21. Chapter 6
Curiosity: Deepening Self-Connection with Unfamiliar Modalities
*This book was set the be published by the publisher of my first book, but after years of struggle and many other reasons, I decided to release it on Substack instead. Each week, the 52,000 word book which was tentatively titled “Be A Force” will be dropped here online. The sections will start with number 1 and then progress over the 52 weeks of the next year. The Chapter title will be placed in the post description for clarity.
The teacher for the feminine womb-healing workshop I’d signed up for was late.
My friend, another student, and I had raced across Singapore in crushing morning peak-hour traffic. I remembered the Eventbrite page insisting we arrive sharply at 9AM — latecomers would be locked out. That warning had been looping in my mind the whole taxi ride. I hate being late. I feel it’s disrespectful. By the time we got there, anxiety was fizzing through my body. This was a new course for me, something far more “woo-woo” than I was used to, but I was struggling with my fertility at the time and had reached the point where I was willing to try anything that might help.
Just as I was internally justifying why I was even doing this, the teacher’s taxi screeched to a stop in front of us. I actually stepped back, afraid my foot might get run over. She climbed out looking utterly frazzled, wearing an almost translucent white cotton maxi dress and gold sandals. She was not present, that was for sure. We’d been waiting outside in the heat, which in the Asian tradition of hospitality felt almost rude, and she didn’t even apologise for being late.
“Stay open, Simone. Stay open,” I whispered to myself, trying to soften the agitation rising in my chest.
We filed into the narrow staircase of the renovated conservation building. The entrance smelled faintly of incense and yoga mat rubber. Inside, everything was decorated in soft neutrals — beige cushions, linen throws, a large brass gong placed ceremonially in the centre of the room. The lacquered wooden floors were immaculate, gleaming with that particular Singaporean cleanliness.
I excused myself to go to the toilet to calm down. It felt ironic to need grounding before a class built around meditation and deep embodiment, but I knew enough about how the nervous system reacts when we try something unfamiliar. So I let myself breathe. In the bathroom, neat displays of essential oils lined the counter — arranged by the colours of the chakras, of course — as if promising instant enlightenment for $29.90 a bottle.
When I returned, we sat cross-legged with firm, narrow cushions propping our hips forward. Our teacher perched on a small elevated ledge and began explaining the concept of the class. As she spoke, I noticed the hem of her maxi dress had become trapped under her crossed feet. Without breaking her flow, she tugged it loose — and in the process flicked the skirt far too high, flashing all of us her completely naked vagina. In Singapore. One of the most conservative countries.
My brain short-circuited. Did I just see that? Was… was this part of the class? Had I misunderstood the level of vulnerability expected today? Had I made a mistake wearing underwear? A shocked laugh tried to claw its way up my throat, but I forced it down because I genuinely did not know what the protocol was here. For the next thirty minutes, I hovered between disbelief and suppressed giggles. I missed half the content because I was too busy trying to wrangle my monkey mind back into the room. Every time I managed to centre myself, the image would replay again in my mind. I felt childish, immature as a high schooler after dealing with the heaviness of the egg freezing process.
