Most CEOs are invisible until something goes wrong and then the comms team gets the call.

CARMA tracked 500+ articles across Singapore’s top 10 most-covered CEOs from October 2025 to January 2026. I spent time sitting with the findings, and what struck me was how clearly it shows the cost of waiting.

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Christel Goh, Founder and CEO, Grow Public Relations

Christel Goh is recognised in the inaugural Human Truth Awards because her leadership is shaped by a quiet willingness to be seen before she feels ready, and she tells me that in the early days of building her agency, fear showed up in ways she did not fully recognise at the time.

“There were a lot of doubts,” she says, explaining that she often wondered what former bosses and peers would think of her decision to start her own agency, and whether she would be judged for stepping out on her own.

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The first time I realised how powerful a LinkedIn profile could be was during one of the most uncertain periods of my life when everything I thought defined me had suddenly disappeared.

I had just lost my job in media, my daughter had begun intensive therapy after being diagnosed with developmental delays, and I was navigating life in Singapore as a queer, gender-fluid parent in a society that still struggles with difference.

I remember sitting in a park for an hour after the meeting where I was told it was my last day, staring at my phone and wondering how I was supposed to rebuild my life when the identity that anchored my career had just vanished.

That was when LinkedIn stopped being a social network and started becoming something else entirely. It became a place where I could rebuild my voice in public, share the experiences that shaped me, and slowly construct a narrative that belonged to me instead of the companies I had worked for.

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Moonlake Lee, Founder and Executive Director, Unlocking ADHD

Moonlake Lee is recognised in the inaugural Human Truth Awards because her leadership began the moment advocacy became unavoidable, and she tells me that moment arrived when her daughter, then 15, was diagnosed with ADHD.

“I realised her underlying struggles were due to her neurodivergent wiring,” she explains to me, adding that what hurt just as much was recognising how little support their family had because of limited awareness and resources. The urgency deepened a year later when Moonlake herself was diagnosed with ADHD at 50, and she tells me that realisation reframed decades of underperformance, strained relationships, and lost potential that many people live with without ever knowing why.

As a parent to a neurodiverse child myself, with a possibility of autism, I understand her when Moonlake explains to me that undiagnosed and unmanaged ADHD often shows up not as a single crisis but as a slow erosion across school, work, and life.

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Founders and CEOs cannot go silent during a crisis, especially when they are the face of the company, because silence creates a vacuum that the internet always fills.

I spent more than a decade as a journalist and editor covering scandals, leadership failures, and corporate crises, and one pattern showed up every single time, because silence never neutralises attention and almost always accelerates damage.

On January 25, a user on Reddit’s r/SingaporeInfluencers forum asked whether Melvin Lim, co-founder and CEO of PropertyLimBrothers, and Grayce Tan, the company’s vice-president for strategy and a visible influencer, were having an affair, and the moment that question appeared publicly, it stopped being a private matter.

Because this is the internet, people moved fast, like resurfacing holiday photos, sharing old Glassdoor reviews, and circulating videos allegedly showing the two leaving an office together, and by January 27, the speculation had jumped from Reddit to HardwareZone, Facebook pages, and mainstream media platforms like Mothership.

I was surprised to see there was no public response from the company. There was no holding statement, no acknowledgement, and no attempt to frame the facts or set boundaries, leaving the narrative entirely written by strangers.

Instead, names were quietly removed from the website, personal profiles were switched to private, Instagram comments were limited, and brand channels kept posting as if nothing had happened, and that combination signals avoidance, not leadership.

This is exactly why crisis communication plans exist, because they are designed for speed, clarity, and coordination when attention is close, and emotions are raw, not for perfection or legal overengineering.

Here is what I would have done if I were advising the company and the founder.

• Issue a holding statement immediately.
  The moment the story broke publicly, a short statement acknowledging awareness was required, because silence cedes narrative control to speculation and rewards rumour.

• Activate a single crisis lead.
  One spokesperson should represent the company across media and social, because multiple voices or none at all creates confusion and erodes trust.

• Trigger the crisis plan early.
  The move from niche forums to mainstream platforms is the activation signal, because waiting for full clarity usually means reacting too late.

• Use pre-written message templates.
  A crisis plan should already include empathetic holding statements and basic Q&A language, because drafting from scratch under pressure can lead to paralysis or poor judgment.

• Separate internal updates from public leadership.
  Internal messages to staff matter, but they do not replace a public response when the issue is already public, because stakeholders outside the company are watching leadership behaviour.

• Avoid digital cleanup without context.
  Removing names, locking profiles, and limiting comments without explanation looks like guilt, because people assume something is being hidden rather than handled.

• Set clear privacy boundaries.
  A statement should ask for restraint and respect around personal matters, while still acknowledging public concern, because ignoring the issue invites deeper intrusion.

• Commit to updates, even if there is nothing new yet.
  Saying when you will update builds trust, because it signals presence and accountability during uncertainty.

• Pause business-as-usual content.
  Continuing marketing posts during a crisis looks disconnected from reality, because audiences expect situational awareness from leadership.

• Show up as the founder.
  When the founder is the brand, disappearing damages trust faster than a controlled admission, because people judge leadership under pressure, not perfection in calm moments.

A crisis communication plan does not solve the problem, but it buys time, stabilises trust, and prevents speculation from becoming truth through repetition.

If a crisis hit your company tomorrow, who would control the narrative, you or the internet?

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Hazel Yap, Co-founder and COO, Serious Media

Hazel Yap is recognised in the inaugural Human Truth Awards because her leadership is grounded in reflection rather than reaction, and she is deeply comfortable with the reality that clarity rarely shows up on demand.

“Always,” she says, when asked if difficult conversations are worth having, explaining that “the more difficult the conversation, the clearer the outcome,” even though clarity often arrives days or weeks later, once emotions settle and reflection has room to breathe.

She has learned not to rush that process, because forcing resolution too early robs the moment of its lesson, and as she puts it, “If I have to go through the hard part anyway, I might as well let it teach me something.”

A defining trait of Hazel’s leadership is her ability to acknowledge mistakes without letting ego take the wheel. “I’ve seen ego take over boardrooms more times than I can count, mine included,” she says, reflecting on how quickly blame becomes the default response when things go wrong.

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Everyone talks about building a personal brand through credentials and achievements, like titles are the shortcut and success is the proof, but the founders I see converting consistently are doing the opposite because they build from scars, not wins, and that difference changes everything about how people trust them.

When I first started coaching founders and creators, I assumed my value lived in frameworks, content systems, storytelling arcs, and positioning strategies, all the things you would expect from someone with my background, but I learned quickly that frameworks do not move people when fear is the real problem because people do not need more instructions, they need mirrors that show them who they could become if they stopped hiding behind titles and social proof.

I grew up in Singapore, where fitting in felt safer than standing out and where grades and credentials decided your worth early, so you learned to suppress every part of yourself that felt inconvenient or different, and by fifteen I was in Singapore Boys’ Home, staring at concrete walls and asking what my life was supposed to mean, and that was the moment I learned systems reward obedience, not curiosity, which pushed me to ask better questions about who I wanted to be when nobody was watching and what story I wanted to tell when the masks came off.

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This week, I lost a long-term client cleanly because the person who hired me left, and the company chose to end the contract.

My body still reads it like danger, because a one-person business turns revenue into nervous system math. I feel it fast, like a tight chest, a busy mind, and the urge to overwork.

I have lived this before in Singapore, scanning rooms and bathrooms when I present feminine, staying alert without rest

An unregulated nervous system traps business owners in survival mode, and survival mode is a terrible place to run a business because judgment narrows, relationships strain, and growth slows, even when effort stays high.

Chronic dysregulation leads to burnout and stalled progress, with entrepreneurs showing lower output and slower recovery after setbacks. This is a physiological issue.

Physically, it shows up as constant fatigue and broken sleep, even when you try to rest, because immunity drops and the body stays tense.

You tend to get headaches, tight shoulders, gut issues, and appetite swings become normal, because fight or flight never switches off

Cognitively, decision fatigue takes over quietly because you swing between impulsive moves and procrastination, because the brain cannot hold nuance under threat.

Then your focus drops, creativity disappears, and mental fog leads to sloppy mistakes, which compounds stress for solopreneurs

Emotionally, it bleeds into everything: you snap at clients, withdraw from people, or start people-pleasing just to keep the peace. Over time, that turns into numbness and detachment, which many founders mistake for discipline or maturity

So I regulate on purpose, because calm leads to better decisions and cleaner work. For example, I slow my breathing first, longer exhales until my shoulders drop, and my jaw releases. Then I shut the inbox and stop the refresh loop, because constant checking trains the threat.

After that, I move because stress is physical energy that needs an outlet.

I like to do cold plunges and saunas because they are my hard reset, as contrast therapy teaches my body how to meet stress and return to a safe state. I start in the sauna for 15 minutes, breathing slowly while the mind burns off its noise, and then I step into the cold plunge, staying still, letting the shock pass without panic

This is my founder infrastructure, not self-care because it trains me to hold discomfort without reacting, the same muscle I use when a client leaves, or plans change.

It sharpens my work because I write and sell better when I am regulated, not when I am chasing safety through urgency

My chosen family and my wife help anchor me, because co-regulation is real and a hand held in public, a calm check-in, a reminder that I am safe, that steadies my system fast.

That steadiness carries into my coaching, because creators need bodies that can handle visibility, not just need content plans.

So here is my question: Where are you making it hard for people to give you money? Where is there friction in your process that frustrates the people already trying to buy?

Reply and tell me. I read every response, even when I cannot reply to all of them

That is all for this week.

See you next Sunday

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Six months before I gained 20K followers, I was literally invisible because I had no audience or platform, and no idea that my most significant liability would become my greatest asset.

I was an unemployed queer and gender-fluid parent in Singapore, staring at therapy invoices for my neurodiverse daughter while trying to figure out who I was supposed to be online.

Every “expert” said to pick a niche, stay professional, and never mix personal with business.

However, what I discovered is that the content that built trust was the raw truth about being chased out of men’s bathrooms while wearing a skirt and about being arrested at 15 and working 4-hour days because my daughter needed me more than any client ever would.

Those stories, the ones I was terrified to tell, became the foundation of a business that now generates five-figure months.

Most people think they need to manufacture engaging content, but you already have three to five story territories that only YOU can tell. The challenge is recognising their power.

When I did my story excavation (using the H.A.L.O. framework), four clear pillars emerged from my messy and complicated life:

1. The identity paradox pillar

Living authentically in spaces not designed for you, from hiding my queerness as a teenage bully to walking through Singapore malls in skirts despite the stares.

2. The unconventional parent pillar

Raising a neurodiverse daughter while building a business. The therapy schedules, the meltdowns during client calls, the beauty of different minds.

3. The career rebel pillar

Three layoffs, no degree, and why losing job security gave me sovereignty, how I went from criminal record to keynoting at VaynerMedia.

4. The systems thinker pillar

Building a sustainable creator business working only 4 hours daily. Constraint as catalyst, not limitation.

Here is how one of my story pillars transformed into content only I could create:

Raw experience: “I was arrested at 15 for planning a gang fight”

“Only I Can Say” version: “Based on my experience spending a month in juvenile detention, I have discovered that rock bottom is where leadership begins, and the same observational skills that kept me alive in lockup now help me read rooms as a consultant. This matters because authentic leadership comes from understanding consequences, not avoiding them.”

This post connected juvenile detention to executive consulting in a way only someone who lived both could articulate.

Your story excavation exercise

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I built this mini audit for you if you did the work all year and still feel constrained, because the problem is rarely your effort and usually your beliefs running the show in the background, quietly editing your voice, your offers, and your boundaries.

I learned this the hard way, living as a gender-fluid parent in Singapore, where stares and comments are part of daily life, and even something as basic as choosing a bathroom can become a calculation about other people’s comfort.

So please take this as a practical reset, and use my story as proof that these are not abstract ideas; they are real fixes that change how you move through the world and how you build a brand people trust.

Fix 1: Break your approval addiction

If you keep staying agreeable to stay safe, your message will keep shrinking.

I used to call it professionalism when I edited my voice, softened my opinions, and tried to sound harmless in rooms that already felt tense because of how I present, so I stayed polite even when clarity was what I needed.

The cost showed up as vague work and small impact, and it showed up in life too, like bracing for stares, choosing accessible toilets when gender-neutral options did not exist, and carrying that constant vigilance into my writing.

The fix is to choose clarity over approval and to say clean sentences without negotiating them, because clarity protects you when other people’s comfort is unstable.

Fix 2: Stop renting your legitimacy

If your legitimacy comes from a logo, you will panic when the badge disappears.

I loved working in media, breaking exclusives, and building a strong network, but being visibly gender-fluid while thriving in that space did turn heads. When things got complicated, I learned how fast a workplace can shift its priorities without warning.

That is why I started building my own platform, one post at a time, because I needed a voice no one could take away, and I needed a name that could stand on its own without a title propping it up.

The fix is treating your platform like an asset you own, and then showing up consistently until your name carries the trust, not the company behind you.

Fix 3: Replace soft boundaries with non-negotiables

Soft boundaries feel kind, but they drain you quietly.

I used to say yes to stay liked and valuable, and that pattern came from the same place as approval addiction, because when you grow up learning conflict is dangerous, you start performing compliance.

Then parenthood forced a different standard, because I needed time, income, and nervous system stability, and the only way was to protect what mattered, like training, family time, and deep work.

The fix is to pick a few non-negotiables and defend them without lengthy explanations, because the people who respect you will adjust, and the people who don’t were benefiting from your lack of structure.

Fix 4: Tell the story you keep hiding

If you hide your real story, you attract the wrong audience or no one.

I know what it feels like to hold parts of yourself back, whether it was identity, church upbringing, or the fear that being openly pansexual and gender-fluid would make people write me off as unserious, even though my work and my ambition were never the problem.

When I started sharing with care, not shock, the right people found me, and my chosen family, my friends, and my wife anchored me, especially when I was learning how to live more visibly, like wearing skirts, being feminine-presenting, and still holding my head high in public.

The fix is to choose one truth you are ready to share responsibly, then connect it to what you help people do, because a story without meaning is noise, and a story with meaning is trust.

Fix 5: Change the environment that keeps shrinking you

If your environment keeps you bracing, your work will never fully sharpen.

I learned this through the slight daily friction of being visibly different, scanning rooms, reading faces, and even being conscious of ciswomen’s comfort in shared spaces, because safety is not evenly distributed and your body keeps score.

So I started choosing safer rooms and building them, like communities that affirm who I am, spaces where my wife can hold my hand even when I am feminine-presenting, and circles where my daughter sees difference as usual, not dangerous.

The fix is making your environment a design decision, online and offline, because when you feel safe, you stop self-editing, and your message gets cleaner.

Do the audit today

Pick one fix and ship one action before you sleep, like setting one boundary, publishing one clear post, or telling one truth with care, because minor corrections compound faster than big promises.

What are you still editing to keep other people comfortable?

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I used to think advice came from certainty, like you figure life out, reach some stable version of yourself, and then speak from the mountaintop. That idea collapsed the moment I realised my life would never fit neatly into the structures I was given.

Living openly as queer and gender-fluid in Singapore, navigating unsafe bathrooms, workplace politics, stares on the street, and quiet resistance dressed up as politeness forced me to learn faster than comfort ever could.

Add parenting a neurodiverse child into the mix, alongside losing a job, rebuilding income from scratch, and unlearning survival habits I carried since my teens, and it became clear that the future is not something you plan your way into. It is something you prepare for by deciding who you are no longer willing to betray.

So when people ask what I am taking into 2026, it is a set of hard boundaries and lived lessons shaped by visibility, love, faith, health, work, and responsibility. Every point comes from moments where I could have shrunk, stayed quiet, or chosen the safer path, and decided not to because the cost was my integrity.

If you are heading into the new year feeling tired of performing, tired of optimising yourself into numbness, or tired of living a life that looks fine but feels wrong, take these five steps as a mirror, not a manifesto.

These are reminders, forged in real friction, that you can carry forward too.

1. Take visibility, not validation

Living visibly as queer and gender-fluid in Singapore taught me that stares and comments happen, and bathrooms still feel like a negotiation on some days.

So here is the advice. Stop waiting to feel universally accepted before you show up, because that day never arrives. Visibility is a muscle, and it builds through reps.

If you are building a personal brand, this matters. People trust what is consistent, and they do not trust what keeps shape-shifting to stay safe.

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If you want 2026 to be your breakthrough year, you don’t start with goals or declarations, but with the foundations I had to rebuild when my life, identity, and sense of safety were all under pressure at once.

Navigating my identity in a rigid cultural environment like Singapore was never abstract for me, because it showed up in stares on the street, awkward silences in rooms, and the quiet calculations I made every time I chose to be visible rather than disappear.

I wore skirts, shared my story, and showed up as gender-fluid not to provoke, but because hiding would have meant giving up on the life I fought hard to claim, and that decision trained a muscle most people never consciously build, which is choosing truth over comfort.

That same muscle is why I do not start with goals, because goals collapse fast when the person chasing them is exhausted or still performing for approval instead of operating from clarity.

The first fundamental shift came when I fixed my operating system, not in a motivational way, but in a survival way, because sleep, energy, and focus became non-negotiable once I was raising a neurodiverse daughter and building a one-person business without a safety net.

I quit smoking young, gave up alcohol years later, capped my coffee, tracked my sleep, and stopped glorifying exhaustion, because I wanted to know who I was without numbing, and because data showed me that the version of me running on fumes was not capable of building anything that lasted.

Only after stabilising myself did I pick a person to serve. Everything changed when I stopped talking to everyone and started writing to someone specific, because vague messaging is a form of hiding, and specificity forces you to stand somewhere.

My clarity sharpened once I wrote for the queer kid who felt unseen, the burned-out professional afraid to speak up, and the parent quietly panicking about providing, because those were all versions of me I knew intimately.

I built in public, imperfectly, even when it felt uncomfortable in a society that still struggles with difference, because daily writing trained both clarity and courage, and courage compounds faster than polish ever does.

Showing up consistently taught me how to hold discomfort without retreating, the same way I learned to stay grounded when strangers stared, or bathrooms felt unsafe, because leadership begins with presence, not performance.

I stopped creating busyness and started creating leverage, because stories and systems scaled better than effort, and writing once to teach frameworks outperformed endless reactive work that never stopped demanding more of me.

Monetising earlier than felt comfortable was the most clarifying move, because payment forced positioning decisions, filtered alignment faster than feedback, and turned storytelling from expression into responsibility.

Breakthroughs looked boring at the start, just routines, reps, and quiet trust building, the same way authenticity rarely looks impressive in the moment but compounds when you refuse to abandon it.

They compounded quietly, through inbound conversations, steady revenue, and a life that supported my family without requiring me to disappear from it.

So if you are serious about 2026, do not ask what goal you want; ask what foundation you need to fix first, because identity, energy, and clarity always precede outcomes.

See you next Sunday

Early bird prices ends on December 15 for Cohort 3 of the H.A.L.O. Masterclass

A virtual 6-week cohort designed to help you write with authenticity, own your story, and build a personal brand that people trust, not just follow.

No templates, no performative vulnerability, no copy-paste formulas.

This is the system used with founders, executives, and creators across tech, media, and social impact. You do not need a niche; you need a signal that makes people say,

This person knows who they are. I trust them.

Every session is recorded, and you can catch up before the next class.

Program schedule (January 2026)

Week 1: January 12, 2026
Week 2: January 19, 2026
Week 3: January 26, 2026
Week 4: February 2, 2026
Week 5: February 9, 2026
Week 6: February 23, 2026

All sessions: Mondays, 7.30pm - 9.30pm SGT on Google Meet, recordings included.

Only 12 seats are available.

Investment
Early bird: $497 (save $200) - ends December 15
Standard: $697
Payment plan: 3 payments of $179

Why grab early bird pricing?
Save $200 immediately
FREE Story Pillar Template (worth $97)
Bonus content system templates (worth $297)
One 60-minute 1:1 coaching session after the masterclass

Sign up here.

Leave a comment

I had a call recently with a client who is a sales coach, and she was stuck in the comparison trap.

She was posting consistently, sometimes three–five times a week, but her growth was flat.

Meanwhile, she was watching competitors get 800 likes on a single post and wondering why her posts with 9–13 likes weren’t moving the needle.

Here is what she told me: “I see other creators going viral. Why isn’t that happening to me?”

I asked her a different question: “He may get 800 likes for that post, but how many clients did he get from that post? Do we know?”

Silence.

The real problem

She was doing what most people do, which was chasing vanity metrics instead of building a sustainable business.

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I never meant to build a business around storytelling because I was trying to survive my own life.

Coming out as gender fluid in a conservative country, getting laid off three times, cycling my neurodiverse daughter to therapy four days a week, standing in bathrooms where strangers told me I should not exist, building a one-person business from nothing because I had no choice, not because I had a plan.

Somewhere in that chaos, I learned that the stories we tell are direction and they help us make sense of who we were, who we are becoming, and why anyone should trust us with their time, money, or attention.

That is how these commandments formed in the quiet and necessary work of telling the truth.

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For most of my career, I mistook momentum for clarity and thought I needed a 10-step plan before taking a single step.

That is how I ended up paralysed in strategy decks and self-doubt, waiting for conditions that never came.

Then my daughter was diagnosed with global developmental delay, and the luxury of waiting disappeared. I needed income and time, all at once.

However, I did not have a safety net or savings, just the ability to write, share, and build.

That was how Human Algorithm began, as one imperfect post became a newsletter, one reader became a client, and one month became a business.

These eight action-driving structures were born from that period of survival and rebuilding. They remind me that you don’t need to figure everything out; you need to move.

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I learned empathy in the ugliest place possible, and then I spent the next two decades trying to live in a way that honours that lesson because my teenage years were defined by harm, not healing, and it took a long time before I could even say that out loud without flinching inside my own skin.

When I look back now, I see a scared queer kid trying to perform masculinity like it was armour, and the people I hurt were collateral damage in a fight I never admitted I was having with myself because hiding felt safer than honesty.

When the police came for me at 15, I thought the punishment was the sentence, but the real sentence was seeing fear in the eyes of people who had done nothing to deserve it, and that image followed me long after the doors of Singapore Boys’ Home closed behind me.

The second arrest at 16 forced me to stop performing and actually look at who I had become, and sitting in that lockup next to grown men who had nobody left to call was the first time I understood what it means to hurt someone and still have to live with yourself the next morning because the boy I was becoming terrified me more than any judge or punishment.

That is the moment I started paying attention, and that is also when empathy stopped being a moral word adults used to lecture kids and became something alive, like a warning and a compass.

It taught me that you cannot build a life worth living if you keep pretending the people you hurt were just footnotes in your story.

That lesson followed me into adulthood, like when I started living authentically in Singapore, cycling through stares, whispers, cleaners trying to chase me out of men’s bathrooms, and older men looking at me like I was breaking a rule they could not name because my femininity disrupted their sense of order.

I used to react defensively, but over time I realised they were meeting the same fear I once carried, the one that made me perform an idea of masculinity so rigid it almost destroyed me. That is when empathy became a skill, not a feeling, and it shaped how I parent my neurodiverse daughter because she mirrors only what she sees, and I cannot teach her to be kind if I am still carrying shame from a life I have already outgrown.

It also shaped how I move with my wife, who stood by me through every shift in identity and expression, never asking me to shrink so she could stay comfortable, because she knows authenticity costs something in a conservative society like ours.

She chose to pay that cost with me, and it shaped how I left a workplace that made my existence political, how I rebuilt myself after multiple layoffs, and how I built Human Algorithm from zero because clarity only came when I stopped trying to outrun my past and started using it to make something real.

Now, when I coach founders, creators, and solopreneurs, I return to the same truth that began in that lockup at 16: people do not need perfect leaders; they need leaders who understand what it costs to change, and empathy is not softness but precision.

It is knowing where the wound sits because you have held your own, and it is why storytelling is not performance for me; it is responsibility, like when I teach people in the H.A.L.O. Masterclass to write with human-first clarity so their work carries weight, not noise, and helps the person who needs it most.

Every single part of my life today, from walking down Orchard Road in a skirt to lifting my daughter out of a meltdown to helping a founder refine a narrative that finally lands, is connected to that early lesson, and the people I hurt as a teenager will never know how much they taught me because empathy came from the harm I caused, not the harm I survived.

The only way I know how to honour that is to live in a way that the person I was then would not recognise the person I am now, and for my daughter to grow up seeing that accountability is not shame but courage.

So let me end with this question, because it is the one that changed me most: What would your life look like if your past stopped being a wound and started being your teacher?

See you next Sunday.

Early bird prices now available for Cohort 3 of the H.A.L.O. Masterclass

A virtual 6-week cohort designed to help you write with authenticity, own your story, and build a personal brand that people trust, not just follow.

No templates, no performative vulnerability, no copy-paste formulas.

This is the system used with founders, executives, and creators across tech, media, and social impact. You do not need a niche; you need a signal that makes people say,

This person knows who they are. I trust them.

Every session is recorded, and you can catch up before the next class.

Program schedule (January 2026)

Week 1: January 12, 2026
Week 2: January 19, 2026
Week 3: January 26, 2026
Week 4: February 2, 2026
Week 5: February 9, 2026
Week 6: February 23, 2026

All sessions: Mondays, 7.30pm - 9.30pm SGT on Google Meet, recordings included.

Only 12 seats are available.

Investment
Early bird: $497 (save $200) - ends December 15
Standard: $697
Payment plan: 3 payments of $179

Why grab early bird pricing?
Save $200 immediately
FREE Story Pillar Template (worth $97)
Bonus content system templates (worth $297)
One 60-minute 1:1 coaching session after the masterclass

Sign up here.

Leave a comment

When I was working in newsrooms, I thought being good at solving problems meant being fast, the first to fix, file, and move on.

That mindset followed me into entrepreneurship, and it almost broke me because in business, clarity equals progress.

When I left corporate media to build Human Algorithm, I was chasing solutions to everything from revenue to visibility, but most of them were just distractions masquerading as productivity.

It took failure, layoffs, and parenting a neurodiverse daughter to realise that the best solutions are usually slower, smaller, and simpler than we expect.

These eight problem/solution structures came from that realisation and are built on the quiet lesson that fixing something starts with seeing it honestly.

Read more

Here is what nobody tells you about being authentic - you will lose friends. When I stopped pretending to be normal, half my circle disappeared.

However, the ones who stayed are my real family now because sometimes you have to lose the wrong people to find your people.

Living authentically in Singapore has never been simple because this is a society built on structure and quiet conformity. I have walked down Orchard Road in a skirt and caught the stares, the whispers, the disapproval.

It used to sting, but now it reminds me that I exist because visibility is survival. My chosen family and friends are the ones who see me, not the performance. They remind me that authenticity is not rebellion; it is remembering who you were before the world told you who to be.

When I came out as pansexual and gender-fluid, my wife didn’t flinch and instead, she asked questions and listened. She does my makeup, borrows my skincare, and still reaches for my hand in public.

Our love did not weaken with truth; it deepened. She taught me that love is not agreement, it is acceptance, and because of that love, I can show up for my daughter the way I do.

Becoming a parent changed everything because my daughter is neurodiverse and possibly autistic. She doesn’t speak yet, so I read her world in gestures, not words. I want her to know that her difference is not a defect, but a design and that her neurodiversity is her superpower.

So I teach her through presence and the quiet confidence of a parent who no longer hides because children do not just hear what you say, they mirror who you are.

I quit smoking at 16, alcohol four years ago, and started tracking my sleep with a WHOOP because I wanted to meet myself without distortion to become clearer, because I used to think control meant safety.

Then I lost my voice at work after coming out, and I learned that silence kills faster than rejection. So I built Human Algorithm, a one-person business rooted in truth, a space where my voice could not be taken away again.

Some days, authenticity feels like walking a tightrope over judgment because of bathrooms without gender-neutral options. Strangers telling me where I should belong.

However, I also meet people —especially women —who smile, who see me, who say thank you. Those moments are fuel and proof that visibility saves lives.

When I coach creators, founders, and leaders now, I teach them to tell the truth because storytelling is permission. It is how we build bridges in a world obsessed with boxes. Your brand is not your logo, but your lived experience, shaped into meaning.

I tell every client this: You can build a business from your scars because I went from being a queer kid who got arrested at 15 to a parent running a company built on honesty and empathy.

The path was a fight for clarity, and in that fight, I learned that authenticity is about being remembered for something real.

I would tell my younger self, you will lose people, but you will also find your people. You will shed roles and identities, and what will be left will be you, unapologetic, imperfect, free.

Early bird prices now available for Cohort 3 of the H.A.L.O. Masterclass

A virtual 6-week cohort designed to help you write with authenticity, own your story, and build a personal brand that people trust, not just follow.

No templates, no performative vulnerability, no copy-paste formulas.

This is the system used with founders, executives, and creators across tech, media, and social impact. You do not need a niche; you need a signal that makes people say,

This person knows who they are. I trust them.

Every session is recorded, and you can catch up before the next class.

Program schedule (January 2026)

Week 1: January 12, 2026
Week 2: January 19, 2026
Week 3: January 26, 2026
Week 4: February 2, 2026
Week 5: February 9, 2026
Week 6: February 23, 2026

All sessions: Mondays, 7.30pm - 9.30pm SGT on Google Meet, recordings included.

Only 12 seats are available.

Investment
Early bird: $497 (save $200) - ends December 15
Standard: $697
Payment plan: 3 payments of $179

Why grab early bird pricing?
Save $200 immediately
FREE Story Pillar Template (worth $97)
Bonus content system templates (worth $297)
One 60-minute 1:1 coaching session after the masterclass

Sign up here.

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I used to make the mistake of thinking that connection could be engineered solely through strategy.

I obsessed over frameworks, metrics, and positioning until one day, a client told me my most “strategic” post felt robotic. It stung, but it was true because I had been trying to sound like an expert instead of remembering what it meant to sound human.

That’s when I started developing what I now call the Connection Building Structures, a set of narrative frameworks rooted in lived experience, designed to remind us that people connect through honesty, not authority.

When I look back, the moments that built the deepest trust in my work weren’t the polished success stories but the messy ones where I admitted I didn’t have it all figured out.

These eight structures are what I now teach in my coaching and writing programs, having emerged from that realisation.

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I recently filmed a day-in-the-life because people kept asking how I manage to run a one-person storytelling business, raise a neurodiverse daughter, show up as a gender-fluid parent in Singapore, and still find time to train.

I realised the only way to explain it was to let people see how ordinary and intentional it actually is, not glamorous or chaotic, just disciplined softness wrapped around very clear priorities.

My day starts at 6am, when I brush my teeth, do my skincare, and drink three cups of water, not because I am obsessed with wellness culture but because I quit alcohol four years ago, capped coffee at three cups, and started tracking sleep on a WHOOP to understand what my body was trying to tell me after years of pretending five hours was enough.

By 6.30am, I am at the computer for my most important hour of work, the deep, quiet, creator-first work that builds Human Algorithm from the inside out, writing the story frameworks, tightening client communication plans, creating curriculum for my H.A.L.O. masterclass, because I know once the house wakes up, I stop belonging to myself.

At 7.30am, the role shifts from founder to father, and I prepare my daughter for school and we cycle together; the morning light, the wind, the way she looks at me with complete trust reminds me why I left media when it became clear the system was not going to make room for a queer, pansexual and gender-fluid parent with a child in therapy four times a week.

By 8.30am, I am back home having breakfast with my wife, the woman who met me on Tinder when I was still masc-presenting and who still holds my hand in public when I am in a skirt, and we talk through the day before I prepare for the 10.30am podcast recording, which is where I get to invite creators, founders, exhausted leaders, and sometimes people who are just trying to live without surrendering their voice, into a conversation about how work, identity, and visibility collide in Asia.

After the podcast, I head to a lunch catch-up because I build through relationships, not outreach lists, and by 3pm I am back at my desk for a final stretch, half an hour of reading, then focused work until 5.30pm, often on long-form content or tightening a client’s storytelling audit, because that is the work that keeps the business alive even when LinkedIn reach dips or the algorithm pretends I do not exist.

At 6pm, I pick my daughter up from the therapy bus, and every time I watch her come down, I remember why I refused to stay in a corporate job that demanded 10 calls a day but could not understand why I needed to take her to occupational, speech, and play therapy, and from 6.15 to 8pm, if I don’t have time during the day to go to Trapeze Rec Club for Muay Thai or Jiu-Jitsu, I go the Anytime Fitness near my place.

I work out to not chase aesthetics but to stay grounded in a body that has survived arrest at 16, church shame, and being told I was “too much” for rooms that loved my scoops but not my fullness.

Evenings are for family, for reading to her at 9pm, for letting her see that her parent is not confused but complex, and at 10pm I read, slow down, and sleep by 10.30pm, because I am building a life I do not need to escape from.

I share this because I want my daughter to grow up in a home where being yourself is normal, not brave, and I want my clients to know I do not teach clarity from theory; I live it in a city that still stares at people like me in bathrooms.

Enjoy the video and see you next Sunday.

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