J and I sorta have an unspoken plan of action when we travel. When it comes to cities, I'll do a lot of the research, figuring out where to go, and when it comes to a beach spot, he'll do the figuring out. Which fits me perfectly fine, because in the past close-to-1.5-years [yes, we're almost 1.5 years old!] that we've travelled together, out of the seven places we've been to, only one was a city, and it's a city I've been to multiple times. However, this time, in spite of my broken toe, I knew that there was something I had to do. It'll be one of those things we can tell people we did at dinner parties, and they'd tell us how batsh*t crazy we were.

We cliff dived.

We dived from up-to 8 metres into God-knows-how-deep blue waters of the Sulu sea. You could go up to 15 metres, jump and be in air for what seems like an eternity and plunge deep into the water. I was a tad modest, particularly because I didn't want to break my already-broken toe.

Unlike bungee jumping [you're hooked to a bungee rope] or skydiving [you're strapped to a professional], this one, you're at it alone, and I'm not exactly the strongest of swimmers. So you can imagine my paranoia.

Of course, it doesn't help that there are about two dozen signs around that say, "Cliff jumping is at your own risk."

But risk it, we did:

P.S.: Check out my boyfriend's sexy back muscles.

P.P.S: I wore a top so my favourite bikini top wouldn't fly off. It didn't.