I awoke and looked out the tiny oval window which I had left open. The sun had just started to rise and the light painted my window with breath-taking streaks of orange and hues of blue. The clouds were spread thickly below like a fluffy white cotton-candy carpet. There was just something about flying that exhilarated me, the thought of being hundreds and thousands of feet above the ground made me shiver with such girlish excitement. It was like pure magic.

I stretched my feet and checked the time on the screen in front of me. Just shy of a few hours before we would land. I was feeling excited and nervous. I had never been so far away from home before.

I just turned 23 and I was ready to take on the world.

Most would consider me to be the luckiest girl in the world. Fresh out of culinary school at 18, I was taken under the wing a three-Michelin-starred pastry chef and he had flown me to France to learn all about the art of French pastry.

I worked with him for two years before I was offered a job in fabulous New York City at the Shangri-La Hotel. I wanted to gain more experience independently, and had missed America so much, that I accepted the offer immediately. I had been with the Shangri-La for nearly three years when they offered me an overseas posting to another Shangri-La hotel in Asia.

Being young, I again jumped at the opportunity to do something new and exotic, something that none of my peers had done before. I was absolutely psyched.

The one thing that happened because of this new venture was that I had to end things with my long-time boyfriend, Ryan. Perhaps you could say that my posting was fortunate for me; it made for the perfect opportunity to initiate a break up.

Call it cruel, but I had never felt quite physically compatible with Ryan. There was always something missing when we made love, an emptiness that hollowed deeper and deeper into me. Nothing he did could fill it up. I never told him about it; I was so afraid to hurt him.