Ready for August

 And here we are again – the end of yet another month. Just 5 months left in 2025.

A few days ago, when I was thinking about this—actually considering writing something ahead of time for the end of the month—I noticed I was feeling a little low on energy. That’s the best way I can describe it. I wasn’t depressed, just unmotivated… and basically “low on energy.” I didn’t feel like doing anything.

Consulting with my MI, I was told, “It’s natural to feel drained.” Sure, that may be true. But given how much I’d “accomplished” this month, I would have thought I’d be delighted – stoked, even – ready to charge forward. Energized rather than depleted.

On reflection, though, it wouldn’t be unusual to feel somewhat drained. Imagine an athlete who’s just completed a race and comes in first. Yes, they’d be thrilled – but also tired and physically spent. The difference with me, though, was that I didn’t feel thrilled. Not at all.

Instead of over-analyzing it, I accepted a simpler view. I reminded myself of a belief I hold closely: the body is our ally. It often – if not always- gives us early “signals” when we need to slow down. To pause. To take a breath. Smell the roses, so to speak. Just enjoy the moment. And if not enjoy – then just be.

I often speak of non-duality – that life is rarely just left or right, black or white, strong or weak. So often, we are a paradox, holding seemingly opposite states at the same time. It’s rarely one or the other. Life flows; it isn’t fixed.

So those few days ago, that’s really all it was – my system gently nudging me to take a breather. To pause and rest. There’s a lot coming up – many things to do. Some exciting projects on the horizon. But first, take a moment to chill, to reflect, to gather not just my energy – but also my thoughts.

And so I did. I kept going, albeit more slowly these past few days. Definitely slower than the rest of July – perhaps even slower than June.

And now, on this very last day of July … less than an hour before I fold into August … here I am, writing this journal entry. I had worried I might feel “down in the dumps,” come 31st July. But not at all. No, I’m not bouncing off the walls, raring to go. If I were, I might even suspect some mild bipolar episode! But no, I’m not there either. I’m simply at peace. Somewhere just above ground zero – neither flat nor flying high.

In fact, August is one of my favorite months of the year. It’s the month my little angel came into this world (in physical form), some 12 years plus ago. And beyond the promising projects ahead, I’m genuinely looking forward to her birthday celebration later this month. That alone makes me happy – if nothing else.

Less than an hour to go before a new month rolls in. So I’ll end here with just this one chill thought:

Danger, danger, danger ... AI Detected

 

AI Detected ...

My thoughts for today – relates to AI being used by students to write their term papers etc. I have been reading from many (particularly those from academia cry foul with regards to how AI is destroying the minds of our youth. Their claim – many today do not have the ability to do critical thinking as they have become dependent on AI to do the work for them. Final term/year papers are written by AIs and the students have no clear idea of the content of their “own” writing.

While I am sure there are those who are doing that – but to argue that AI is destroying our youth because they become overly dependent on AI to do their work is, I think, too huge a jump for me.

Wanting to look deeper into this, I decided to go on Google (yes, I am still a little “old” fashioned) and enquired about applications or software that claim to be able to detect if a document is the work of AI or if it was developed by a human. I found Sidek******* as one of the “better” tools for this purpose.

As my latest book was just released, I thought I would use that to test it on this particular program. And the results it returned?

WOW! It came back with: 80% AI generated and 20% by human. How can that be when I wrote the book myself. I will confess – I did use AI to assist me. The part that AI assisted was primarily to check on my grammar, coherence of content, consistency, flow, etc. So, the final text was greatly polished I am sure, and in many ways probably presented more nicely than I would/could have. However, I did read through any suggestions AI made several times to make sure the tone and intent remained unchanged. There were times I did not like how AI presented, and I kept my original or brushed that sentence or paragraph up myself. But again, full disclosure, there were more times than not – I did prefer AI’s words and structure. But 80% credit goes to AI, and 20% considered my work? Are you kidding me?

So I decided to take a book which was written by an international (famous) author. This is one of my favorite books growing up and was published in 1998 - at least the edition I have was published in 1998 - but no telling when the first edition was published. I am sure it was way before 1998 because I read it probably in 1984 or 1985. And that book wasn’t even brand new then.  And since there were no AI aided authors then, I thought this would be safe "test." Results: 82% AI, 18% human. WOW!!! I guess my book is not so bad then.

I returned to my AI (yes, this time I got a little more advance and left Google for Perplexity) and expressed my surprise with what I had encountered. AI’s response:

Your experience with Sidek***** and other AI detection tools reflects a common and well-recognized limitation of current AI detection technology: they often produce false positives and cannot reliably distinguish polished human writing from AI-assisted writing or even purely human writing, especially when the text is highly edited and coherent.

Here are the key reasons why this happens, based on recent assessments of AI detectors in 2025:

• Detection is probabilistic, not definitive: Tools like Sidekicker analyze patterns in writing style, coherence, repetition, and linguistic features typical of AI. But if your book was written by you and only lightly polished by AI for grammar and flow, the text may still carry features (like high coherence and typical phrasing) that the detector associates with AI. Hence, it may flag a high AI percentage despite your genuine authorship.
• False positives are common: Studies show some AI detectors mark up to 30% false positives—flagging perfectly human-written, even famous published works as AI-generated. Your test with a book from 1998 also returning 82% AI-generated is a strong example of this issue.
• AI detectors struggle with polished or "humanized" AI text: Your editing and tone-checking probably "humanized" the AI grammar fixes, but left the overall style sleek and consistent—which can mimic AI writing patterns.
• No current AI detector guarantees 100% accuracy. Leading tools like Originality.AI (85% accuracy), GPTZero, Quillbot, and Sidekicker achieve high accuracy on average but still cannot definitively label every individual text correctly. They provide a confidence score or probability rather than absolute proof.
• Famous published texts and professionally edited human writing often test as AI due to their polished, consistent language patterns, free from errors or creative inconsistencies typical of casual writing.

A recent comparison of top tools shows that different detectors vary in sensitivity and tolerance; some are more prone to flagging human writing as AI. Sidek*****  advertises itself as reliable and used professionally, but no tool is infallible.

My take away – can’t trust these AI detector softwares. If we are guilty for using an AI to check on our “presentation” skills and how we format (the layout) of our book or our work – then wouldn’t published authors from the past be guilty of not being authentic when they engaged professional editors to proofread, review, and polish their work before they are published? I, for one, am very glad I have a tool that can help me improve the readability of my work at no monetary cost (as compared to engaging a human editor to do that). Who knows, if I went to a human editor, he/she might be using an AI to review and tweak my work anyway. Don’t be misled into thinking with an AI it’s all a breeze to do it either. There were many occasions when “we” had to go back and forth “arguing” about what I want to say and what was being re-represented in the editing process. But, all said and done – and at the end of the day – I am thankful for the technology. (We won’t go into the moral debate here on whether AI is taking away the jobs of humans – in this case perhaps the editor. That’s a topic for another day.

 

Final note:
I just ran the entire writing above (which was 100% me with no AI assistance) minus response from AI I attached above. Expecting this time it would give me at least an 80-90% human since I didn’t even have AI proofread my writing. Want to know the results?
Here it is:
88% AI written, and 12% human-written. LMOA!!!!

Gratitude for the Things We Don’t Think About

 A few days ago, I was at a 99 Speedmart waiting to check out. In front of me was a man trying to pay for several bags of all-purpose flour. He looked like he might have been a wait-staff from one of the nearby mamak restaurants.

While I waited, I overheard him apologizing to the cashier, saying he only had RM12 – apparently not enough to cover the items he had chosen. The cashier didn’t look pleased. She glanced sharply at him and repeated, “You only have RM12?” Then she muttered something under her breath, tapped the register keys, and pulled out her phone – possibly to call a supervisor or get a code to cancel the order.

The man pushed back two bags of flour. It looked like he only had RM10 in hand. I quietly asked how much more he needed. He showed me his money – one RM10 bill and two RM1s – and said he was short by RM2.

I checked my wallet and happened to have three RM1 bills. I handed him two. He hesitated for a moment and asked how he could pay me back. I told him not to worry about it. He accepted the money and handed it to the cashier.

She glanced at me, almost as if to ask, “Are you sure?” I nodded, and she resumed processing the transaction.

The man thanked me again – a few times – and even asked if I’d stop by the restaurant where he works so he could return the money. I assured him it really wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t a big deal. I paid for my own items, and that was that.

I’ve seen many videos like this on social media with strangers quietly stepping in to help someone else in line. And here I was, with the chance to do the same. Not because I’m a saint and certainly not because I’m trying to be Mother Teresa. But just … because I could. And in that moment, RM2 really wasn’t that much of a deal to me – but that’s the thing because it clearly meant something to him.

If I’m completely honest, I wasn’t thinking of those videos in that moment. And I certainly wasn’t gleeful to have a chance to “do good.” Part of me just wanted to move things along. I was in a bit of a rush and figured, if RM2 helped him settle his bill so I could pay mine, why not?

Maybe that sounds self-serving. But here’s the thing: even when we don’t act from a perfectly noble place, a small gesture can still mean a lot to someone else. And that counts too.

I did find myself hoping I hadn’t come across as condescending when I said, “It’s no big deal.” Because for someone else, even RM1 might be a big deal. We just never know.

That moment stayed with me. It reminded me that, despite the ups and downs in our lives, there’s still so much we can be grateful for. So many “little” things we take for granted – not  out of arrogance or a sense of entitlement, but simply because they’ve become so common, so normal. We forget how much of a privilege that really is.

Today, I just want to remind myself of the many things I may have come to take for granted.

Family members and friends – some I may not see often, some I may not always feel fully “in sync” with – but they’re there. Maybe not always beside me, but always with me.

The aches and pains that show up now and then … but also the strength and health that allow me to do what I love, to keep going, to live this life.

I may not always get the food I’m craving at any given moment, but I never go hungry. There’s always something – and often, more than enough.

It’s not about guilt. It’s not about comparing pain. It’s just … remembering what a privilege it is to have “enough.” And to not overlook the quiet abundance that lives in the background of my life.

How Existential Therapy Complements Inner Child Work, Echo Self, and Narrative Therapy

 

Yesterday, I sat in on a lecture at Sunway University on Existential Therapy – a topic that resonated deeply with me back in my university years.

Having been in the field of psychotherapy, psychological coaching, and consultation for years, I often hear clients ask me:

“Which approach is best – Existential Therapy, Narrative Therapy, or something like Inner Child work?” This type of question is fairly common: people often compare one form of therapy against another. Today, I’m reflecting specifically on these three approaches.

And my answer is usually:

“They’re not either/or – they can actually dance together.”

Existential Therapy invites us to ask life’s big questions:
Why am I here? What truly matters to me? How do I live fully, knowing life is uncertain and limited?

These questions can feel heavy at first – but they’re deeply human.
They help us look honestly at freedom, responsibility, connection, mortality — and meaning.

So how does Existential Therapy complement some of the other approaches I use?

With Echo Self work
We explore the small, often hidden voices shaped by the past.
Existential reflection helps us ask:

Once we’ve noticed these echoes, existential reflection invites us to ask:
“What do I choose to do next?
How can I live more authentically, instead of only reacting to old patterns?”

The Echo Self process helps us notice and welcome these inner voices;
Existential inquiry then helps us decide:
“Given this, what meaning do I want to create now?”

With Narrative Therapy
We rewrite the stories we tell about ourselves.
Existential work deepens this by asking:

Beyond the story, what values and choices do I want to embody?
Am I living in line with what matters most to me?

Together, they help us see that we’re not prisoners of old narratives –
we’re the current authors of the story still unfolding.

With Inner Child Healing
We reconnect with wounded, forgotten, or playful parts of ourselves.
Existential reflection then asks:

Knowing these parts exist, how do I create a life that honours them?
What responsibility do I have to care for them and live truthfully?

Why bring these together?

Because being human is complex:

·       We carry past hurts (inner child & echoes)

·       We tell stories about who we are (narrative)

·       And we still have to choose how to live meaningfully today (existential)

No single approach is enough by itself.
But woven together, they help us heal, understand, and – perhaps most importantly – choose who we want to be, starting now.

What about you?
Do big questions like “Who am I?” or “What truly matters to me?” feel exciting, scary – or both?
If you’re willing, I’d love to hear what comes up for you.

Is Labeling Someone “Neurodivergent” Helpful — or Harmful?

 I’ve been thinking about this lately.

More and more young people I meet – clients, students, even friends – describe themselves as neurodivergent. Sometimes with relief, sometimes with quiet uncertainty.

And I find myself asking:

Does this label truly help? Or could it also hurt?

On one hand, naming our difference can feel liberating.
It can say:

·       “You’re not broken; you’re simply wired differently.”

·       “There are others like you.”

·       “Your challenges and strengths have a context – you’re not alone.”

It can open doors to support, accommodations, and self-understanding.
It can help someone let go of years of shame for “not being normal.”

But on the other hand …
Labels can also become cages.

·       They can turn into fixed identities: “This is who I am — nothing more, nothing less.”

·       They can become shields: “I can’t help it; I’m just neurodivergent.”

·       And sometimes, society hears the label and sees only limitation, rather than possibility.

So, I wonder …
Is the power of the label not in the word itself, but in how we hold it?
Not as a box, but as a lens – something that clarifies, but doesn’t confine.
A starting point for self-compassion and curiosity, not an ending point for growth.

Perhaps what matters most is remembering:
You are always more than any label — even one that helps explain your story.

These are just my musings today, as I sit and reflect.
What do you think?
If you’ve been labeled – or have claimed a label for yourself – did it feel freeing, limiting, or a bit of both?

Feel free to share if you’d like.
I’m still learning, too.

When “Don’t Apologize” Misses the Point

 Reflections on Accountability and Connection

Somewhere along the line, we were told:

“Don’t say sorry. Say thank you.”
Instead of, “Sorry I’m late,” try, “Thank you for waiting.”

At first glance, it sounds empowering – a way to stay confident, keep conversations positive, and avoid self-blame.

But recently, after receiving a note that read “Thanks for the patience” – without acknowledging weeks of unkept deadlines – I paused to reflect.

Does this approach risk something important?
Could it subtly teach us to skip accountability?

A genuine apology isn’t about self-shame. It’s about recognising impact:

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“Thank you for waiting.”

These two can coexist beautifully.

Avoiding every apology might protect our image of confidence, but it can also distance us from real human connection. We might appear polished, but not fully present. And in professional life, as in personal life, trust often grows not from perfection, but from ownership and sincerity.

The same applies to the difference between guilt and shame:

• Guilt reminds us we’ve acted outside our values – it invites repair.
• Shame tells us we are flawed – it isolates.

A thoughtful apology acknowledges guilt (a healthy conscience) without falling into shame.

Maybe it’s not either/or.
Maybe what relationships need most isn’t the erasure of “sorry,” but the courage to say:

“I’m sorry for the delay – and thank you for your patience.”

Owning what’s ours. Appreciating what’s given.
Both are human. And both keep us connected.

What’s been your experience with this advice?
Has it helped – or sometimes felt hollow?

Do feel free to share your thoughts, if you'd like, even if your perspective differs, In fact, especially if it does.

Thank you. Namaste. 🙏

When a Question becomes a Mirror

 

This past week, I was invited to speak to a cohort of young individuals in training to become psychologists. My talk focused on Narrative Therapy – specifically, how I, as an eclectic consultant-psychologist, apply it in my practice.

Following my presentation, one of the attendees – a very bright young man – asked me: “Doesn’t saying ‘I don’t believe in absolutes’ become an absolute too?”

It was such a beautifully alive question.
And he was right (even “absolutely” right) 😊
That’s the paradox of it all: rejecting absolutes can so easily harden into its own hidden certainty.

I explained to him: it isn’t that I insist there are absolutely no absolutes.
It’s that I choose to live and teach from a place of openness – gently resisting the pull to make even that idea fixed and final.

On my slides used for that presentation, I hadn’t declared a universal truth. Instead, I’d offered reminders:
– Truth and meaning are subjective and shaped by context
– It’s more fruitful to explore many perspectives than cling to one
– Your map is not the territory (a NLP presupposition)

For me, this isn’t about proving something.
It’s about staying curious enough to notice when my own views can potentially start turning into rigid truths.

And yes, even this approach isn’t perfect – which itself is the lesson: we live among paradoxes.
And our work isn’t to erase them, but to notice, observe, and welcome them.

I’m very thankful for his question, because it mirrored something back to me:
That we all need these voices – sometimes external, sometimes internal – to remind us to pause and ask:
– What do I hold as always true?
– How might that serve or limit me?
– Could I hold it more lightly?

In that way, even a question from someone else becomes an echo within – nudging me toward deeper self-awareness.

Echoes We Still Carry: A Conversation that Became a Mirror

Last night, a friend reminded me of old comments from people who once hurt me – words I clearly still carried inside.

At first, I felt a small flicker of pain – a sign the echo was still alive.

Then she said something that struck me:

“Their comments are painful enough for you to remember even now … but if we asked them, they probably wouldn’t remember at all. Yet we’re still living with it.”

My immediate reaction was to deny it, to insist that I wasn’t hurt or resentful. That was, in fact, how I’d responded a year ago when this came up.

But this time, I paused. I stopped.

She was right.
Those memories – these echoes – still lived in me, not as loud voices anymore, but as something quietly reverberating inside: shaping my beliefs, colouring my reactions, perhaps even limiting my choices.

Then I realised: this echo isn’t here to shame me.
It’s here to invite me to ask: Do I still want to carry this story?

I told my friend:

These echoes don’t go away because we bury them.
They go quiet when we welcome them, re-author them, and bring them home.
Not to erase the past, but to let the story become softer, kinder, truer.

It isn’t about making them remember, or making them apologise.
It’s about me remembering who I am, and choosing what meaning I carry forward.

Letting go isn’t forgetting.
It’s transforming.
And it begins with three gentle steps: Noticing, Observing, and Welcoming.