So You Want To Be A Stewardess

Be careful what you play for

One of the hardest things I found about flying was maintaining a relationship. Not that I tried very hard. Back then, I had no patience for commitment.

Some young women come into this job wanting the dreamy romance of falling in love with a handsome pilot or marrying a suave (read: rich) passenger.

I went in with much baser instincts. I had no interest in getting married, or even in romance, really. No. My real desire was freedom. I was greedy for it and this job was the perfect feed.

Flying is freedom on steroids -- total freedom with zero responsibility. Your work is solely onboard, so the moment you land, you leave all your work behind and go do whatever the fuck you want. Seriously. I got sucked into the whirlwind of playing hard, across different cities with different people. It was super addictive.

On one of my 8-day flight patterns from Singapore to Taipei, then LA and back, I knew it was going to be a ball right from the pre-flight briefing.

As I waited in the briefing room, my fellow crew strolled in. One of the stewards sat down next to me. We exchanged a look and immediately, we recognised we were the same breed. We became instant sisters (he was gay).

Then we set about recruiting more members for our family. That first night in Taipei, a short overnight stay, we organised drinks and got in two other crew who were keen to party, another steward and stewardess. Our family was complete.

In LA, we went to Disneyland in the day, the four of us walking shoulder to shoulder, our arms linked, with not a care in the world. At night, we stayed up drinking, talking about everything and nothing. The other steward became my instant boyfriend for the rest of the flight. We fed each other pancakes at IHOP, and he painted my toenails for the return leg.

When we flew into Taipei again, this time with a longer layover, we went wild club-hopping. That final night was hazy with loud music, strangers and always, alcohol.

The four of us were inseparable during those 8 days. At the end of the flight, we touched down back at base, in Singapore, on a boring weekday. Our little family decided to go clubbing together again that night. We went to Zouk, drank a mountain of champagne, then spontaneously disbanded. I never saw them again. This was how we played. 

Like all things addictive, there were repercussions. That same night at Zouk, I met someone else, and went on to date him briefly. Unfortunately for him, he was a decent, committed guy, whereas I was deep into the cycle of casual intimacy, so I broke his heart. It blew up in my face. 

This was not a one-time occurrence either. Playing hard became hard work, but it would be a long time before I learned to be careful with hearts -- other people's hearts, and also, my own.