Jacky's Corner

  A friend recently told me about a colleague who had resigned after landing a better opportunity. It was good news, the kind you genuinely celebrate. Yet as the excitement settled, something else quietly entered the room. Sadness. Not because the colleague didn't deserve the opportunity, but because everyone immediately began thinking about what their departure meant for them. Who would take over the workload? Would the replacement be as capable? What would happen to the team dynamic? The colleague was leaving, but everyone else's minds had already shifted to the gap being left behind. As she spoke, I smiled because I had lived the very same story from the other side. A while ago, I left an organization after finding a new role. My friend and I had built a wonderful routine. We shared lunch breaks, exchanged stories, laughed about work, and made each other's days lighter. When I told her I was leaving, she was genuinely happy for me. We had both hoped for that opportunity ...

For years, I thought I was frustrated because people responded slowly. I answered emails quickly, reviewed documents immediately, and replied to requests as soon as I could. So when others took days to get back to me, every delayed response felt like a small stone in my shoe. At first, I thought the issue was fairness. Why should I be quick and considerate when others were not? But with time, I discovered the real issue was not fairness at all. It was unfinished business. I am someone who loves closing loops. An unanswered email sits in my mind like an open tab on a computer screen. A pending task takes up space until it is completed. Responding quickly gives me relief because it clears one more item from my mental desk. That realization changed everything. I stopped seeing my responsiveness as a weakness. It is one of my strengths. I move work forward. I help others. I create clarity. I clear my own mind. There is something beautiful about being dependable, and I am learning t...

Recently, I noticed something about myself that I cannot seem to unsee. Someone asks a simple question."Do we have a repository for these documents?" The answer is straightforward: "No." Yet somehow, I feel compelled to continue. "No, we do not have one because the documents are many. We have not scanned them all. We do not have a reliable scanning process. Usually, people keep their own copies..." By the time I am finished, I have provided a miniature documentary on the subject.The interesting part is that nobody asked for all of that.As I reflected on it, I realised that I am often answering questions that have not yet been asked. My mind jumps ahead, anticipating what the other person might think, what they might ask next, or what they will need to explain to someone else. Instead of answering the question, I begin answering the future conversation. At first, I wondered whether this meant I was a poor communicator. If I have to explain the same poin...

  This weekend, I made doughnuts. That sentence sounds simple enough, but anyone who has ever stood in a kitchen with flour on their hands and uncertainty in their mind knows that recipes are rarely just recipes. They are little experiments. Tiny negotiations between confidence and doubt. I had flour, milk, baking powder, oil, a little vanilla essence, and some cinnamon. What I did not have was certainty. Would they rise? Would they be soft? Would they be raw in the middle? Would they end up as another kitchen lesson disguised as a snack? What happened instead surprised me.The secret was not a fancy ingredient. It was patience. For years, I thought kneading was simply a step to get through. This time, I learned that gentle kneading and resting are where the magic happens. The dough changed under my hands. It became smoother, softer, and more cooperative. Then came another lesson: resist the urge to keep adding flour. Sometimes softness requires trust. When the doughnuts finally hit...

A few days ago during a workout session, I found myself thinking less about my own performance and more about someone else’s struggle. There is a lady in our workout group who tries very hard. She shows up consistently, pushes herself, and genuinely wants to improve. But the pace of the workouts is often too intense for her current fitness level. Many times, she spends a large portion of the session resting and trying to recover while the rest of us continue. For a while, I observed quietly. I kept wondering whether there was a better way to structure the sessions so that everyone, regardless of fitness level, could participate more fully. Eventually, I decided to respectfully raise the issue with the coach. I suggested having different pace options during the workout: a normal pace, a moderate pace, and a slower pace. Not to reduce the challenge for stronger participants, but to create room for everyone to feel included. The coach explained that they usually slow things down t...

This one has a lovely reflective-social-observation flavor to it. I leaned into the quiet self-celebration without making it sound boastful 🌿 There is something strangely powerful about learning to say “no” without anger and “yes” without pressure. This weekend, I found myself thinking about how often people struggle to ask directly for what they want. Instead, they wrap requests in charm, excessive friendliness, jokes, or emotional performance, as though simple honesty is not enough on its own. It made me realize how uncomfortable those interactions can quietly become. A small situation brought this to my attention. Someone needed a favor urgently, but instead of simply asking for help directly, the request arrived hidden inside layers of charisma and social maneuvering. There were compliments, unnecessary touching, exaggerated warmth, and an expectation that the performance itself would somehow guarantee the answer. What surprised me most was not even the request itself, but m...