Well, I hated them for about 23 years, 7 months, and 8 days. But then I spent the night on a Māori Marae and everything changed.

The Māori are the indigenous people of New Zealand. A few days ago, we were welcomed onto the grounds of one of their community centers. We underwent a true welcoming ceremony, whereby women proceed onto the grounds first, surrounded by men as protection. The group then pauses to allow their ancestors to greet Māori ancestors, and continues on to exchange songs.

We sang a verse or two of “Brown Eyed Girl,” which probably sounded more like a group of lambs lost in a haunted house, but I think our efforts were appreciated nonetheless.

Once welcomed onto a Marae, you’re expected to treat it as your own home. You can help yourself to food and drinks, and you just as well may be handed a paintbrush or shovel to do some work around the house.

Our host, Shaun, was such a cool guy. He’s a tattoo artist, though not your average one. Each of his designs tells a story of the person for whom it’s designed.

Each one is meant to answer the question “Who are you?” And that’s exactly what Shaun asks each of his clients as soon as they sit down beside him. It’s not that his clients are meant to be able to answer the question in one sentence. It’s even totally acceptable to say “I don’t know yet” -  this unsureness can say something about who that person is, that he or she is still searching and learning.

Shaun’s designs are absolutely gorgeous and incredibly intricate.

Each tiny shape represents a different person, thing, or idea, and they’re beautifully and strategically placed as pieces that make up a larger shape, which also holds meaning. Shaun stayed up until 2 in the morning designing for us!

What I like most is that, because each is created specifically for a particular person, each design is unique and meaningful.  When I was first exposed to one of his creations, I was literally amazed – cue my newfound appreciation for tribal tattoos. Well, for true tribals. I still hate the other kind.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s the most overused cliche phrase on the face of this planet. And don’t worry, I won’t do it again. Instead I’ll just let you all know that I am in no way boycotting the airline industry. Oh no fellas, I intentionally jumped out of that plane. And yes kids, it was a thrill.

I’ve been asked a lot to describe the feeling that comes over you as you jump from that plane. Well, there’s only one way to put it. Your heart is pumping. Adrenaline moves to your brain. Your feet go over the ledge. You jump and think in your mind: “Oh my god, I just jumped out of a plane!”

Moving at 120 miles per hour to the ground, you are absolutely enthralled by the energy thrill. Oh, I love it! There’s really nothing that can replace this thrill – except for perhaps going on a roller coaster? Wow, I am really speechless after having done this fantastic feat. I recommend it for anyone who is in it to win it.

Oh, and my goggles. Yeah. I’ll have to complain to Janet Jackson’s wardrobe designer. Costume malfunction. What can you do? It, in no way, should affect your perspective of me as a ‘pre-professional skydiver’. Haha, who am I kidding? I probably didn’t lace them up right. But that’s all apart of the adventure guys! Kia ora!