My Funny Bone

Last week, I delivered my very first 3-minute speech at Toastmasters. Titled "Love in the Age of Wi-Fi," it explored the rollercoaster ride of modern dating. Where ghosting is as common as bad coffee dates, and finding love sometimes feels like troubleshooting a weak internet connection.

The feedback I received was unexpected: I was told that I am VERY funny.

Sure, I had sprinkled in humour. After all, nothing brings people together like collective suffering over dating disasters. But I never considered myself funny, at least not in public. My humour has always been reserved for my closest circle, the people I trust to get my quirks and odd take on life.

So, why now? Why did my humour suddenly show up on stage?

The answer hit me: I feel safe.

Not just safe in a physical sense, but safe in a space where I trust the people around me. Safe enough to let my guard down. Safe enough to let a different, perhaps more authentic, part of me emerge.

For most of my life, I've been seen as serious and measured. To be fair, I have spent years perfecting that version of myself—composed, thoughtful, never the class clown. But maybe that was just a carefully curated persona, a protective shell. Now, as I grow more comfortable in my own skin, new traits are bubbling to the surface.

I wonder what else have I been keeping hidden? What other parts of me are waiting for their turn in the spotlight?

I don't know yet.

But I do know this: feeling safe is powerful.

When we feel truly secure, we don't just exist. We unfold. We expand. We surprise even ourselves. And maybe, just maybe, we finally become who we were meant to be all along.