Jacky's Corner

I was listening to some audio snippets from Carl Jung about authenticity and the way we can slowly lose ourselves while trying to fit into society. It got me thinking. We are born with certain tendencies, personalities and curiosities, but society quickly starts teaching us what is acceptable, admirable and rewarded. Be polite. Be successful. Be agreeable. Be sociable. Get good grades. Get a good job. Get married. Have children. Be this. Don't be that. And because some of these things are genuinely good for us, we learn them. We adapt. We become versions of ourselves that work well in the world. But somewhere along the way, we can forget to ask: Do I actually want this ? Jung spoke about the persona we present to the world, the social mask we develop to function within it. The problem isn't having a mask. We all need different versions of ourselves for different situations. The problem is forgetting that we are wearing one. So how do we find ourselves again? I'm beginni...

  Sometimes I think caring about people comes with a strange little trap: you can start carrying pain that was never yours to carry. A friend of mine has been going through a difficult situation recently, and I have found myself praying for her, thinking about her, wondering what I can do and hoping that somehow I can make things a little easier. But I have also noticed something else. Sometimes I start feeling her pain as though it were happening to me and the mind will just accelerate these feelings in real time. And that reminded me of something that happened years ago.I went to a burial where a child had lost their mother. Everyone was sad, of course. I was grieving the loss too. But when I looked at the child, something shifted in me. I started feeling the grief I imagined that child would feel if they were old enough to fully understand what losing their mother meant. The funny thing was, the child was actually okay. They were playing and moving around, completely unaware of ...

Sometimes you witness something so simple that it stays with you long after it is over. That happened to me over the weekend. I went for a painting session, one of the little extracurricular things I have been doing to keep life interesting and to give myself something to look forward to. There were three ladies there who had clearly come together as friends. What happened over the next three hours was unexpectedly beautiful. They painted. Then they took a break and did a TikTok dance, complete with the kind of laughter that makes you forget anyone else is in the room. After that, they sat down and played Ludo. Somehow, they managed to fit all of this into one afternoon. But what really caught my attention was the effort behind it. Two of them lived quite far from where we were. Yet they had made the effort to come because they wanted to spend time with their friends. One of them even kept saying that she needed to travel quite a distance, but she would leave a little later because she...

This weekend I had one of those moments that only make sense in your own head. I had just gotten my nails done. Ladies, you know the investment I'm talking about. Time. Money. Sitting in one position until your back starts negotiating with your soul. They looked beautiful. Then Saturday happened. I was doing some chores and... chip. One nail. Just one. Nine others were still looking fantastic. Guess which one my brain decided deserved all of my attention? That single chipped nail. Within seconds I had already planned another salon appointment, calculated the money I would have to spend, imagined the hours I'd lose, and quietly mourned the entire manicure. It was almost impressive how quickly my mind escalated the situation. Then another thought interrupted me. "Who exactly is demanding perfect nails?" Silence. No one. Not my family. Not strangers. Not the supermarket cashier. Certainly not my dog. The pressure was coming entirely from me. That realization stayed with ...

Sometimes the best trips are not the ones filled with endless activities or perfectly planned itineraries. Sometimes they are the ones that quietly remind us of who we are when the world finally becomes still. My recent trip to Kalangala was one of those experiences. Of course, there were beautiful views, long walks, fresh air, and the soothing rhythm of the waves. But the greatest gift of the trip wasn't the destination. It was the realization that I didn't need every moment to be extraordinary in order for it to be meaningful. For so long, I have unknowingly tied my happiness to other people's energy, attention, or participation. I assumed that rest would somehow feel incomplete if everyone around me wasn't equally engaged or if every plan didn't unfold exactly as imagined. This trip challenged that thinking. There were quiet moments when nothing much was happening. We sat by the water. We watched the waves roll in and out. We took walks without rushing to the nex...

Last Friday, I attended a work event that was followed by a cocktail session. The event ended around 2:00 p.m. and the cocktail session was meant to start at 4:00pm and was expected to stretch well into the evening. As the minutes passed and nothing much was happening, I found myself thinking about my usual Friday workout from 5:00 to 6:00 p.m. I had a choice to make. I could stay because that was what everyone else was doing, or I could keep the commitment I had already made to myself. I chose the latter. I left, completed my workout, and returned by 6:30 p.m. The cocktail continued until around 8:30 p.m., so I still had plenty of time to enjoy the food, conversations, and networking with my colleagues. What surprised me was their reaction. "Where were you?" they asked. "Did you really go to exercise?" When I admitted that I had, many commented on how disciplined and consistent I was. While some remarks felt like genuine compliments, others made me wonder if ...