Jacky's Corner

Love has a sound. It hums quietly in ordinary moments. In laughter shared across a room. In a voice that checks in, not because it must, but because it wants to. And this month, the so called month of love, I find myself sitting with that sound and appreciating it. February may wear the crown of Valentine’s Day, but love is not seasonal. Somewhere in the world, every single day, someone is discovering it, living in it, remembering it, or hoping for it. And that, to me, is beautiful. I’m thinking of the kind of love that happens when the timing is right, the connection is real, and two people choose each other with intention. The love that makes you feel seen, complemented, and quietly accomplished. The kind that doesn’t shrink you, but expands you. And in that expansion, you get to give back, to pour into another person just as deeply. This kind of love often grows into families. Sometimes with children, sometimes without. Both paths are valid. Both are full. Because what truly d...

  This week, my thoughts have lingered on mentorship. Not the polished kind with titles and programs, but the quiet, human kind that shows up before things fall apart. I’ve seen how demanding environments can be. Work becomes intense. People become complex. Energy runs thin. And sometimes, someone is placed in a role without the tools to survive it. Not because they lack effort or intention, but because the signals were missed early. The support came late. Or the focus stayed on qualifications while the deeper skills were never built. We often assume that education alone will fix things. That once someone gains the knowledge, everything else will align. But real life keeps teaching me otherwise. Knowledge matters, yes, but so do soft skills, emotional intelligence, confidence, and the ability to navigate people and pressure. Those things are rarely taught formally, yet they determine whether someone thrives or quietly struggles. What stands out to me now is how powerful early gu...

  This week, my mind has been on a kind of accidental world tour. One moment, I’m watching political debates unfold and finding myself amused by the intensity. People defend their views like heirlooms, even when those views wobble under the slightest pressure. There’s something oddly human about it. The need to be right. The need to belong to an idea. Then, without warning, my attention softens. A single flower pushes through cracked ground, blooming in the middle of climate anxiety and environmental chaos. It feels almost rebellious. Fragile, yet determined. And suddenly I’m emotional over something that doesn’t need words to make its point. My thoughts keep swinging. Empathy gives way to anxiety. Curiosity drifts into prayer. I think about parenthood. The quiet pride when your child does something small but astonishing. The way a simple moment can rearrange your heart. But alongside that joy lives the weight. The sleepless nights. The constant low-grade fear. The sacrifices no...

  They say being busy is a badge of honor. But I’ve discovered that having too much time can be its own special kind of chaos. When I lived far from work, my weeks were a blur of commutes. Time was a scarce resource, meticulously budgeted. But when I moved into town, that scarcity vanished. Suddenly, my weekends stretched out before me, vast and empty. And in that emptiness, my mind would throw a party the worst kind. It would invite all my past regrets: Did they really forgive me? It would parade anxieties about the future: Why don’t I have what they have? I’d get stuck in a loop of comparison and fretting, nursing worries without taking a single step forward. I was busy, but only in my head. It was exhausting. The turning point was a simple but radical decision: to fill the empty hours with my own two hands. I decided Saturdays were for doing , not drifting. I claimed them for myself no work, no chores. Instead, I picked up volunteering sessions. I learned the patie...

  They told us it would happen. But there’s a difference between knowing something and feeling it. When the internet went off this week, my initial reaction wasn’t panic it was a strange, quiet disbelief. I’d tap my screen to look something up, text a friend, or ask an AI a quick question… and nothing. The silence wasn’t just in the air; it was in my hands, in my habits, in my confidence. I realized how deeply I’d woven the internet into my daily fabric. It was my instant map, my research assistant, my sounding board, and my connection to “what’s happening.” Without it, I felt untethered. There were videos I couldn’t watch, updates I couldn’t get, and conversations that simply paused mid-thought. The hardest part wasn’t the lack of a tool; it was the lack of knowing . I had to sit with my own unfiltered thoughts, make decisions without a second opinion, and navigate my day without a digital compass. But in that void, something else emerged: a profound sense of calm. ...

  As election week draws near, I find myself considering the true meaning of leadership. Many of us are taught to equate leadership with authority, power, and the ability to make important decisions. While these qualities are part of what people see, the real foundation of leadership is far more personal and subtle. At its heart, leadership isn’t about being at the top or having influence over others it’s about service. The best leaders are those motivated by a genuine desire to make things better for others, for organizations, and for the community. Rarely does anyone become a leader fully prepared; more often, leadership is born in quiet moments when we least expect it and before we feel ready. Think about your own experiences. Maybe your first leadership role came as a parent, or when you were asked to manage a group, elected as a prefect, or found yourself guiding others through a crisis at work. In these moments, you might not have seen yourself as a leader, but others d...