The Story
pockets&pieces started as a pocket for the thoughts that didn’t fit anywhere else. The big moments sort themselves out. It’s the small ones that hang about: the feeling you can’t name at the end of an ordinary day, the realisation that turns up three days after the conversation (helpful, but late), and the thought that moved into the back of your mind a while ago and shows no sign of leaving.
This year, pockets&pieces has run as four series: Mona Lisa Mondays, T.W. Glimpses, Unfiltered Thoughts and Gratitude Fridays. They close at the end of December 2026, and every piece stays in Pieces of Me.
From Wednesday 6 January 2027, there will be one short piece a week, called Pocket Notes. Each one ends with a 3-Minute Pause, a small exercise for your desk, the bus, or the kitchen while the kettle boils.
Hi, I’m Jinrong…
…or you can call me JR.
People tell me I'm easy to talk to. I've never found out why. My best theory is that I don't hurry (or I try not to), I don't fill silences, and I've learnt not to reach for a solution when someone only wants a rant. It’s been most of my working life, too: preschool children, their parents, families, job candidates.
I grew up in Singapore, where the food stalls stay open late and the pace answers your question before you've finished asking it. I live in Australia now, with my husband and something I didn't expect to find: space. Space to think. Space to notice. Space to stop going through the motions long enough to ask what the motions were even for. The late-night noodles, I do miss.
I write short pieces about the small things we walk past. I think best while walking or cooking. Tea at home, no coffee machine, no apology.
Once a month I hold a D.O.O.M. Day: Declutter and Organise Day of the Month. The name sounds dramatic, but the reality is modest: one drawer, one folder, one inbox, and a playlist on in the background.
My book, If Humans Were Spaghetti, is a companion, not a manual. Spaghetti, because everyone knows it, and because it only turns soft after the heat.
I don't write to offer answers. I write to make the in-between a little less disorienting while we're both still in it.
One short piece lands every Wednesday. Subscribe below, and say hello on Instagram.
Three Minutes, in three parts.
30 seconds to stop. 60 to notice. 90 to decide what happens next.
No app, no candle, nowhere special to be.
In HR, a 30-60-90 plan welcomes someone into a new job: learn by day thirty, contribute by day sixty, own the role by day ninety.
This is the same idea, shrunk to seconds, and it's for you.
The 3-Minute Pause: What It Is
Pause - 30s
Stop what you’re doing.
Phone face down, feet on the floor, one slow breath out.
You aren’t fixing anything.
You’re making a gap.
Notice - 60s
Say “I notice…” three times: something you can see, hear and feel.
Small is fine. Ordinary is better. The point is to look at what’s in front of you, not to find something profound.
Live - 90s
Write one line, or decide one small thing you’ll do next.
Then carry on with your day.
What you notice only counts if it changes something, however small.
The order matters. You can't notice much while you're mid-sentence, and what you notice is wasted unless it changes something, however small. The aim isn't calm. It's attention.
Use it before a meeting, after a difficult email, at 3pm when everything blurs, or once a week with the journal.
PAUSE. NOTICE. LIVE.
Short, honest notes on what we walk past.
One short piece every Wednesday, starting 6 January 2027. Small moments from work and life, each ending with a 3-Minute Pause. For people who keep work moving, and suspect there is more to see than their calendar shows.