Be a Slut. Belong Everywhere.

Stop Asking One Person, One Place, or One Community to Give You Everything

I’m tired of being the good girl.
The one who’s loyal long after the love is gone.
Loyal to places that no longer feel like home.
Loyal to people who have already become memories.
Loyal to versions of myself I’ve already outgrown.
I once lived in a little spiritual community in southern Thailand where every day felt like magic.

Until it didn’t. Not because the place changed. Because I did.

But instead of accepting that, I spent years trying to find another place that could make me feel the same way again.

Another tribe.
Another community.
Another home.

The search was endless.

My life has moved on my heart hasn’t.

Even the beautiful rays of the sun and the Mediterranean air could not calm the ache inside me.

I scrolled through my phone as if there was an answer there, checking messages from several social groups I was in. It only emphasized the fact that I didn’t belong to anything.

Feeling sorry for myself, really.

Trying to get out of that despair, I turned on the AI music I had created to cheer myself up.

I can do all things.

I feel it in my bones.

A steady light inside me

That I can call my own

It worked wonders.

Something snapped in my mind.

“Stop.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. don’t you forget what a year in the tantric community taught you.”

My mind drifted into a juicy memory of all the men I was with. The men who had taught me what love without procession and belonging was in my own.

Hermit was meditation in human form. He could sit still from morning until night, day after day. Being around him was like stepping into a silent lake. My mind, usually running in a thousand directions, would slow down in his presence.

What amazed me most was how connected he was. He could feel me from a distance. He shared my joy, my love, even the bliss I experienced with another man entirely. Not as an idea. Not as a concept. He was happy because I was happy.

Then there was Atman. People called him greedy because he loved so many women.

But I saw something deeper. He just loved. I never met a woman he did not find beautiful.

Women others overlooked. Women who felt unwanted. Women who felt broken.

He loved them all.
Being with him challenged me.
His freedom challenged me.
His love challenged me.
His spirit whispered behind my ear:

“Go love more men. Enjoy. I’ll be happy for you.”

Then there was Ardy. A pure beauty- handsome in every inch, like a living piece of art. Just looking at him felt like a blessing. he was a love making machine. He could go on and on, almost nothing could stop him.

He was thrilling to be with, even though I knew he would never commit. I didn’t need that from him. His gift was beauty. And beauty itself was enough.

And Forrest, I could lie next to him half-naked, my leg on his, completely comfortable.

He listened to every story I told, really listened. The kind of listening that makes you feel seen, and important. He would caress my hair, sometimes touch my breast gently. We never went further but his love penetrated me deeply, emotionally.

And perhaps that was the lesson.

Hermit gave me peace.
Atman gave me freedom.
Ardy gave me beauty.
Forrest gave me presence.

None of them gave me everything.
None of them were perfect.
All of them annoyed me at times.
But I didn’t need them to change.
I didn’t need them to become something else.
I only needed to receive what they genuinely had to offer.

I loved them for who they were, faults included.

It wasn’t always easy.
It was challenging.
But the reward?
Phenomenal.

Freedom.

“And wasn’t that an amazing year?” my inner voice asked.

I nodded to myself. The voice continued.

“You are a tantric woman at heart.”

I heard it clearly from within, even though part of me doubted if I still was. But the voice didn’t let me linger in confusion.

“Now it is time to integrate it outside the tantric community. Outside the form.”

As I was about to argue, it continued.

“It’s hard, darling. I know. But you know how.”

With that, I searched the internet for what I love most.

Writing.

There we go. A writing group. Every Thursday at ten. I looked at the time.

Ten past ten. I washed quickly and rushed there.

By half past ten, I arrived. They were there. Men and women. Mostly British people. As always, I was the different one in the room.

The only Asian woman. Perhaps the youngest too. But despite the differences, I was thrilled. I had found a place where there was at least one thing we all shared.

A passion for stories. A determination to put them down into words.

And then I realized something.
Perhaps what I had lost was never a community.
Perhaps what I had lost was trust in my ability to belong.
And perhaps what I found was not the writing group at all.
Perhaps I found the lost tantric woman in me.

Not in places.
Not in people.
Not in a community.
Inside myself.