It was mental health week recently. It reminded me I’ve been meaning to write this post for maybe a year now but I’ve never quite figured out what to tell and where to start. So I guess I’ll start where Mum Pham learned that Dad Pham was suffering from mental illness.
Almost every week we have a Phamly Pheast where those of us who cook and all of us who eat come together and indulge our inner pigs. We tried to control ourselves at our once in a lifetime dining experience at Fat Noodle in Brisbane that Little Sissy Pham won in a competition. We failed.
How can you control yourself when Luke Nguyen himself plans a 10 Course Off-Menu Meal for your family? You can't. This blog post is essentially food porn. I contained myself long enough to take snaps before we devoured each dish in Pham style, which is to say we stuffed our faces - only stopping long enough to take quick breaths so we don't pass out.
How can you control yourself when Luke Nguyen himself plans a 10 Course Off-Menu Meal for your family? You can't. This blog post is essentially food porn. I contained myself long enough to take snaps before we devoured each dish in Pham style, which is to say we stuffed our faces - only stopping long enough to take quick breaths so we don't pass out.
Little Sissy Pham finally flew the coup. She moved out with The Bloody Vegan (her boyfriend who I lovingly call that every time I remember I have to cook a separate dish for him) last weekend. We sent her off with Mum's sharpest knife because we pray she'll learn to cook more than two minute noodles, though we don't think our prayers will be answered for a while.
Dad Pham has been very sad without her around. He can't remember the last time he was this sad. He was relieved for Mum Pham when she passed away and he was completely fine when I moved to Melbourne, but for some reason Little Sissy Pham moving to the other side of Brisbane really got him down. I should be totally offended but I'm busy discovering the great things about not having Little Sissy Pham around. This is what I've noticed so far:
1. Luigi gets to sleep in the car port.
2. My products fit in the bathroom cabinet instead of the nook in my wardrobe.
3. I no longer speak English at home so my Vietnamese might improve (even the optimist in me highly doubts this).
4. No fighting to do laundry.
5. I get my cat all to myself.
6. When I open the pantry all my food is still there!
7. I can set up an exercise/dance space.
8. I don't have to make bulk lunches for work anymore!!
9. I can shower whenever for however long I want in the mornings or evenings.
10. I finally, finally get to buy my favourite toilet paper: Kleenex Cottonelle - oh how I have missed your sweet caress. Evil sis made me get Sorbent for her sensitive bee-hind. No more! It's fluffy ribbed Cottonelle in this house from now on!
Did I mention when I open my pantry all my food is still there? Woohoo!
The other day I was scrolling through my baby pics and discovered that my new hairstyle isn't so new. This is a pic of 2 year old me. Turns out I'm not fashion forward... or even fashion backward. I'm fashion sidewards.
The only difference (apart from 27 years in age) is I didn't shave the sides of my head back then because 2 year old me only had enough language to say 'long' and chuck a heart-stopping, window-breaking tantrum if Mum Pham did otherwise. I wish she hadn't indulged me because now in adulthood I don't use my decent sized English vocabulary to articulate how I feel. I make whiny noises when I don't like something and roar at people who get in my way.
So tell me honestly, who rocks it better? Mini me or grown up me. I know mini-me dressed better. Hot damn! Look at that tights to dress colour coordination then light long sleeve underlayer to match the light sandals. Why can't I dress like that?
It's Dad Pham's 68th birthday today! 2012-13 has been a bit rough on my papa. He is finally starting to feel his age. Dad Pham used to be Mr. Invincible - never had a health problem. Well, body health issue. Dad's had schizophrenia brought on by PTSD from the Vietnam War since before we were born but that's a story for another day. Today's story is about dad's body health.
Mr Invincible never tripped or walked into furniture so I can't recall him ever having a bruise or scratch. The 'klutz gene' that afflicts Little Sissy Pham and I definitely came from Mum's side of The Phamly. Dad drastically lost weight right after Mum died so we thought it was heartbreak. In a way it could be heartbreak that triggered his type 2 diabetes and the army of polyps in his intestines. He never had health issues when Mum was around. I like to romanticise it and think it's because he needed to be fit to take care of her.
Dad's been in hospital twice so far this year, once scheduled "it's easy, I cleanse, they make me sleep, I wake up and I eat", once emergency "I'm in hospital because my vision's blurry and I eat too much." Yes, Dad Pham has a great way of simplifying his health complications for us. English as a second language may also have something to do with it. His health scare is the real reason I've been nicer to my body lately though saying 'science called me fat' made it sound more fun.
Dad LOVES hospital food an insane amount so he's not too phased by his health scares but it makes me realise these are my final days (I hope years) of having a parent. Some one looking out for me no matter the stupid things I do, who worries when I'm sick and prays I get better, who wants my life to be easy and comfortable, who'll always support me even when they think vegetarianism is a waste of effort and silly.
Dad LOVES hospital food an insane amount so he's not too phased by his health scares but it makes me realise these are my final days (I hope years) of having a parent. Some one looking out for me no matter the stupid things I do, who worries when I'm sick and prays I get better, who wants my life to be easy and comfortable, who'll always support me even when they think vegetarianism is a waste of effort and silly.
Happy Mothers Day to all parents out there. Thanks for making us kids!
Since I was born with cheeks so chubby they sagged like a bulldog's, I have always suffered from big-face syndrome. This is similar to body dysmorphia where you think your body is bigger (or smaller) than it actually is, except with big-face syndrome you are correct in thinking your face is massive.
image: Snapped at Carbon Festival 2011. pic by thslfe.com
I can't make this post funny. If you're reading this because you've lost a loved one and don't know where to begin organising a Buddhist-meets-Western funeral in Australia, then this is for you with my sincerest condolences.
WHAT TO DO
1. Contact your loved one's buddhist temple and ask them to recommend a funeral home OR contact a funeral home and ask them to recommend a buddhist temple. Sadly, people die every day so while it may be new to you, the monks and funeral directors have experience and can guide you.
2. I found this site very helpful with the steps you need to take immediately after your loved one has passed - http://www.funeral-info.com.au/index.php/what-to-do.
3. Funerals are insanely expensive. It will vary for everyone but hopefully my spreadsheet below gives you a basic guide on things to consider. I wish I'd had something like this to help me prepare.
4. Take care of yourself.
WHAT TO DO
1. Contact your loved one's buddhist temple and ask them to recommend a funeral home OR contact a funeral home and ask them to recommend a buddhist temple. Sadly, people die every day so while it may be new to you, the monks and funeral directors have experience and can guide you.
3. Funerals are insanely expensive. It will vary for everyone but hopefully my spreadsheet below gives you a basic guide on things to consider. I wish I'd had something like this to help me prepare.
4. Take care of yourself.
I'm sorry it took me 1.5 years to post this. It took a while for my grief to run its course. In loving memory of Mum Pham.
When Dad Pham can't find me in the supermarket, he naturally assumes that I've been kidnapped. Just like Mum Pham assumes I'm dead when I don't return her calls within the hour. Or how I assumed the jade bracelet Mum gave me was a special gift of love, luck and well-being. Boy, were we dead wrong on all counts.
Remember when I told you to never let me shave my head again because it will take me two years to grow it out? Well, I did it again and you didn't stop me! At least this time I went the subtle route. You can't see my head tattoo and if I let my hair down I can hide the fact that I'm not a sensible adult.
These days I prefer the subtle shave so I can choose to look tough or soft because people treat you differently when you have a partially shaved head. They make judgements before even speaking to you. Like my Viet grocer who used to love chatting with me in Vietnamese until I shaved my hair - he stopped the chit-chat and the freebies. Double blow. Or people almost don't hire you because they see an old picture on your blog and think you may have a bad attitude (though if they'd read the blog entry with the head shaved pic, they'd know my head tattoo stands for infinite love).
Lucky for them (and me) they gave me the gig because I helped nail some epic deadlines with a smile on my face and an endless supply of Snickers to keep the team going. I'm not saying y'all should go out and hug a swastika-inked skinhead in case he or she is secretly a candy-giving fairy. All I'm hoping is that you'll give peeps a chance.
Thanks to Richard at Richard & Maisy Hairstyling. New address: Level 4/190 Edward Street (upstairs from Gucci) Brisbane CBD 4000. Text Richard for appointment. Mob: 0438 893 236
Harvest Festival is a festival for music fans. Part of me doesn't want to tell you about it because I want to keep this piece of music heaven to myself. But since this blog is about things I love, I need to tell you why Harvest is my favourite music festival in Australia.
Last year's Harvest was an emotional affair because it was my very last day in Melbourne before moving interstate. This year, I went back for sentimental reasons and ended up having the best ever festival experience of my life. As an ex-music publicist and obsessed fan, I've been to so many music festivals I thought once I quit I’d never go again. Until Harvest.
What makes Harvest stand out? Harvest has eliminated all the bad elements of festival outings and enhanced the good.
The Werribee Park site in Melbourne is so beautiful. No mud, no dust - it's all green grass and flourishing plants in November. Melbourne weather even blessed the festival with two glorious days of sunshine and thanks to the trees, there was plenty of shade to keep my blonde-hair and blue-eyed pals from burning to a crisp.
The food is divine - all gourmet and high quality food stalls. None of the overpriced rubbish that seems to be the norm at most big festivals. I seriously wished Harvest wasn't a one-day festival so I could try more food! There were also art installations and chill spaces around the entire festival which made the experience even more relaxing – though with added kooky fun. It’s not every day I get to sit in a human-sized bird nest to enjoy coffee and waffles.
In its start-up year Harvest queues for drinks and toilets were quite insane but the festival listened to the feedback and this year they had a way more effective drinks system and toilets aplenty. No queues whatsoever. Thanks for caring, Harvest!
All this and I haven't even started gushing about the amazing line-up! The team behind Harvest Festival put together a line-up for genuine music lovers. They're not going for the so-indie-you-don't-know-them-but-pretend-you-do line-up or the so-mainstream-you-don't-like-music-but-you-go-because-it's-fashionable-and-get-blind-drunk-and-pass-out-before-midday crowd.
I explored the festival site with Dandy Warhols as my background music, I got to see my favourite band in the line-up, Liars, front and centre, discovered Mike Patton’s Mondo Cane, stoner rocked with The Black Angels, chilled out to the beautiful sounds of Beirut, had a blast dancing to Beck (my surprise favourite performance of the day – I knew he’d be great but I’m not a Beck fanatic so didn’t expect him to be my festival highlight), stopped by Fuck Buttons for a bit of party-electro but decided the indie experimental Grizzly Bear was a much gentler ease into the atmospheric glory of Sigor Ros. Everyone was top quality.
Thanks Harvest for the most beautiful festival experience I’ve ever had. I’ll see you next year.
Love.
Agent Smith from The Matrix was right. Humans are like a disease to this planet but I'll be damned if he thinks we're not cute when we multiply and spread. Meet the newest germ in my Phamly:
I call her Mini-bro Pham because the poor thing looked awfully like Big Brother Pham when she was first born. Actually, she looked exactly like the baby from Ice Age 1 first, and then when she opened her eyes she looked like my bro.
Then we took her home from hospital and she realised, 'Holy crap... this is what I have to live with?' Though, to be fair, I didn't buy her that onesie - I rightly assume she bought it herself with the baby bonus. Babies get to spend that, right?
When she's old enough to crawl, I'm going to put her in the middle of the hallway and make her pick the Auntie (singular) she really loves. If it's me, I'll cry until my blood vessels burst and spurt blood out of my eyes. If it's Little Sissy Pham, I'll knock my sister out with a baby rattle. Either way, mini-bro is going to have a traumatising life experience 6-9 months from now.
Life with The Phamly won't be all bad. We don't suppress her desire for Tin Tin hair (actually, it's her natural do - nature really is amazing). We took her bowling for her 1 month celebration of life where she drank and sharted.
I call her Mini-bro Pham because the poor thing looked awfully like Big Brother Pham when she was first born. Actually, she looked exactly like the baby from Ice Age 1 first, and then when she opened her eyes she looked like my bro.
I like to think I have a unique bond with mini-bro beyond just our genes and tendency to fuss when we've pooped our pants. I'm pretty sure I can read her mind. In this photo, she can feel two somethings on her face and she's thinking, 'What's hup-pen-ning?'
Then we took her home from hospital and she realised, 'Holy crap... this is what I have to live with?' Though, to be fair, I didn't buy her that onesie - I rightly assume she bought it herself with the baby bonus. Babies get to spend that, right?
When she's old enough to crawl, I'm going to put her in the middle of the hallway and make her pick the Auntie (singular) she really loves. If it's me, I'll cry until my blood vessels burst and spurt blood out of my eyes. If it's Little Sissy Pham, I'll knock my sister out with a baby rattle. Either way, mini-bro is going to have a traumatising life experience 6-9 months from now.
Life with The Phamly won't be all bad. We don't suppress her desire for Tin Tin hair (actually, it's her natural do - nature really is amazing). We took her bowling for her 1 month celebration of life where she drank and sharted.
I didn't know baby faces change a heap in their first month. Mini-bro still reminds me of Big Brother Pham, about three of my Aunties and when she's drunk on milk she looks like Dad Pham but thankfully her mum's big eyes and curly lashes are starting to overpower the Pham genes. Seriously, the other day I couldn't tell if the thing in my eye was a small twig, part of an insect leg or my own eyelash. We have intensely straight lashes.
Welcome to the world, mini-bro! Hate to break it to you but I know you're pretending to sleep in this photo. You forgot I can read your mind and you're thinking, 'Wake me when Auntie Ngoc is gone.'
The story of how I got the name jadestopthat is short and sweet. Well, it's not very sweet but it is short.
I went on tour with a band years ago to make a documentary (and website) to ace a university project. One of the guys got very sick of me pointing the camera in his face and he regularly told me so. From hours of footage I cut together a sequence where he says, "Jade, stop that. Jade, stop that. Jade, stop that. Stop it. Stop that. Jade, come on, stop that. Stop that! That's it, Jade, get out." It actually went on for a lot longer than that but I promised this story was short so I've edited it for your reading pleasure.
And that's all I have to say about @jadestopthat.
Big Brother Pham is always pointing out our oddball gene. Like the time Little Sissy Pham and I were singing Jingle Bells at the top of our lungs in bed at night. Big Brother Pham came storming in because our squeaky voices were keeping him up, to yell, "Why are you singing Christmas carols? IT'S NOT EVEN CHRISTMAS!!!" It didn't shut us up but we sang a little quieter after that because he had a good point.
Big Brother is also the only Pham sibling who can do anything practical. He can fix fences, build computers, install toilets, make babies, replace door hinges, tie ropes, raise babies, move a house. Me: I injured my wrist putting together an IKEA bed and continue to bruise my legs every week by walking into the bedframe. I do slightly better than Little Sissy Pham who was once bedridden with 20+ stitches in her knees because she tripped on her own pants and landed badly on her knee. Then while she stayed home waiting for that knee to heal, she walked into her own IKEA bedframe and smashed her good knee, requiring another dozen stitches.
Things like this just don't happen to Big Brother Pham. He's survived flipped cars, knife attacks and my road map directions - things that would kill any lesser Pham dead.
It was Mother's Day the day after Dad Pham's 67th birthday. To celebrate, Little Sissy Pham nearly ran over Dad Pham with her car - I assume to honour Mum Pham's memory by taking out her living competition? Sissy Pham reckons she technically only nearly knocked him over with a part of her car (the open door)… yeah, because there's a real difference. Either way, she nearly killed our father the day after his birthday.
I used a less aggressive approach to Mother's Day. I took inspiration from the awesome Book of J.E.M. my friends made me and made a photo memory book to give to my Sister-Not-In-Law, the mother of the two most beautiful nieces an overbearing Aunty could ask for. I've taken some hilarious, sweet, cute, crazy, embarassing photos of the girls over the past 8-9 years. My goal was to mortify them on their 21st birthdays but the photos came in handy earlier than anticipated.
I viewed and mapped and planned and counted and culled and edited and printed and cut and pasted then decorated 233 photos into a 50-page craft book for the whole day. It took about 10 hours in total and one nearly burst blood vessel when Mini-Me (niece #2) tried to help and messed up my OCD-quality ordered stack of photos (Big Brother Pham had to herd her away before I died from self-restraint) but we got there in the end!
I wish I'd taken a photo of the finished product with all the Pham's handwritten notes inside the cover but by the time I remembered to, Little Sissy Pham had already gift wrapped it. You'll just have to trust me when I say the PhamLe Mother's Day book of 2012 is awesome.
We also did a Buddhist cermonial prayer for Mum Pham, which Dad wants to make our new tradition because it's happier than the annual ceremony we'll do for her day of passing. The ceremony involves incense, sending love to mum and eating food so I'm all for it. Hope everyone had a nice Mother's Day too!
It's Dad Pham's 67th birthday today. To celebrate, he's going to dinner at his little brother's house and NO KIDS ALLOWED. The only time I'm ever a young 'un is in context with Dad Pham.
While the only time Dad Pham is treated like a kid is by his older sister, who babies him to this day. It's funny to watch because he's my dad and also because it's how I treat Big Brother Pham. Our Aunty sometimes comes over with pre-cooked meals for Dad to heat up when he's good and ready to eat. Then when we visit, she makes Little Sissy Pham, me and Dad sit in a row at her kitchen bench so she can fill her nieces and little brother with ice cream, before sending Dad Pham home with more food.
Age really is relative. Dad Pham was telling me this morning that some people call him 'bac' (respectful term for older man in Vietnamese) even though he's younger than them because he gives sage advice...and maybe because of his big, bald Buddhist head. Yet some people call him 'anh' as in big brother when he's 40 years their senior because he still likes to joke around - and he's not into 'dad jokes' either, he's got the sense of humour of a cocky youth.
Mum Pham once asked me in an incredulous and serious voice, with hands on hip and puzzled head tilted to one side, 'Why are you so funny?' I said at the time that I was obviously adopted or an alien from outer space, but now I see I get my cheeky, irreverent streak from Dad.
Well, Dad Pham, I hope you're having a fun 67th birthday with your siblings and I expect you home before midnight or I'm grounding you for a week.
While the only time Dad Pham is treated like a kid is by his older sister, who babies him to this day. It's funny to watch because he's my dad and also because it's how I treat Big Brother Pham. Our Aunty sometimes comes over with pre-cooked meals for Dad to heat up when he's good and ready to eat. Then when we visit, she makes Little Sissy Pham, me and Dad sit in a row at her kitchen bench so she can fill her nieces and little brother with ice cream, before sending Dad Pham home with more food.
Age really is relative. Dad Pham was telling me this morning that some people call him 'bac' (respectful term for older man in Vietnamese) even though he's younger than them because he gives sage advice...and maybe because of his big, bald Buddhist head. Yet some people call him 'anh' as in big brother when he's 40 years their senior because he still likes to joke around - and he's not into 'dad jokes' either, he's got the sense of humour of a cocky youth.
Mum Pham once asked me in an incredulous and serious voice, with hands on hip and puzzled head tilted to one side, 'Why are you so funny?' I said at the time that I was obviously adopted or an alien from outer space, but now I see I get my cheeky, irreverent streak from Dad.
Well, Dad Pham, I hope you're having a fun 67th birthday with your siblings and I expect you home before midnight or I'm grounding you for a week.
Uncle Mark (or Aunty Mark, as he is also known) got the whole Phamly their own personalised Continental Cup-a-Soup promo mugs a couple of years ago. My Shiny Jade mug helps me through the pain of drinking hot tea in 35+ degrees and humidity.
Over summer I was harshly and cruelly tested by the gods of tea. Not only was I adapting to sunlight and Vitamin D efficiencies, I also had hot weather and humidity trying to suppress my four-a-day (three black tea, one dandelion) cup of tea addiction. However, nothing gets between me and my food. Little Sissy Pham understands this best; every time I do something nice for her, she says, "You love me!" And I reply, "No, I don't. I love food!" I've discovered my devotion to food extends to cups of tea.
Boy did I sweat and whimper through each cup of tea for the first three months. What was once a soothing routine to me, was now an act of self-torture and yet I stubbornly kept drinking the tea. My devotion was rewarded with a job in an airconditioned office where I now comfortably drink my cups of tea.
Upon reflection, I don't think I was hired because I'm enthusiastic and have mad skills. I was hired because the gods of tea knew I kept the faith and drank all that tea even though it hurt me worse than that time I cartwheeled off my bed and concussed myself.
Upon reflection, I don't think I was hired because I'm enthusiastic and have mad skills. I was hired because the gods of tea knew I kept the faith and drank all that tea even though it hurt me worse than that time I cartwheeled off my bed and concussed myself.
I've known Dad Pham my whole life. Or so I thought. Things have been a little different for me living at home this time around. Mum Pham used to rule the roost so I'm only just discovering some of his quirks now.
Dad Pham can cook as well as Mum Pham but he is super lazy so never used to do it. These days, he cooks dinner during the week. He makes simple dishes because he wants to get the cooking over with and sometimes this means he makes dinner in the morning.
It stresses Dad Pham out to pick a dish for dinner because he doesn't get food cravings so never knows what to cook. These days I plan our meals.
Dad Pham wants me to argue with him every now and then, but not too much. I guess because he and Mum Pham used to argue over little things. So I do it even though I think his way of doing things is just fine.
I go for walks with Dad Pham every night after dinner. His walking route, which he also does every morning, is limited to pacing back and forth outside on the footpath between 7 houses because a few houses to our right is a dog that likes to bark (Dad doesn't want to disturb the neighbours) and a few houses to our left is an over friendly neighbour who invites Dad Pham into his home every time he sees him (Dad doesn't want to be disturbed by neighbours).
Dad Pham is so buddhist, he thinks of farting and burping as 'getting rid of negative energy.'
Dad Pham can cook as well as Mum Pham but he is super lazy so never used to do it. These days, he cooks dinner during the week. He makes simple dishes because he wants to get the cooking over with and sometimes this means he makes dinner in the morning.
It stresses Dad Pham out to pick a dish for dinner because he doesn't get food cravings so never knows what to cook. These days I plan our meals.
I go for walks with Dad Pham every night after dinner. His walking route, which he also does every morning, is limited to pacing back and forth outside on the footpath between 7 houses because a few houses to our right is a dog that likes to bark (Dad doesn't want to disturb the neighbours) and a few houses to our left is an over friendly neighbour who invites Dad Pham into his home every time he sees him (Dad doesn't want to be disturbed by neighbours).
Dad Pham is so buddhist, he thinks of farting and burping as 'getting rid of negative energy.'
The jolly man at the Brisbane GPO Post Office gave me the couples Will pack when I told him my sister and I were writing our legal wills together. He wasn't being strange or perverse, he was helping me to be a tight-ass. The couple's will pack contains two individual wills because even though you may be in a relationship you are still your own person. Who knew a simple Will pack could be so Oprah Winfrey about life?
It's kindda obvious who I'm going to leave my beloved Hyundai Getz car, dying laptop, "clown wardrobe" and sci-fi / fantasy books to - my blog is called Keep It In The Phamly after all. However, it just seems smart to put it down in writing because I also learned while watching Six Feet Under that if you don't tell people what you want, crazy relatives can do what they like or the law could dictate your farewell party. Oh, TV, I learn so much from you every day.
It's amazing how perceptive kids can sometimes be. Especially when you've seen them in an Easter Egg hunt where they can't even find the bright yellow egg resting on a green lawn out in the open right by their feet. Look down! Look down! Right there! See? It's right in front of you. Look! LOOK THERE! Finally an older kid swoops in, takes the egg from under their nose and the pulsing stress vein in my neck subsides until I try to help find the next egg.
Mini-me (as I like to call my middling niece because she has a big face, is stubborn as a mule and says bizarre things like her Aunty Knock) was scrolling through my iPhone photos at my pyjama birthday party (pyjama themed because I spent my birthday on the couch with a bag of potato chips and my new best friend Ellen Degeneres, then mini-me rocked up in her pyjamas because it was her bedtime as soon as dinner and ice-cream cake was done, the rest of the Phamly wore real clothes because they have real lives) when she came across Mum Pham's plaque and said, 'That's Ba.' (Ba, being short for grandma in Vietnamese).
It was one of those freakish moments where kids know more than they should. We asked her to confirm, 'Where's Ba?' She turned in a confused full circle to look for grandma in the house. And snap - she was back to being the kid who kept missing the Easter egg basket and finding the same egg that she had just dropped over and over until her father finally stepped in to break the vicious cycle.
It's Mum Pham's birthday today. Coincidentally, the lady resting head-to-head with her shares the same birth date too. Happy Birthday, ladies. It was my birthday on Valentine's Day. Happy Birthday, me too. And the other four Pham girls had their birthdays in January. How many Aquarians can you fit into one Phamly? Very many.
Mini-me (as I like to call my middling niece because she has a big face, is stubborn as a mule and says bizarre things like her Aunty Knock) was scrolling through my iPhone photos at my pyjama birthday party (pyjama themed because I spent my birthday on the couch with a bag of potato chips and my new best friend Ellen Degeneres, then mini-me rocked up in her pyjamas because it was her bedtime as soon as dinner and ice-cream cake was done, the rest of the Phamly wore real clothes because they have real lives) when she came across Mum Pham's plaque and said, 'That's Ba.' (Ba, being short for grandma in Vietnamese).
It was one of those freakish moments where kids know more than they should. We asked her to confirm, 'Where's Ba?' She turned in a confused full circle to look for grandma in the house. And snap - she was back to being the kid who kept missing the Easter egg basket and finding the same egg that she had just dropped over and over until her father finally stepped in to break the vicious cycle.
It's Mum Pham's birthday today. Coincidentally, the lady resting head-to-head with her shares the same birth date too. Happy Birthday, ladies. It was my birthday on Valentine's Day. Happy Birthday, me too. And the other four Pham girls had their birthdays in January. How many Aquarians can you fit into one Phamly? Very many.
I learned the full story of my diamond ring yesterday. Mum Pham gave me her favourite ring last year. She'd been trying to get me to take it for over a year but seeing as how the most expensive thing I owned was a $1400 MacBook and I couldn't even take care of that properly, I didn't want to take it. A MacBook is big, white and hardy yet I managed to sit or step on it a number of times and now some parts of the casing are being held together by Miffy sticky tape. No way was I accepting a priceless Phamly heirloom!
I finally accepted the ring over Easter 2011 while I was visiting The Phamly after wearing a cheap mood ring to train myself in the art of wearing and not losing a ring. I did lose it once at the very beginning when I took it off for a cooking session then forgot about it but I didn't make the same mistake again so after 6 months I decided I was ready to graduate from ring training wheels to the real deal.
Mum Pham told me the ring was a gift from Grandpa for doing well at university and it's her most cherished piece of jewellery so she'd like it to be a Phamly heirloom. Dad Pham told me yesterday that the original ring was left behind in Vietnam when Mum fled the country because the communists would take it if they found it. Years later, Sixth Aunty (the braver, defiant and hot-headed one who talked back at the commies for bullying her sisters - threats of beatings/being disappeared be damned! And yet she has a hysterical fear of chilli) removed the diamonds from its original ring to sneak it out of Vietnam when she migrated to Germany.
This new ring was cast by ze Germans and is one of the most beautiful ring designs I have ever seen. It even has tiny diamonds encrusted in each leaf of the spiral flower. I wear it proudly as a reminder of Mum Pham. Now it also reminds me of the stubborn streak in The Phamly bloodline and that I'm lucky Mum & Dad moved to a country where I can wear a diamond ring with the fear of being mugged by common thieves and not the authorities.
Happy Australia Day, indeed.
I finally accepted the ring over Easter 2011 while I was visiting The Phamly after wearing a cheap mood ring to train myself in the art of wearing and not losing a ring. I did lose it once at the very beginning when I took it off for a cooking session then forgot about it but I didn't make the same mistake again so after 6 months I decided I was ready to graduate from ring training wheels to the real deal.
Mum Pham told me the ring was a gift from Grandpa for doing well at university and it's her most cherished piece of jewellery so she'd like it to be a Phamly heirloom. Dad Pham told me yesterday that the original ring was left behind in Vietnam when Mum fled the country because the communists would take it if they found it. Years later, Sixth Aunty (the braver, defiant and hot-headed one who talked back at the commies for bullying her sisters - threats of beatings/being disappeared be damned! And yet she has a hysterical fear of chilli) removed the diamonds from its original ring to sneak it out of Vietnam when she migrated to Germany.
This new ring was cast by ze Germans and is one of the most beautiful ring designs I have ever seen. It even has tiny diamonds encrusted in each leaf of the spiral flower. I wear it proudly as a reminder of Mum Pham. Now it also reminds me of the stubborn streak in The Phamly bloodline and that I'm lucky Mum & Dad moved to a country where I can wear a diamond ring with the fear of being mugged by common thieves and not the authorities.
Happy Australia Day, indeed.