KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

Mum Pham lived in the kitchen. The woman spent most of her life there, and when we lived in council flats she spent her days and nights in a cluttered, tiny kitchen nook staring at a stained cream turned yellow wall with one jammed window behind her to the side when she was at the stove. I was a pretty vague, ignorant and naive kid for the most part, but even my little mind knew I wanted something better for mum.

I always wanted to buy her a house with a beautiful view from the kitchen overlooking a giant garden where she’d plant all her favourite things. Life didn’t turn out that way - she’s passed now, and I don’t even know if I’ll ever be a homeowner the way prices are going. Mum loved the house Dad Pham bought when they moved to Brisbane. Sure, it’s in a suburb where Struggle Street was filmed and her kitchen overlooked a car port, the neighbour’s house and part of the street but it was a dream compared to the flat.

I have to be content that she was happy in this kitchen where all us Phamlings still gather every weekend for a Phamly feast. I try to make it a home cooked meal with Dad every week, but every now and then when I don’t have time during the day to grocery shop and prep food with Dad, we have take out. But it’s always take out together. Very rarely do we skip a week because everyone’s schedules won’t work or some of us are sick. Even then, one of the siblings will visit Dad or have him over for dinner.

Phamly dinner is a way for me to honour and remember Mum, so even though some weekends I wish I could just stay home and enjoy a lazy day, especially if I’ve had a big Saturday, I still drag my sorry butt to Inala to make Phamly dinner happen. It’s usually a Vietnamese dish. Now that I’m vegetarian, I prep the food with Dad then he cooks the meat version and I cook the vegetarian version for me and Eldest Niece. Prepping Phamly dinner is also when I get most of my quotable Dad quotes because we chat while we cook.

Then come dinner time, Little Sissy Pham rocks up to set the dinner table, and finish prep for the calm before the storm. When Big Brother Pham, his mini-me’s and wife rock up, it turns into a feeding frenzy while we all talk over each other at the table in English and Vietnamese conversations. Dad doesn’t understand us when we speak English too quickly so he doesn’t wait for an appropriate break in conversation, he’ll just start a new thread in Vietnamese whenever he damn well pleases. And I wouldn’t have it any other way because Mum used to do that too.

I never thought my work bestie would be a bit of a jerk whose mind was chaos and creative was genius. I am the complete opposite. I am (too) nice, my mind is orderly and my creative is controlled. Our areas of expertise meant we were desk buddies though, and in no time we bonded over our get shit done work ethic - if not our polar opposite approaches. We unintentionally did the good cop/bad cop act on all shared projects.

Work bestie left the team for the opportunity of a lifetime in Victoria a couple of weeks ago. To make his last day memorable, I plotted with Sweet Cakes to make sure he knew he’d be missed by the team because Other People's Happiness makes us happy. She's a kindred spirit like that.

In the morning, we gifted him his favourite fancy Moleskin diary - but in the financial year so he could replace his calendar year diary and start his new life with a clean slate. This was a genuine gift and totally what he’d expect from me (not that he expected any gifts but, well, have you met me?). This gift also acted as a handy misdirect to make him think this was all he was getting.

When we went for team lunch, I left everyone to their meals long enough for Work bestie to think it was an ordinary team lunch. And when everyone was settled, I stood up and made a big deal to embarrass him then presented him with an “Uninstall Guide” - a parody of the Install Guides he did for the company.

Instead of instructing people on how to install the latest campaign in stores, I instructed people on how to remove him from the company, featuring everyone’s favourite stories and photos of him from the past four years. The surprise worked a treat and he spent the rest of lunch reading the guide and cackling while he shared moments and photos with the crew.

And THEN when he thought it was all over again, I sent a faux Memo to the entire office to action the Uninstall Guide at close of business. And the folks who couldn’t make it to team lunch got a chance to share a laugh with Work bestie.

Then at the end of the day, the whole office gathered to say farewell. It was the perfect send-off.

I've never worked in my own office without other people, unless you count that time I worked from home alone in my bedroom with only a few crows and a spider for company. All other times, I'm in low partitioned pods or big open spaces - never in small confined spaces. The social aspect is great, and I often pick up bits of knowledge that I can use in my work or to help others. But most of the time it's just noise I don't need to absorb. Open plan offices must be great for headphone sales.

In small teams of 2-8 people I used the free ear buds you get with super expensive smartphones, and that was fine. But this year my team has doubled in size and suddenly it went from sometimes not hearing people I was speaking to on the phone to me not being able to hear myself think. Using my mobile phone to make calls fixed the first issue. The second issue required big, on-ear headphones.

Considering I studied music & sound recording at university, you'd think I'd know something about headphones but I don't. I don't remember anything from university, except I met some most excellent people in my film class, and I've managed to keep in touch with one even though she lives in Kuwait these days. Yup, the HECS debt I'm still paying off was worth it.

A little browsing at electronic stores - I know shopping that's not in my pyjamas on the couch is so foreign to me these days. And then some googling brought me to House of Marley. A brand run by Bob Marley's family. They create headphones, speakers and accessories using recycled and repurposed materials. I was sold on those two facts alone.

I got myself the Positive Vibrations headphones because the name is so me, and also the colourways are super cute. Since I haven’t owned on-ear headphones since 2007, I have no idea where these sit on the sound quality scale apart from the fact they are better than the Sony headphones I had a decade ago. The sound is nice, crisp and light. I hate bass-heavy headphones like Beats since I prefer to hear my music not feel it shaking my skull open. Best of all these babies block out my teammates. Ideal!

I don’t know why I was tasked with dressing my eldest niece for her formal last year. Seriously, her mum sees me every weekend. She knows I dress like I rummaged through a kindergarten lost and found box. But even though I look like rainbow vomit, I suppose I am the most responsible and reliable of the Phamlings since I have zero obligations of my own since I am a commitment-phobe.

Yes, I don't have a home, a loan, debts, minimal keys, no lease, no lock-in contracts, any accounts I have are month-to-month. I also prefer work to be on a fixed-contract basis so I know there is a set date to decide whether I stay or go. I like to know I can up and leave at any moment because commitment isn't my thing. I suppose it means I can pick up other people’s duties since I don’t have many of my own. And so, Aunty Ngoc had to learn what girls wear to formals since I never went to my own.  I especially don’t know how to shop for fancy things that fit short, petite teens who don't fit dress or shoe sizes in regular stores. I was clueless.

We went to SO many shops across SO many days, and had zero luck. All the shopping centres, all the known shopping strips - it was only thanks to the Google Maps God on our fourth all-day shopping fail. I had absolutely zero more ideas of where to try so I googled anything on the south side we could try on our way home, and up came Gossip Gowns in the middle of nowhere yet somewhat on our way home. Well, it was in the middle of somewhere obviously but it’s an odd block - almost a traffic island at an intersection in Norman Park, Brisbane, QLD. I didn’t have high hopes after seeing her try on dozens of dresses that didn’t sit or feel right. We were both feeling deflated on what should have been a fun experience.

At first looking at the hundreds of gorgeous gowns, I had a sinking feeling everything would be out of our poor people budget but the lovely ladies saw us looking lost, and offered us help to find a dress we could afford yet looked fabulous.


As soon as eldest niece put the rose gold sequin on, I knew we’d found it. Her body language changed from defeated to excited twists and twirls - the way Disney princesses do when they get makeovers. Disney has ruined reality for us, hasn’t it? But she also tried on a second dress that the sales assistant had offered. When the lady saw her in option 2 she shook her head and said it didn’t show off her great body the way the cheaper sequin dress which I really appreciated and agreed with. It irks me when sales people tell you something looks good when it doesn’t ‘cause they want to make budget more than they want to help you find what’s right for you.

I honestly loved the vibe at Gossip Gowns even though I was a fish out of water there. The ladies there know exactly what they’re doing when it comes to fitting dresses. They have a stand to help short people, can show you where the dress needs to be taken up, have heels on the ready to help envision the final look, and I trusted their knowledge and guidance. It made shopping for a gown so much easier than me blindly leading my poor niece all around Brisbane. If you ever find yourself in need of a school formal dress, I recommend you pay Gossip Gowns a visit!

Phamly holidays - never had one. We did little things that were big deals to a migrant Phamly raising three kids on welfare with no jobs and no car. I remember Dad Pham and Mum Pham took us to Moomba one year in Melbourne when we lived there. Well, they tried to. We took the train to the city but my parents didn’t know exactly where the festival was. They didn’t know enough English to get directions, and us kids were too young and useless to help find the way even though we did speak English. So we ended up getting lost and becoming exhausted in the city. Instead, we settled for lunch at McDonalds (also a treat!) before going home. Looking back it’s a bit sad that that’s about as close to a holiday that our Phamly got.

I’ve taken two holidays in my life. One to Japan in 2010 where my mystical friend who’d lived there planned everything, and one to Bali for a friend’s wedding in 2015 where my gays pretty much determined what we’d do. The trips were both short and sweet - about 10 days from memory. This year, I’ve booked a month long holiday to Europe in August/September with Little Sissy Pham +1, and I’m starting to realise I have no idea how to holiday.

Even though I come across zen because I don’t sweat the small stuff, it doesn’t mean I know how to relax. I’ve worked most of my life and when I was unemployed, I treated job hunting like a full-time job churning out applications, working on my folio or CV - no slacking off allowed. How will I deal with a whole month of just chilling and doing my own thing?

People always talk about loving holidays and travel, though I never quite caught the bug. But then, I change something in my life every 6-12 months, whether it’s job, home or boys - maybe that’s why I never felt the need to escape to a different country, because I’ve never been settled enough to get bored in Australia. And Mum & Dad never got us into the habit of traveling.

Guess we’ll find out what kind of traveller I am soon. Wish me luck! I have no idea what I’m doing.

The other day, I was in Inala doing my weekly Phamly dinner grocery shop with Dad Pham when I saw a little African boy begging and pleading with his mum for a box of Yan Yan in the store. Now, Inala if you recall is the Brisbane suburb where Struggle Street was filmed - it’s not known for wealthy residents with money to burn. I could tell when his Mum repeatedly said no, the way Mum Pham used to tell us no, was because money is tight and she needed to make the most of what she had - not because she didn’t want him to have sweet, sweet sugar.

Watching his shoulder slump as he tried and failed to get his Dad to say yes reminded me of the time I had a full on tantrum - throwing myself on the floor, thrashing about because Mum wouldn’t get me a pink and white jewellery box that was super expensive - $18 - what a brat I was. Dad ended up going back to the shops to get it because I wouldn’t stop crying, but now I’m older I realise she could feed our family for half a week for the price of that dumb (though much beloved, I played with it for years) toy box.

It upset my tummy to see parents who love their child not being able to justify $1.50 for a biscuit and chocolate treat. So I paid the cashier for the tub the little boy was still gripping while his Dad was telling him to put it back, and got an extra one for his brother who was sitting in a pram outside. As I left the shop, I handed the second box to his Dad and told him I got them both for his cute little boys. His dad’s face lit up and when he told his son he could keep the Yan Yan the boy was so happy it nearly made my heart burst. Other people’s happiness, it’s the best.

When we first moved into our apartment a few years ago, Dad Pham told me under no circumstances was I to get plants because I’d kill anything dead and make a mess and fill the garden with weeds. Father knows best so I left it alone for two years. Then one day on the way back from Boxing Day shopping at Pacific Fair where I bought everything full priced and shamed Little Sissy Pham’s gay friends to the core, we stopped off at IKEA for more impulse shopping. But this time I bought a stack of self-watering planters on SALE. Finally!

This IKEA planter is perfect for the lazy gardener (i.e. me) because you water the top pot and it trickles all the way through. Minimal effort, maximum impact - that's my life motto.

Surprisingly, I've kept my herb garden alive for half a year. Though, if I’m real - there have been some unfortunate events and a couple of deaths. First, I let a bunch of insects obliterate most of the herbs. Then when I tried to remedy it I didn't know to spray the plants at night and sunburnt the heck out of the surviving leaves. But with some patience and care I was able to salvage most of the plants and they're thriving.

There's something therapeutic about caring for plants. It's rewarding seeing something flourish directly because you worked on it. It's also bloody delicious having fresh herbs to throw into your dishes. Still, it’s early days - I could well be writing an obituary for my plants soon. Dad does have a way of being right about things. Like that time he told me I was too stubborn a child he couldn’t raise me properly so had to let me do my own thing and learn life the hard way, and I refuse to believe that he didn't raise me because that’s absurd and I always know best. He can't tell me how he parented me!

In Asian culture it's pretty much mandatory that family gatherings are kicked off with the oldest generation of Asian women judging the younger generations. This is why Mum Pham used to introduce me to new friends and acquaintances as, "Ngoc (that means Jade) was the duck (she means dux) of her school. She could have done anything with her life, but she chose music and that's why her hair's like that."

A lot of the time you're judged on weight. "You're fat." "You need to tidy your waistline." "You need to diet." Which is immediately followed by massive plates of food and a stern, "Eat. Eat!" And once you're done with the first plate. "Eat more! I cooked so much food!" "You must eat dessert." "And second dessert." "And fruit."

Most of my life I've been a little or a lot overweight but the one time I lived with 9 dudes in a warehouse and never had food around the home, I was a tad underweight (this was when I had Bobble Head Syndrome). During my skinny phase, I got a, "Now that you're skinny, your nose looks too big." There's no winning with Asian elders.

At the latest big family gathering, the Aunts decided I am single because of the way I dress. It is unflattering - not demure, not elegant, not classy. This critique would be offensive if I thought I was any of those things, but I don't. I even agree with them for a change.

I dress like I let a 2 year old pick my outfit, after a unicorn ate too many rainbows and threw up on everything I own. Plus I finish off my looks with a pair of sneakers so I can stomp around like the ungraceful klutz a lifetime of not participating in sports has helped me to become. I look like a hot mess but that's ok, I would rather be myself and single than doll myself up for someone who'd date me based on my wardrobe.

I'm pretty in (unicorn) punk and I'm happy that way. If guys don't like that, then they can go and love themselves, right? Right.

I don't get the flu injection every year. I am totally pro vaccinations but with the flu jab I don't bother because I'm at low risk of exposure. Little Sissy Pham gets them free at work because government and also she crosses paths with the masses every day. I, on the other hand, don't particularly want to pay to be stuck with a needle, and expect my immune system to handle a solo drive to work and a tiny team.

That being said: Betadine Throat Gargle - Little Sissy Pham and I swear by this stuff. As soon as I feel a sore throat coming on, I head straight to the supermarket or pharmacy to stock up on the gargle and the Betadine Lozenges (lemon flavour is my fave). I am rarely exposed to confined public spaces like public transport, so I only get sick if someone in the office is kind enough to share their germs with work. But on those rare occasions I start waking up with a sore throat, my go-to best friend is Betadine Throat Gargle. 1-3 days of gargling usually gets rid of the sore throat.

Recently, I caught a bug from my desk buddy but I hung out with Betadine and bounced back after a few days in bed. In a feverish haze, I accidentally drank 5 ml of the stuff before I remembered it was a gargle and not cough medicine. The good news is I didn't die. The bad news is it tastes bloody awful going down. It burns! It burns!

My desk buddy was very sick for two weeks from the bug, and I got back to life in 3 days (1 day off, and a weekend). Sure, I wasn't 100% and I kept calling 'denim' 'dinner' for a couple of days, but I made it to work, and was somewhat functional and I swear it was thanks to Betadine reigning in the virus that was trying to infect my throat and life. Give it a shot (but don't swallow) next time you feel a sore throat coming on.

When we lived in the council flats, Dad Pham used me as his megaphone. I could be heard from blocks away when I yelled from the balcony so if I was home he'd use me to call my siblings. These days he has a mobile phone to do this, so instead I use my lung capacity to belt out tunes in my car on the commute to work. I don't sing in front of other people normally but I make an exception at red lights where they can probably hear me warbling since I have my windows open (air con dries out my eyeballs - they haven't been the same since laser surgery, but vision = worth it).

I treat myself to car karaoke in the mornings or on long solo drives up or down the Coasts. I sing from the belly - no gentle throat singing for this normally quiet one. I roar for 50-ish minutes to work because I need the extra oxygen to wake me up since I don't do daily coffees like most of my colleagues. Dad is always encouraging me to do breathing exercises every morning - sucking in air to yell at songs each morning is my version of breathing exercises. On the way home I don't sing, I prefer to destress from work by listening to the soothing voices of podcasters discussing true stories of murder, rape and torture.

I have two core playlists - old school (60s-70s) & less old school (90s rap & hip hop to modern pop) - that are always there so the songs come and go as I get bored of singing along or learn the hard way there are some notes that just hurt my throat and ears. Then I'll occasionally go through phases like Beyonce's Lemonade, Disney's Moana soundtrack. I wanted to go through a Dr. Dre 2001 but I really cannot rap - I barely remember lyrics to regular songs with many less words.

Car karaoke, guys - I highly recommend for your morning commute. Would not recommend for public transport though. You may get a punch in the throat if you do.