Carl Jung once said, “Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” In these words lies a profound truth about human consciousness and self-realization.
We live in a world that constantly encourages outward striving — to chase goals, admiration, possessions, and recognition. This outward gaze fuels our dreams, hopes, and fantasies. While dreaming is beautiful, it can often keep us trapped in illusions if we forget to look within. Dreams birthed solely from external influences may never truly satisfy our soul because they are shaped by what the world wants from us, not what we deeply desire.
To truly awaken, we must look inward. Our hearts hold our deepest truths, wounds, values, and purpose. Only by facing ourselves—our fears, insecurities, passions, and longings—can we gain clarity on what truly matters. Inner exploration leads to authenticity. It anchors us. It strips away the noise and distractions of the external world and brings us home to ourselves.
Looking within isn’t always easy. It requires courage to face what we often avoid. But through this inward journey, we don’t just find clarity—we find peace. We begin to live with intention, integrity, and a sense of purpose that no external dream could ever offer.
When you awaken from within, the outer world starts to reflect your inner truth. Your visions no longer come from a place of longing but from deep alignment. You stop chasing and begin creating.
The Human Touch: Beyond Theories and Techniques
In a world increasingly driven by information, logic, and specialization, we are taught to master the rules, to know the theories, and to perfect the techniques. In the realms of psychology, counselling, medicine, education, and even leadership, expertise is praised—and rightly so. But amid all the tools we acquire and the knowledge we accumulate, there lies a profound truth: When you touch a human soul, be just another human soul.
This quote serves as a deep reminder that no matter how skilled or intelligent we become, what truly connects us as human beings is our shared vulnerability, our common emotional landscape, and our ability to feel with one another. Compassion and empathy are not techniques—they are human qualities that cannot be faked or substituted.
Too often, in the pursuit of success or problem-solving, we reduce others to projects or cases. We may unconsciously fall into the trap of diagnosing, labeling, or fixing, forgetting that each person we encounter is not a puzzle to be solved, but a soul to be seen, heard, and understood. A child acting out in school, a partner withdrawing in a relationship, and a colleague shutting down during conflict—all are often silently yearning for connection, not correction.
Empathy invites us to step out of our own world and enter the emotional world of another. It means we put aside our judgments, our assumptions, and our ego, and simply be present. It’s about sitting with someone in their moment of despair without trying to change it, allowing them to feel safe enough to be real, raw, and honest. This is not a weakness. It’s a profound strength.
Compassion, on the other hand, goes a step further. It sees the pain and wants to ease it—not from a place of superiority, but from shared humanity. Compassion does not look down or pity; it stands beside. It reminds us that suffering, struggle, joy, and hope are threads woven through all of us. No one is immune, and no one is less deserving of dignity and kindness.
In relationships—be it with a friend, a partner, a child, a client, or even a stranger—it is not our intelligence or eloquence that heals; it is our presence. People rarely remember the exact words we say, but they always remember how we made them feel. Were they safe with us? Seen? Validated? That is the mark of true connection.
So, yes, by all means, pursue knowledge. Learn the theories. Master the techniques. But remember that the heart of any real relationship is not in what you do, but in how you be. When you sit across from another human soul, strip away the armour of expertise and meet them with your own soul—with honesty, humility, and an open heart.
Because at the end of the day, we are not machines solving problems. We are humans seeking understanding, healing, and love. And the most transformative moments in life often come not from being fixed, but from being deeply felt and authentically held.
Every Relationship Is a Mirror: Learning Who You Are Through Love
Romantic relationships are more than just companionship. They are living laboratories where we discover, sometimes painfully, sometimes joyfully, who we are and what we want in life.
When you fall for someone, you aren’t just meeting them; you’re meeting yourself in a new context. You see how you respond to intimacy, how you handle conflict, and where your boundaries lie.
The Gift of Toxic Relationships
Not all relationships are meant to last. Some exist to show you what not to tolerate.
A toxic connection might reveal:
You abandon your needs to keep the peace.
You tolerate disrespect because you fear being alone.
You ignore red flags in the name of love.
It’s tempting to write these experiences off as wasted time, but they’re often crash courses in self-respect. Once you see the patterns, you can break them.
The Power of Loving Relationships
Healthy love feels different — not perfect, but safe.
A loving relationship will teach you:
Your needs are valid and deserve to be met.
Mutual respect and trust aren’t negotiable extras; they’re the foundation.
Love is not about losing yourself but becoming more of yourself.
When someone loves you well, it sets a new standard. It becomes clear what’s worth fighting for — and what’s not.
The Bottom Line: Whether it’s heartbreak or harmony, each relationship is a teacher. Some hand you caution signs, others hand you roadmaps. Together, they shape a clearer vision of who you are and what you will and won’t allow in your life.
You don’t need to thank every ex, but you can thank yourself for listening to the lessons. That’s how you move forward with more clarity, confidence, and self-respect than you had before.
Goodbye, Johor – My Chapter of Becoming
Nine years ago, I came to Johor for my daughters’ education, never knowing that this place would become both a sanctuary and a battlefield for my own evolution.
What began as a brief chapter turned into a transformative journey. Then came the lockdowns, the world paused during lockdowns, and so did I—only to find myself again. COVID confined me, but so did heartbreak, betrayal, and a deep, aching isolation.
In 2022, I chose to rise. I pursued my master’s, not just in academics, but in life, in resilience, in soul-work.
Nusajaya, Johor became my wilderness, My Valley of Tears, a school of hard knocks that stripped me raw down to the soul level.
There were moments when I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. Moments where everything familiar had to be unlearned. But it was also here that I learned to breathe again, rebuild from within, and stand stronger.
But in the breaking, I learned.
In the solitude, I healed.
I unlearned so much of who I thought I was,
and slowly relearned who I was meant to become.
This land held my pain, my prayers, my breakdowns, and my breakthroughs. It witnessed the woman I was and the one I fought to become.
Now, I leave not with bitterness but with gratitude.
For every storm that shaped me.
For every quiet night that healed me.
For every scar that turned into wisdom.
As I prepare to write my solo chapter, I carry the echoes of Johor within me, not as chains but as wings.
Goodbye, Johor.
Thank you for the fire.
Thank you for the ashes.
And thank you, most of all, for the rebirth.
Thank you for all the friends met here who are my lifetime soul family.
A Mother’s Unseen Truth
There are parts of my story I’ve never spoken aloud about, not because I was hiding but because I was trying to survive. I carried love, pain, and silence all at once. And somewhere along the way, I lost the space to express my truth.
My children say their childhood was painful. They speak of trauma, emotional wounds, of moments where they felt alone and not understood in a house that was supposed to feel like home. Hearing this shatters me in ways words can not explain because I never wanted to be the reason for their darkness.
I tried to protect them. I asked that our arguments be kept away from their eyes and ears. I tried to be the stable one, the present one. I stayed, day in and day out, when their father was often away. I chose to be a full-time mother, not because I had no ambition but because I wanted to be the one walking beside them through every emotional storm.
But in that choice, I somehow became the villain.
While I set rules and boundaries, while I held the weight of their growing pains and emotions, the other parent became the favourite, the one who came home with gifts, not expectations. The one who said yes while I said no. The one who stood apart from the chaos while I was drowning in it.
And now, they look at me and sometimes see only the frustration. The tired voice. The broken parts. They don’t see the woman who stayed up all night worrying. The one who wrote letters in the dark just to be heard. The one who forgot her own needs to meet theirs. The one who tried to protect them from what she couldn’t even process in herself.
There are moments I replay the moments where I was misunderstood, spoken to with sharpness, made to feel invisible in the presence of my own children. And I wonder if, without knowing it, they’ve carried the distrust they witnessed growing up and placed it on me.
All I ever wanted was to be seen. It’s not as perfect. Not even as right. Just as someone who gave everything she had. Someone who stayed.
My emotions are real. My love was constant. While I will always carry the weight of my mistakes, I hope they can someday see the full picture, not just the fragments shaped by pain.
Because underneath it all, there was always love. There still is.
Sometimes, the strongest love goes unnoticed, not because it is absent but because it is constant. When a mother carries both the fire and the weight of the home, she may be seen as the storm when, in truth, she is the shelter. Healing begins when we dare to speak our truth, not to be right, but to be real. And maybe, just maybe, to finally be seen.
Let Go of the Judgment of Others When You’re Looking at Yourself
One of the greatest acts of self-liberation is learning to see yourself without the lens of others’ judgments. We often carry the voices of society, family, friends, and even strangers into the mirror with us. Their opinions, criticisms, or expectations subtly shape how we perceive our worth. Over time, this external noise becomes internalized, turning into self-doubt, shame, or a distorted self-image.
But here’s the truth: people see you through the filter of their own experiences, insecurities, and conditioning. Their judgments say more about them than they do about you. When you view yourself through their lens, you are surrendering your truth to their narrative. And in doing so, you abandon who you truly are.
Looking at yourself clearly requires courage. It means setting down the burden of needing approval and asking: What do I truly feel about myself? What do I value? Who am I becoming? Self-awareness blossoms when you give yourself permission to be imperfect, to grow, to fall, and to rise—without needing to meet someone else’s version of “enough.”
Judgment from others is often rooted in fear—fear of difference, fear of change, or fear of being wrong. When you internalize that fear, you shrink. But when you let it go, you expand. You begin to see yourself not as broken or lacking but as a work in progress—worthy of kindness, acceptance, and grace.
Letting go of others’ judgments doesn’t mean you stop listening to feedback or reflections. It means you no longer give them the authority to define your identity or dictate your worth.
The real transformation happens when you look into the mirror and see yourself with compassion—not comparison. Only then can you truly meet yourself, not through the eyes of the world, but through the clarity of your own awakened heart.
Memories
As I begin the process of moving out, a quiet storm of memories gently stirs within me. Each item I pack, each drawer I open, brings forth fragments of moments once lived — laughter echoing in the corners of rooms, silent tears shed behind closed doors, the scent of familiar comfort. This isn’t just a physical transition — it’s an emotional unboxing of the story that made me who I am.
I’ve always believed that memories are treasures, delicate yet powerful. I collect them like love letters from time — folding them with care, tying them up in ribbons of emotion, and placing them gently in the archive of my heart. These moments — both the joyous and the painful — are not to be forgotten. They are the ink with which my life has been written.
Moving doesn’t mean leaving memories behind. It means honouring them. It means holding space for them to breathe and reminding myself that even though the setting may change, the story remains mine to carry. Some memories will sit with me over tea in a new kitchen, while others may visit on rainy afternoons or in quiet whispers before sleep.
Each memory is a thread woven into the tapestry of my soul. They remind me of how deeply I’ve loved, how bravely I’ve endured, and how beautifully I’ve grown. In the end, it’s not the walls that made this house home — it was the life I lived within them. And that life, preserved in memory, travels with me — always
Words Can Hurt and Heal
Words are powerful tools—sharp enough to wound and gentle enough to heal. What we say can stay with someone for a moment or a lifetime. A careless comment, a sarcastic remark, or cruel judgment can pierce deeper than a physical wound, leaving emotional scars that take years to fade. Many people walk through life carrying the weight of something someone said to them long ago—words that made them feel small, unworthy, or invisible.
On the other hand, kind words can be medicine for the soul. A sincere compliment, a compassionate “I’m here for you,” or a heartfelt “I believe in you” can lift someone out of darkness. Words of love, support, and encouragement can mend broken spirits and inspire strength when someone feels like giving up. In moments of grief, words bring comfort; in times of fear, they offer reassurance.
What we often overlook is that the words we use reflect what we carry inside. A healed heart tends to speak gently. A hurt one might project pain onto others. That’s why awareness and mindfulness in communication are so important—not only in how we speak to others, but how we speak to ourselves. The inner dialogue matters just as much.
In a world where everyone is fighting battles we cannot see, choosing words that heal rather than harm is an act of compassion. Before we speak, we can ask ourselves: “Will these words lift or lower? Will they build or break?” Because once spoken, words cannot be taken back—but they can be remembered forever.
Make the Unconscious Conscious—Or It Will Rule Your Life
There’s a powerful truth in Carl Jung’s words: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life, and you will call it fate.”
So many of our choices, reactions, fears, and even repeated life patterns are not entirely conscious decisions—but subtle reflections of beliefs, memories, or wounds hidden beneath the surface. The unconscious is not the enemy; it’s simply the part of us that hasn’t been brought into the light yet.
Think of it as an inner script silently guiding your actions. You may find yourself always choosing emotionally unavailable partners, fearing success, sabotaging opportunities, or overreacting to certain situations—and not understanding why. These patterns often stem from buried emotions, childhood conditioning, or defence mechanisms you didn’t even realize were shaping your life.
True freedom begins with awareness.
When you start observing yourself—your triggers, repetitive thoughts, and automatic behaviors—you begin to peel back layers of your unconscious mind. Through self-reflection, therapy, journaling, meditation, or even honest conversations, you start seeing how much of your “fate” is actually your own programming. And once it’s seen, it can be changed.
Awareness gives you choice.
Choice gives you power.
And with power, you shift from reacting to life to responding to it—with clarity, intention, and purpose.
Life doesn’t have to be a series of “this always happens to me.” When you make the unconscious conscious, you reclaim authorship over your life story—and transform fate into freedom.
Embracing the Darkness: The Hidden Path to Enlightenment
One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light but by making the darkness conscious.” — Carl Jung
We often associate enlightenment with light — clarity, peace, love, and transcendence. But true awakening isn’t just about ascending into the light; it’s about descending into the depths of our inner world, confronting what hides in the shadows. It’s in this darkness — our fears, insecurities, suppressed emotions, and past wounds — that our most powerful lessons are buried.
Darkness isn’t evil; it’s unknown. It holds the parts of us we’ve denied, rejected, or pushed away for being “too much” or “not enough.” Our triggers, our jealousy, our anger, our grief — all these are gateways to deeper self-understanding if we dare to face them. Avoiding them only gives them more power. But when we turn toward the darkness with curiosity instead of fear, we begin to see its purpose: to reveal what still needs healing.
Making the darkness conscious means acknowledging the parts of ourselves we’re afraid to face. It means sitting with discomfort without immediately trying to escape it. It means asking ourselves why we react the way we do, why certain patterns keep repeating, and what pain still lives unspoken within us.
The paradox is that our wounds, when integrated, become our wisdom. The heartbreak that once shattered us can birth compassion. The trauma that once silenced us can become a voice for others. The loneliness we once dreaded can lead us back home to ourselves.
By embracing our shadows, we reclaim lost pieces of our soul. We become whole — not perfect, but real. Enlightenment then is not the absence of darkness but the ability to hold both light and dark with presence and understanding. It is not about escaping human experience but deepening into it with awareness.
So the next time darkness rises, instead of resisting it, ask: What are you here to teach me? Within it may lie your next breakthrough, your next layer of freedom. Because sometimes, it’s the night that reveals the stars — not the light that blinds us, but the darkness that awakens us.
True transformation begins not by imagining who we could be but by embracing who we already are — shadows and all.
SELF LOVE AND SOUL HEALING 