Just cows.)

There was another chap on our flight, who, like me, was about to attempt his first free fall. Kevin, that was his name, a Canadian.

He got to go first.

I watched him and his tandem diver, Dean, get strapped up in the tiny little duct-taped plane as we approached the fateful 12,000 feet (while the rest of us were still squashed in the corner of that same plane).

Then the door of the plane opened, and the swift rush of the wind outside engulfed our tiny airspace.

I watched in wide-eyed horror as Kevin stepped out onto the little ledge with Dean right behind him. Then suddenly, with a WHOOSH!! They flew off to the side and were out of sight!

At this point, all my gung-ho-ness just went right out of the window. I think I could have peed in my pants (well, for the record, I didn’t).

I was up next.

I’m not sure I felt very much at that point. I heard Paul’s voice behind me as he strapped us together, “Remember, arch like a banana and put your knees together, feet up on my butt.”

I repeated that to myself in my head, not wanting to mess up my virgin dive. Arch like a banana, feet up on his butt. Arch like a banana, feet up on his butt.

I didn’t want to be remembered as the Singaporean chick that couldn’t arch like a banana.  

Next thing I knew, I was struggling against the strong pressure of the wind at the door, trying valiantly to put my feet out on the ledge.

I don’t know if I actually jumped or if Paul pushed me off the plane. But next thing I knew, we were plunging at 200 km/hour, through the clouds and rushing down towards Mother Earth.

All the instructions about arching like a banana went straight out of my head as I first felt this fleeting panic attack that I was going to die, followed by an incredible rush of excitement after I realised I wasn’t going to die, and then allowed myself to be mesmerised by the panoramic views of the Bay of Islands and feel the air pressure pounding against my falling body.

I wanted to scream with excitement so that my cameraman, Dave, could capture some great scenes for me to show my progeny in the years to come. I attempted to open my mouth but the dryness of the rushing air made me think twice and I shut myself up as quickly.

I don’t know how Dave managed to do it. He had jumped out of the plane before me so that he could capture the shots from the 2 cameras he had on his helmeted-head. I literally saw him swim in mid-air, while falling at the speed of gravity, towards Paul and myself, so that I could wave into the camera. All in mid-air. Like suspended above the clouds. I kid you not.

If that’s not skill, then I don’t know what is.

It seemed like a long time (it was probably not more than 30 seconds) before we finally hit the atmosphere when the parachute came up and we started gliding down slowly.

Paul asked if my contact lenses were still inside my eye. (He had earlier told me that if my contact lenses stayed in my eyes I could push my goggles up my head to get a better view once we started gliding; but if my contact lenses popped out, then at least I wouldn’t lose it inside the goggle!)

One leg of my jeans had come up half my calf during the free fall and I tried to use my other foot to push it down. I was thinking about the photos that Dave would capture as I was descending. Who wants to look unglam with one pant leg up and the other down?

Fidgeting wasn’t such a great idea. I think I almost destabilised our parachute. Paul was like, “Umm you might want to stop moving. So that we can get down safely.”

Oops.

Since I couldn’t get at my jeans, I started pointing at various things at the ground below and asking Paul questions. After some silence, he said, “Hang on, I’m trying to concentrate on getting us down safely at the correct spot.”

Oops again.

Now I’ll be known as the Singaporean chick who fidgeted and talked too much. Well, at least I did pretty well with my banana arch. I think.

When we landed, I was pretty woozy. My head was in the air (literally!) and I couldn’t walk in a straight line. And Dave was trying to catch a final shot of me while I looked like a drunken maniac babbling away.

One of my guy friends told me I had balls to do this and he had newfound respect for me.

I like that. (I mean the respect, not the balls.)