The five Human Algorithm principles for writing with soul, clarity, and resonance

Write like a human, build trust at scale and turn your story into your strategy.

I did not start writing this way to build a brand; I started because I was drowning.

Eight months ago, I was a queer, gender-fluid parent navigating the chaos of raising a neurodiverse daughter in Singapore, a society that still sees queerness as a curiosity and difference as a diagnosis.

I had just left a media job I once loved but no longer recognised. The titles looked good on paper, but the truth was that I was tired of pretending. Tired of tiptoeing and crafting perfect sentences that said nothing real.

So I began sharing the stories I had buried for years. The lockup at 16, the silent shame of being told I did not belong, the bathroom stares, the postpartum identity crisis of parenthood and the hard-earned peace of sobriety.

At first, it felt risky, but the more I told the truth, the more people responded, not with judgment, but with relief because they saw themselves in the mess too.

That is when I realised writing is not about sounding smart, it is about sounding human.

Those raw posts, rough-edged, imperfect, honest, grew into something bigger. A system, a strategy and a philosophy I now teach inside my HALO Masterclass. I call them the five Human Algorithm principles.

Here’s how they work:

1. Intentional imperfection

In a world addicted to polish, imperfection is radical. My best-performing posts always have a visible crack. A moment where I say, “I’m still figuring this out…” or “I know this might land wrong, but here’s the truth.”

People trust what feels real, not rehearsed. When I speak in half-finished thoughts or admit my learning edges, readers lean in because they know they are not alone in their mess. Strategic vulnerability is not about oversharing; it is about signal. A cue that says this voice is human.

2. Perspective before information

I used to be a journalist. I know how to structure a story, how to present facts, but what changed everything was learning to lead with perspective.

It is not enough to say, “Here’s what happened”, you have to tell us why it matters to you. I write from my lived lens: as a parent who bikes his daughter to therapy four times a week.

As a founder who gave up alcohol, not because I had a problem, but because I had a vision. That framing turns knowledge into resonance, as people don’t follow information, they follow insight.

3. Conversational cadence

This is where craft meets instinct. I don’t write like a blogger, but write like I’m talking to you on the MRT, mid-coffee, mid-confession. I break grammar rules and I use short lines.

Then long ones and I say things like, “Here’s the wild part,” or “This shocked me too.” The best copywriting isn’t writing. It is talking rhythmically, emotionally, and with flow.

My readers feel like I’m in the room with them, and that is by design, because trust does not live in perfection; it lives in presence.

4. Emotional honesty

People always say, “Be vulnerable.” But most vulnerability online feels vague. “I was anxious.” “It was hard.” That’s not enough. I share what it felt like to stand in a corridor, crying after a meltdown with my daughter, wondering if I was still a good parent. That detail—the sting, the sweat, the silence—is what cuts through. My writing isn’t therapy. But it is honest. And emotional specificity is the shortcut to human connection. If you want your audience to feel, you have to go there first.

5. Reader-centered framing

I am not the hero in my stories; the reader is, because everything I write loops back to you, like your fear, your friction, your fire. I ask, “If you’ve ever felt like success requires self-erasure, here’s what I hope this shows you.”

This is the shift most creators miss, because they write to express, but forget to connect. Every sentence I publish serves as a mirror, not a monologue, and my content strategy is not built on performance, but built on permission. For the reader to see themselves more clearly.

These five principles are not hacks, but they are anchors. They have helped me grow a six-figure business on four-hour workdays and helped me coach creators who are now booked out with inbound clients.

They have helped me stay myself, even while navigating visibility in a world that prefers boxes over nuance.

I created Human Algorithm not to go viral, but to build a life where my daughter could see, firsthand, what it looks like to live without shame.

If you are ready to do the same, like write with clarity, build with courage, and lead with truth, I teach these principles inside my HALO Masterclass. It is where I help founders, creators, and misfits like me turn their mess into meaning, their stories into systems, and their voice into value.

You can join the waitlist here.