november!

Well, once again you won't believe any of this... somehow I’ve managed
to navigate my entire life between imagination and reality. So if you
dare trust me - read on.

I am just back from Malaysia where I was put up at a fancy resort in a
small islamic town 5 degrees north of the equator (the closest I have
been to date). I had been elected, entirely unbenknownst to me, as
Chief Umpire for the Match Racing event - a position, I openly
admitted I had never performed before, and that all my umpiring
experience has been in Teams Racing (3 v. 3) - similar, but still
different than Match Racing (1 v. 1 like America’s Cup). “You’ll be
fine!” Ok...

A good friend of mine here in Sydney, one of the leading members of
the “Pom Cruise” I socialize with, used to live and work in Hong Kong
and became involved in the Asian sailing circuit. She received the
call for duty, but un/fortunately! the event coincided with her first
day of work. Realizing such, she reccommended myself.

Garbed in official regalia - regatta officer uniform, “UMPIRE” dog
tag, and whislte, I was whisked to the press room and asked to sit on
stage, behind my name placard for the Skipper’s Briefing. Little did
I know that I would be hosting televised press briefings morning and
night for the duration of the event. I was one of about 10 women
involved in the entire program, perhaps the youngest, and the only
person from the Americas.

Once racing begain, I fell more comfortably into my position. The on
the water duties of handling the speedboat and reading race manoeuvres
are familiar to me, and relying on my sailing experience brought me
confidence. It also helps being reasonably articulate under
pressure... I received many compliments on my press briefings.
“Really?? I pulled it off?” This young, dred-headed yankee girl, how
does she do it?

I met a lot of excellent characters, like the Malaysian Navy member
who kept trying to practice his Italian with me, the garrulous
Irish/Indian jet-pilot who celebrated herself to the brink of slander,
the women at hotel reception who kept asking to touch my hair, the
city-slick race management team from KL who all wore designer jeans
and rode around on Segways to get from A to B, the always laughing
Singaporean sailor who was queen of the scene, the sun-crusted
sail-maker from Hong-Kong made goofy from too much sail-bumming and
booze and god only knows what else, the young rock-star sailor from
Australia who couldn’t get enough of the girl who loved sailing so
much (I hope I see that one again!), the fiercely competitive and
sportsmen-like Japanese crew, and the easy-going Kiwis that executed
excellent boat-handling and won every race of the event.

Did I mention the cute sailor from Australia? Oh right. Moving on!

After 5 days, and 1000 USD richer, I'm de-planing the 777-200 in
Sydney and my phone rings - it’s England. A few weeks ago I was
presented with a potential employment opportunity in Europe, and since
then we have had a few conversations and e-mails back and forth. “Is
now a good time to talk?” No. I’ve just been on - and am STILL on a
plane - for 8 hours, and I am about to head through Australian
Customs. But in our brief conversation, it sounded like the position
had expanded from “sales assistant” to the “on-the-road” face for the
company. Translation? Travelling around Europe, sailing and
representing the company at all the major events. Twist my arm.

“Can we fly you to England before Christmas?” Well... I’m heading
back to Malaysia on Friday...

So now I am catching a flight from Kuala Lumpur to London, and then
heading back for the Monsoon Cup final in Terangganu, Malaysia before

heading back to Sydney. Jet-set - GO!

And in all the in-betweens I'm running down to the sail loft repairing

spinnakers for Tricky-Nick, and entertaining my American friend and

his acute case of heartbreak.

We talked about the "good stuff": the beauty of transforming it all into

our forever anticipated selves. Patience, acceptance, and not enduring

but celebrating the moment, our ephemerality.

life is a breath and a heartbeat. bombom. bombom. si-no,

si-no. each second you have this choice. and when you take it
that moment becomes everything - it fills your every capacity for
sensation and you immerse yourself in the present, receptive to all that
surrounds you in that precise time and space. the crunching of leaves
underfoot, a more vibrant green, sea-kissed cheeks,
symmetry, sonority, slipping into our sensory selves and
the intensity of our being. and then in the next
breath, and the next beat we face it all anew. but going
forward we have the strength of communion - that which we draw from
the great oneness around and through us.

And chin up! No worries! It's biology - every mid-twenties boy is going

through the same crisis. Take solace in the fact that you are on the right

developmental path! Keep up the good work!

After sending him off towards the airport with words of both soft and tough

love, and before going home to prepare for my return to Malaysia,

interview in England, not to mention face the mounting quotidian

responsibilities, I came accross a few of my brasilieras sunbathing on

the beach. Buttered in lotion, lazy beats playing over pink portable speakers,

clad more in tattoo than bikini. It was the first time in about two weeks I

have had a chance to breathe, relax. “Come on, Lizzi! Let’s go for a swim!

It’s so beautiful! Let’s just enjoy it!”

And we hit the waves.