Jacky's Corner

  Today, I want to talk about family. It’s funny, isn’t it? When they’re around, you treat them like they’ll always be there a comfortable, quiet certainty. Then, when they’re not, you miss them terribly. And when they return, you settle right back into that familiar rhythm. I’ve been lucky. My family doesn’t have the most money in the world, but they are rich in love. They’ve been my shelter in dire times, and I know that’s a blessing not everyone has, which makes me hold it closer. But I’ll be honest. For so long, I saw my parents more like permanent furniture in the house of my life always there, ready with wisdom, and, yes, often taken for granted. I knew they were a gift, but I didn’t always feel it. That changed for me recently, on a perfectly ordinary day. My mom had just gone out to the shop. I was sitting alone, not doing anything special, when a wave of feeling hit me so hard it almost took my breath away. It was pure, overwhelming gratitude for her. Not b...

For weeks, my phone had been quietly rebelling. A spiderweb of cracks on the screen. Random glitches. And the audio messages that would only play if Bluetooth was on a weird, stubborn quirk. None of it was a disaster. Just a slow drip of small frustrations. Enough to make me think, “Okay, maybe it’s time.” And my first thought was the same one we’ve all had: “Maybe I should upgrade.” A newer model. Shinier. More impressive. My mind started browsing the virtual shelves. But the more I fantasized about a flawless new device, the more a quiet resistance grew inside me. It wasn’t about not wanting a better phone. It was about the feeling behind the urge. It felt like pressure. Expectation. Comparison. That little whisper in my ear saying, “Get something nicer… something people will admire.” And that’s when it hit me. This wasn’t a tech decision. It was a life lesson. This year, I’ve been deep in exploring what it means to live a fulfilled life. Books like The Psychology of Money and...

  We love a good comeback story. The hero who battled addiction, escaped bankruptcy, or overcame abuse holds a special place in our hearts. Their hard-won wisdom feels undeniable. We see their scars as credentials, making them relatable and their advice authentic. They’ve been in the pit, so they know the way out. But here’s the uncomfortable question: Why do we often dismiss the person who simply avoided the pit altogether? We fall into a "Validation Trap," believing that true wisdom must be earned through personal suffering. We unconsciously think, "Unless you’ve been through it, what can you truly teach me?" This devalues our most powerful human gift: the ability to learn from others' experiences. For every hero who emerges from a crisis, countless others don't. Their stories are silent tragedies. To insist that the only valid lesson is one learned through personal pain is not only inefficient it’s dangerous. It means we have to touch the fir...

  This weekend, I had a conversation with my mum that stayed with me. She said, “It’s easy to do good for someone who does good for you.” And she’s right. When someone is kind, thoughtful, and appreciative, it’s natural to want to do more for them to think of them when you travel, to buy them something they’d like, to go the extra mile. But when someone is difficult, ungrateful, or self-absorbed, that’s where kindness truly becomes work. She was talking about a caregiver looking after a patient with a long-term illness. Despite all the effort therapy, special meals, daily care the patient rarely showed appreciation. And yet, the family kept showing up. That’s the part that struck me: how hard it is to keep being good to someone who doesn’t seem to notice or care. It made me think of the story of  Jesus looking for the one the lost sheep the reminder that love isn’t about convenience or reciprocation. It’s easy to be kind to those who are kind; it’s holy work to be kind to t...

  I had a moment this week that stopped me in my tracks. It was a powerful lesson in how easily our perceptions can be shaped, even when we’re convinced we’re immune. It started with two different perspectives on the same social media influencer. The first portrayal was glowing: she was authentic, not trying to sell anything, and that genuineness was why people loved her. My initial impression was set. She was “good.” Then, months later, a second perspective emerged. This one questioned why someone of immense wealth would use a platform largely populated by people striving to make ends meet. Instead of using her resources for profound good, she was flaunting a lifestyle unattainable to most of her audience. The argument hit home. Was this display of wealth, in this context, a little cruel? Suddenly, my view of her was tangled in doubt. I realized I had been passively led, twice. First, I was influenced to see her as purely virtuous. Then, I was influenced to see her a...