As an only child with a typical Chinese mom for a mother with a low tolerance for risk, sees certainty in the remotest chance of harm, a powerfully anxious imagination and an iron-clad preference for safety, security and predictability, I knew the answer to asking permission to skydive. The answer would be unhesitating, clear and direct: No.

I knew it also because I received such an answer for lesser risk activities like bungee jumping. When I mulled out loud about bungee jumping in my 20, she responded in her customary way.

‘What if the rope breaks? Or the platform collapses? I read about an incident about that happening in the news. You can get hurt or die, you know. People die all time from these things!’

‘But mom, if that were the case why are there bungee jumping companies operating all around the world? If the people died from it all the time, they wouldn’t be able to run a business. And of course, they would make sure to ensure our safety.’

‘Yah, they can make it safe. But accidents happen,’ she would respond and that would end the exchange.

It is difficult to argue against speculation. The only argument against speculation is evidence that disproves it.

Although I could understand her sentiment and respected her judgment, my thinking about it was (and remains) that if it’s our time to go, it’s our time to go; no amount of safety, security, money and health will save us. C’est la viê, a Malaysian would say in a pathetic attempt to sound sophisticated, which I concede to.

I bungee jumped in my 20s in Bali and survived. La vie est belle! It was safe. The operator had been running for years. The rope didn’t snap. The platform didn’t collapse. I didn’t injure myself. My closest brush with danger was having my t-shirt obscure my head whilst exposing my sizable flabby belly as I bounced up and down on the bungee rope. It was not a sight to behold. Despite that bit of embarassment, it was a thrill, which whetted my appetite for greater heights. When I returned home, I announced with a flourish that I bungee jumped and survived, so there!

Jumping out of a plane, however, was a much different proposition. So I bade my time. As the only child, I made sure I had children and two of them before I took the plunge. I didn’t want my parents to be left without any descendants if it ended in death. Why two? For back up and to increase the chances of my family’s survival. My second child, Ari, arrived in 2008. I signed up to skydive six months later on a weekend in March 2009 when my friend Hong Lynn organised it for a few of us.

Since we opted for a static line jump we had to go for a briefing before we jumped. A static line jump is where we don’t have to pull a cord to open the parachute. It is done automatically for us. A several hundred meter rope attached on one end to the plane and the other end to our parachute pack would pull the cord for us and open up the parachute five seconds after we jumped. Our briefing was on a Saturday in Selangor, after which we would drive down and jump the next day at a site in Segamat, Johor.

I did not disclose any of this to my mother or my then wife, as they shared the same risk assessment about such activities. To avoid worrying them, I said I was attending a human right’s workshop that weekend. I knew, however, that I would be found out by Sunday because I had to get out of bed by 4am to pick up my friends and drive down to the jumpsite at Segamat. My wife would certainly notice. I decided to take it one day at the time and deal with it when got to it. Who knows? I I may change my mind after the briefing…

Our instructor was Azlan of the Hawk Sports Skydiving Club. He is incredibly experienced and knowledgeable, and patient. The first thing he said to us was: ‘Skydiving is safe. Your parachute will open 99.9% of the time. If it doesn’t for the 0.1%, there is a backup parachute, which I will explain how to use. So, don’t worry. You are not going to die.’ He said it with such confidence that I felt immediately assured. We were educated about the parachute, the backup parachute, what to do, the jump master’s responsibility, and our responsibility. After that we spent the afternoon practising climbing out on to the plane’s wing and pushing ourselves off in a field near his house. Azlan was clear and thorough. He made sure we firmly grasped all he taught us.

On Sunday, I woke up at 4am and ever so carefully slid off the bed as inconspiciously as possible. Just as I got the last part of my body off the bed, I heard a voice.

‘Hey! Where do you think you are going?’

‘Didn’t I mention I have a human rights workshop to attend?’ I knew how lame that sounded.

‘What human rights workshop is there at four in the morning? Don’t bullshit me! Where are you going?!’ She raised her voice.

‘Okay. Okay. But you cannot stop me or tell mom.’

‘What?! No. You tell me first and then I will decide whether to tell her.’

‘Okay, fine, fine. I’m going to skydive and …’

’What?! What if you die?! I’m going to tell mom now!’

‘Oi! Wait. Wait. Look. It’s bloody early now. Let’s not bother mom about these things now. I am asking you as your husband, don’t tell mom. I will tell her after I get back. I will deal with it.’

‘If you get back.’

‘Of course, I am going to be backlah! Skydiving is safe!’

‘You ah. Why you have to do these silly things?’

‘I’ve been wanting to do it for some time now and the opportunity is here. Don’t worry, okay? It’ll be alright. We had a six hour briefing yesterday about this. The trainer is good. It’ll be alright. People do this all the time.’

‘Teruk lah you. Now only you tell me.’

‘Yalah. I know you will gang up with mom and come up with all kinds of scenarios.’

She sighed. ‘What time do you expect to be back?’

‘After dropping those with me, about eight’ish.’

‘Fine. But if you are not back by then, I am going to tell mom.’

‘That’s fair. I really gotta go now. I’ll see you later, babe.’

I gave her a kiss and hit the road. On the drive down to Segamat, I entertained second thoughts about the skydive. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to skydive. I felt my mom and wife’s fears chipping away at my earlier resolve. What if my parachute didn’t open? What if the backup parachute didn’t open? What if I got tangled up with the parachute? What if I didn’t land properly and broke my legs? How upset would my parents be if I died? On and on my mind went that by the time I arrived at the Segamat jumpsite, I decided I would let the others go first, watch them, then decide if I still wanted to go through with it.

However, as soon as I stepped into the jumpsite, I saw a petite lady land from her dive. When I saw that, my earlier resolve returned. But it was more like, If that little girl had the balls to do it, hell if I am going to back out!

My turn came about an hour after I arrived. There were four of us on the small propeller plane which went up to four thousand feet: me, another, the jumpmaster, and the pilot. There was little conversation on the way up. I was recounting each step of the sequence and focused on what I had to do to cover up my anxiousness. Did I mention I hvae a fear of heights? Finally, the moment arrived. The jumpmaster, a retired Malaysian commando who had logged more than one thousand five hundred jumps and didn’t speak much, tapped my shoulder. He motioned with his head for me to climb out on the wing.

I felt my arms legs go weak. Climbing on to a plane’s wing in training, on the ground, is easy. Climbing on to a plane’s wing for the first time at four thousand feet is nervous wracking. I felt my resolve rapidly fade. I felt the fear fill and paralyse my body. I stared at the wing with the sound of the wind and propeller in my ears.. It looked so damned far away all of a sudden.

I don’t know how long it was but I felt a tap on my shoulder again.

‘We don’t have much time. Get on the wing,’ I heard the jumpmaster bark.. That was the second thing he said to me. I am glad he said it. The firmness of his tone felt like an order and got my limbs moving. The first thing he said to me was, ‘Look at me when you are on the wing. When I tap my nose, throw yourself off. Don’t hesitate.’

I suddenly I found myself in position on the wing. I was holding on to it for dear life with my jumpsuit flapping about me and the wind rushing past my ear whilst looking at the squatted jumpmaster to my left. The moment he tapped his nose, I did as he instructed. We did not simply release ourselves from the wing. We had to push ourselves off to ensure a safer dive.

I tumbled through the air while counting out aloud (I was shouting, actually), one-one thousand, two-one thousand, until I reached five, just like Azlan taught me. He said the parachute would open up when I reached five-one thousand. He was right. After five seconds of disorienation and utter fear, I was jerked into a firm hold and entered a stable, gradual descent. The parachute opened as it should. I now had a stunning vista of the surrounding area below me.

That was the highest I have ever been up to that point.

There is a peace and calm at those heights that cannot be found on the ground or underwater. The earth looks like a multicoloured patched quilt. I saw a golf course surround the little brown strip of land, which was the jumpsite. I didn’t see anybody. The world seemed empty of human life but full of blue, white, sunshine and beauty. The world seemed incapable of evil, ugliness and disinterst. I felt a lightness in my soul and connected to everything around me. For a moment, I felt like I was the only person on earth.

I piloted the parachute to circle around the golf course as I descended and positioned myself to land at the jumpsite. I was pleasantly surprised to find piloting the parachute easy. For the landing, we have to keep your legs slightly bent to brace for impact and immediately start running once we hit the ground. I was pleased that I landed flawlessly for my first time and emerged from my first skydive unscathed.

I was more confindent on my second jump. But it probably resulted in a less fortunate landing on my second jump. I landed on my ass. Hard. Even those fifty feet away heard me land. They said they heard a cracking sound and asked if I was alright. I felt generally alright save for a sharp pain that swung by every once in a while just under the small of my back. I only did two jumps and called it a day. After everyone had finished their jumps, we headed back. My drive back grew more uncomfortable as time wenton. The pain at the back would come without any discernible pattern or rhythm, which worried me.

I arrived at the house at close to nine at night to find my parents hanging about the dinner table. My wife wasn’t around.

‘So late ah your human rights seminar?’ my mom asked.

I had a whole slew of conflicting feelings going on. I was pleased at her question. It meant my wife had not ratted me out to my mom about the skydive. But now I felt bad about deceiving my mom. But I also felt pleased that I could tell about the skydive.

‘Ah, about that, mom. I have to confess, I did not go for a human right seminar this weekend.’

‘What?! What do you mean?’

‘Yesterday, I went for a briefing on how to skydive and today I skydived. It was down in Segamat with some friends.’

‘What?!! You could have died!’

‘Ah, but I didn’t!’

My father chuckled and remarked, ‘So you were exercising your human right to skydive lah.’

‘See, dad, understands! I didn’t tell you because I knew you would get all anxious and cannot stop worrying about it. So it’s better that you not know first but after. And look, I am not dead. Skydiving is not as dangerous as you think it is, mom. Just because something is daunting doesn’t mean it’s dangerous.’

She sighed. ‘Okay. I am not going to argue with you about this. I am just glad you are safe. It’s probably a good thing you didn’t tell me. I’d be worried all day.’

‘I know, mom.’

‘So, any more of such human rights seminars?’ asked my father.

‘I don’t think so. It’s something I wanted to experience before I got too old. But it’s not for me. As much as I enjoyed it, I prefer to have the ground beneath my feet.’

I later went to have the pain in my back looked at. It turned out I broke my tail bone on the second land. I had to sit on a hideous orange air cushion for three months to allow for it to re-attach.

Ah well, on a rien sans rien!