Metta Studio

Practice has taught me that returning to the same shape again and again isn’t necessarily about getting better at the shape.

Marichyasana C used to feel very far away from where I am today.

When I first started, I couldn’t bind without help. I would stay stuck in the pose for what felt like forever, wondering:

Why can’t my body just move into this shape?

For a long time, I thought the answer was flexibility.

Eventually, I realised something else was happening.

As I approached the pose, I would brace. Hold tension. Sometimes almost freeze without realising it.

The harder I tried to make the pose happen, the more my body seemed to resist.

Over time, the practice became less about getting my hands to meet, and more about noticing the moment I started fighting with myself.

Could I breathe here?
Could I soften where I didn’t need to grip?
Could I stay with the process without forcing the outcome?

Slowly, the shape changed.

But perhaps what changed first was the way I approached it.

And that is what returning to the same pose continues to teach me.

Every time I come back, it feels a little different. Some days I notice where I am still bracing. Some days there is more space to explore. And some days there isn’t.

Rather than asking my body to repeat what it did yesterday, I’m learning to meet what is here today… to put in the effort, stay curious, and soften the need to force an outcome.

Perhaps this is my practice of Wu Wei 無為, not the absence of effort, but effort without forcing.

During trapeze practice today, I noticed something different in the room… more courage, more confidence.

One student especially stayed with me.

Several months ago, a full backbend felt almost impossible for her. About a month ago, I watched her try and struggle to lift herself up.

Last week, she managed to lift off for the first time. Today, she did it again.

Not a one-off, not luck … just her body remembering what it can now do.

She looked surprised herself.

Then she stayed there for several breaths, steady and comfortable. What once looked like such effort now seemed almost natural.

These are the moments I love witnessing as a teacher.

Not because someone has finally “achieved” a pose, but because something has shifted along the way… a little more strength, familiarity, and trust in herself.

Sometimes progress happens quietly through showing up, practising, and giving the body time.

Then one day, you realise you can do something you once thought you couldn’t.

You don’t need to be flexible before starting yoga.

You don’t need to know the poses, understand the breathing, or arrive feeling completely confident either.

Most people begin with some uncertainty and vulnerability.

The practice is where you slowly learn, not only how to move, but how to listen, adjust and understand your own body.

A teacher is there to guide you, but you don’t have to arrive already knowing what to do.

You only need to begin.

Perhaps the first practice is simply allowing yourself to be new.

Over the past few weeks, I have been thinking a lot about how beginners experience yoga.

Many people are interested to start, but they are also worried.

They wonder if they are too stiff.
They wonder if they will remember what to do.
They wonder if everyone else will already know more than them.

And honestly, I understand why it can feel intimidating.

So I have been thinking about how to create a softer way to begin.

Not a class where you are expected to keep up from the first session.

Not a space where you need to already feel like a “yoga person.”

But a place where we begin together.

We will learn a small part at a time, repeat it, and slowly allow the movements to become more familiar.

In the first week, we will begin with the foundations and Sun Salutations. From there, we will gradually add more, depending on how the group is learning.

There is no rush to remember everything.

The intention is simply to help you begin with more guidance, more time, and less pressure.

So this August, I will be opening:

Learn Your Practice: First Steps
A 4-week beginner series

Thursdays, 6.30 p.m.
Starting 6 August
RM199 for all 4 sessions

This is suitable for complete beginners, or anyone who has wanted to start yoga but has not quite known where to begin.

You do not have to become the kind of person who goes to yoga before you are welcome here.

You can begin exactly as you are.

Message us if this feels like the right place for you to start.

Over the years, I have met many beginners who were genuinely eager to start yoga.

They came for several sessions, tried to learn the movements, and then quietly disappeared for different reasons.

While they were here, I often noticed the same struggles.

They found it difficult to remember.
Showing up even once a week could be hard to sustain.

Many felt more comfortable in a teacher-led class, where they could simply follow along.

I understand why.

When everything is unfamiliar, being asked to remember part of your own practice can feel like one more thing you are not good at yet.

But I have also seen what this way of learning can offer when someone stays with it.

With repetition, the movements become more familiar.

The breath becomes easier to notice.
You begin to understand your own body instead of only following instructions.
You gradually learn to practise without depending on the teacher to lead every movement.

The practice slowly becomes something you know, not something you borrow from the person at the front of the room.

Perhaps beginners do not need to be pushed immediately into practising independently.

Perhaps they need a bridge.

A place where everyone begins together, learns a small part at a time, and is gradually supported to remember and move at their own pace.

Not because everyone must eventually practise alone, but because I would like more people to have enough time and support to discover what becomes possible when the practice begins to feel like their own.

I wonder how many people feel they need to become more flexible, more confident, or know a little about yoga before they are ready to begin.

As though there is a point they need to reach first.

But what if learning is supposed to happen because you begin?

We do not expect someone to play the piano before taking lessons, or speak a new language before joining a class.

Yet with yoga, many quietly tell themselves:

“I’ll start when I’m less stiff.”
“I’ll come when I’m fitter.”
“I’ll try when I feel more confident.”

Over the years, I have realised that many beginners do not need a harder practice.

They need a gentler beginning.

A place where they are given time to become familiar.
Time to repeat.
Time to ask questions.
Time to realise they do not have to keep up with anyone else.

Perhaps beginning is not about proving that you are ready.

Perhaps it is simply allowing yourself to start.

You do not have to become the kind of person who goes to yoga before you are welcome here. You can begin exactly as you are.

“How do we remember all the movements?”

I overheard one of my dad’s tai chi students asking him last night.

“Practice,” he replied.

The student still seemed perplexed, almost as though there must be another answer. A method. A shortcut. A formula that would make everything stay.

I smiled because I often hear something similar from yoga students who are learning to practise independently:

“I can’t remember what comes next.”

Perhaps it is not always that we cannot remember.

Perhaps we expect ourselves to already know after one or two classes, to remember the movements, coordinate the breathing and perform everything correctly.

But learning rarely happens that way.

We practise, forget, receive a reminder and try again.

Slowly, the mind begins to remember. Then the body begins to remember too.

There is no need to master everything before returning.

Returning is how we learn.

Returning is how confidence grows.

Returning is how the practice gradually becomes our own.

The sequence repeats, but the body is still learning.

A student recently shared that repeating the same sequence began to feel boring.

I understood, because I went through that stage too.

In the beginning, repetition can feel as though nothing new is happening. But over time, I have witnessed something different.

Students who came in with areas of stiffness and discomfort gradually began to move with more ease. Their posture became more balanced. Their breathing became slower and steadier. Their bodies began to soften in places that had been holding for a long time.

These changes did not come from constantly learning something new.

They came from returning to familiar movements, again and again.

Repetition gives the body time to understand. It gives us space to notice where we tense, where we rush, how we breathe, and whether we are forcing or allowing.

The sequence may look the same from the outside, but the experience within it is never exactly the same.

Sometimes boredom does not mean the practice has stopped working.

It may mean the changes are becoming quieter, deeper, and less visible.

This morning, I noticed something in my practice.

Practicing the same sequence, day after day, reveals more than whether I’m getting stronger or more flexible.

It shows me where I naturally take my time.

It shows me where I become nervous before I’ve even entered a posture.

It shows me where I unconsciously speed up because I want the discomfort to end as quickly as possible.

Today, I stayed a little longer in the asanas I usually rush through.

Nothing changed externally.

But internally, I heard the familiar conversations… fear, frustration, impatience, the quiet urge to escape before I had fully arrived.

I realised the practice has never been asking me to perfect the posture.

It has been patiently waiting for me to meet these moments with honesty.

The sequence hasn’t changed.

I have.

And perhaps that’s why I continue to return to the mat.

Each practice feels like meeting a quiet teacher.

Not one who tells me what to do, but one who patiently reveals what is already there.

- Grace