KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

Dad Pham & Mum Pham lived in Germany for 11 years. Dad Pham remembers it fondly, but he also says it was the most stressful time of his life. You'd think being in the navy during the Vietnam War or being a prisoner in a communist reeducation camp would be more stressful. But no, setting up a regular life in Germany was the toughest time in his life.

Regular life as a refugee is stressful though. Dad was caring for family members scattered between refugee camps and back home in a war-ravaged country. When he fled Vietnam, he carried the clothes on his back and the fate of his family with him. I can’t imagine how heavy the pressure must have been to a) not drown at sea b) find somewhere to call home c) make a new life starting with nothing.

Dad Pham worked his behind off to strategically get family members out of Vietnam, and also support them because the country wasn’t in a good way economically or socially. The stress probably contributed to his many hospitalisations for schizophrenic episodes in Germany. Worrying about things that are out of his control is a trigger because his brain can’t switch off, which is why he's so chilled out now because the Phamly is settled and well in Australia.

Dad still loves his time in Germany though because the country’s generosity made our Phamly possible. They took Mum & Dad in, they set them up with housing and education, generously donated clothing and food, and the locals welcomed them into the community. If they hadn't taken in my refugee parents, my folks never would have met and I wouldn't exist so thank you, Germany. I owe you my life, and I love you. I cannot wait to see you again soon!

Little Sissy Pham and I are adventuring in Europe at the moment. Currently in Geneva then heading to our birth town for a Phamly reunion 3 decades after we left! I'm pretty excited to see where life took the family members my Dad helped. I will write about our visit when I get back home to Oz!




If you want to start from the beginning of Phamly history, read:
Part 1 - O Captain! My Captain! Dad Pham's navy days during the Vietnam War.
Part 2 - P.O.W. Viet Cong Re-education Camp Dad Pham's time as a prisoner of war.
Part 3 - Living with Viet Cong Mum Pham's experience with communism.
Part 4 - Boat People Dad Pham seeks refuge after the war.
Part 5 - Finding Faith Dad finds peace.
Part 6 - When Herr met Frau - Dad Pham meets Mum Pham.
Part 7 - Life in Germany: the early years - Dad Pham sets up life in Germany.
Part 8 - Life in Germany: the later years - Dad gets sick, Mum steps up.
Part 9 - Getting ready for Australia - Mum Pham is on a mission.
Part 10 - Coming to Australia - My first memories of Australia.
Part 11 - Live in Brisbane the first time - The story of why we left Brisbane.
Part 12 - Moving to Melbourne - First impressions.
Part 13 - Life in Melbourne - Dad Pham - The good old days.
Part 14 - The Other Phams - Our neighbours in Melbourne were Phams too.
Part 15 - Life in Melbourne - Mum Pham - Our Sunday Phamly traditions began in Melbourne.
Part 16 - Cats On A Train - Moving to Brisbane
Part 17 - Sleepwalking Scare - Moving to Brisbane continued
Part 18 - A House in Brisbane - Moving to Brisbane continued some more

I've lugged this pencil around with me for over a decade and I can't remember why I got it but that's not the point of this story. The point is I earned the pencil in Grade 6 back when Achievement Awards were still a thing in my life. I miss those days when people gave a damn what I did; back when we got awards for things like penmanship, helping others, learning to speak English properly (or was that ESL kids only?). These days it's rare I get any acknowledgement from anyone for anything like typing fast, being polite on the phone, or watering plants so they don't die.

I think my need to give other people positive reinforcement and show my gratitude comes from all the Achievement Awards I got as a kid. I mostly earned awards for being smart, which never really sat well with me because I knew other kids who weren't as bright and scored not so well but they worked SO much harder than I did. Why didn't they give academic rewards for effort? I'd flunk that category for sure. I was only ever proud of the Awards that acknowledged how I looked out for other kids or for overcoming my crippling shyness. These days, you can't shut me up if I have something to say and that's all thanks to my Grade 2 Achievement Award. I was super shy before then - partially because I didn't know English but also I was used to being the only Asian in an all white German class so sitting alone and not understanding what was going on was my norm.

I want to go back to the days when people gave you free stationery for slowly becoming a functioning member of society. Mainly, I just want free stationery. If I got pencils or notepads whenever I didn't overeat, or completed an exercise schedule in full, or got all my chores done; I'd be way more motivated and better at life. I also may become a hoarder considering I still have a pencil that's a couple of decades old. OR I would stop using email, text and Facebook messenger, and send people post-its and letters instead. Australia Post would get a nice little business boost and I'd become really slow at communication. Sometimes, you can't win them all.

Little Sissy Pham has a Tinder win story so I know not everyone fails this hard, but boy am I getting great at not succeeding. I was starting to think it was me and not the dating pool, but after spending a weekend on my Tinder account with a clinical psychologist friend I know it's the dating pool. She lost hope for me after only a couple days' swiping - I've been doing this for years! So many depressants and domestic violent cases got swiped left (no) by the expert. And the few she chatted to had major issues that drove us to unmatch. Only one guy got her OK - he was super genuine and down to earth.

...But as we got to chatting I learned he just got back from overseas where he'd moved to be with a now ex-girlfriend. He was unemployed, living at home, didn't have a car and lived 68km away. My ex, The Cheater, was all of those things when we met, and I have no intention of doing long distance ever again so that fizzled out. I didn't get a date from my friend's swipes, but I have recently been on 3 failed dates all by myself.

Fail #1 The suicidal ex.
The German showed potential - his texts were highly engaging and funny, he asked to meet me on the first day we matched. Spontaneous! We met up that night for a walk when he said he’d be in the area and I was going for a walk anyway. Turns out he drove half an hour to be in the area specifically to see me - impressed. We had a great time on our 2.5 hour walk chatting the whole way. So we went on a second date.

He was accomodating again when I got stuck at work and ruined our movie plans; he met me on the way home to buy me dinner instead. But something wasn’t right the moment I sat down. His energy was low, he looked exhausted and I couldn’t get the chat going. Finally, he sighed and told me he was emotionally drained because his friend, who he visited in hospital the day after our first date, is actually his ex-girlfriend and he’s her only friend in Bris. She’d set him up to go over and feed his cat while she was away, but instead of being on her way to the airport, he found her hanging herself and had to cut her down and resuscitate her, then admit her to hospital. His mood was off this night because she was being released from hospital the next day, and he was her carer. It kinda killed the mood.

I felt a little selfish for being disappointed that what should have been a fun night turned into me listening to his issues and feeling helpless. I felt for him, but he needed professional support, and I'm not qualified for anything. He said he felt better for seeing me, and getting his mind off things so at least listening helped a little. I treated him to arcade games and drinks after dinner, then never saw him again because I come with minimal baggage, and he had more than I can carry.

Fail #2 The seriously good and seriously, serious guy.
H The Happy as I call him was regrettable in a good way. I nearly didn’t meet him ‘cause he disappeared for a couple of weeks and in Tinder land that’s a lifetime so I didn’t give him my number when I deleted my account. But we rematched a couple months later, and he explained he got the flu and that's why he stopped responding.

Our date was a nice time - home-cooked dinner, pleasant intelligent chats, which lead to quite a bit of smooching, and I thought yeah, he's some one I can have fun with. Good, easygoing company. The thing was, he didn't feel the same way. He was already planning date 2 before date 1 ended, then planned date 3 before we went on date 2, which is amazing and never happens, right girls? A guy who plans ahead, thinks of cute date ideas, and isn’t afraid to say he wants to see you? Unheard of! But it made me realise he was way more into me than I was into him. And I’ve been him before this year. I didn’t want to string him along like No Fun did with me so I told him we weren't on the same page.

Ugh, I really wish I’d hit it off with H The Happy. He was soooo sweet and mindful and ideal boyfriend material…for someone who isn’t me. I need goofy, I need silly, I need humour - which is most important to me. I need to laugh at life or I will curl up in a traumatised ball and die. So if any of you ladies are seeking a good guy who wants a serious relationship, hit me up - I know a guy.

Fail #3 Ain’t nobody got time for dat. By dat, I mean me.
I probably should have realised when I unmatched The Ginger months ago when he suddenly stopped texting that he didn’t care about me or maybe dating in general. He had been on top of my to-meet list when he disappeared so I was disappointed he thought my banter not worth a reply.

When we rematched a couple of months later, he was more attentive on text so we met up. He didn't have an excuse like H the Happy who was sick. The Ginger told me he was being lazy at chatting to babes and going on dates. Again, I should have realised he didn't really care about me or dating in general.

But it wasn’t until a fateful bus ride to Byron Bay where my team got to know each other too well that I clued onto what was happening. A team mate made sure the straight girls knew to: “Never compromise yourself for boys ‘cause BOYS SSSSUUUUCCKKKK. They will try to get the most out of you for as little as possible ‘cause BOYS SSSSUUUUCCKKKK. They’re the worst. Just don’t do it. Don’t compromise. Don't - 'cause BOYS SSSSUUUUCCKKKK.” Wise, drunken, comically repeated words from a guy nearly a decade younger than me. He reminded me not to be a doormat and I bailed on minimal effort Ginger that weekend.

The screenshot above is our parting words. His roster is a cop out -  he preferred to text me than see me, and y'all know how I feel about texting. I gave him two roster cycles and when he didn't make plans after he asked when I was free and I told him twice. But then ignored me when I asked when he was free, my ego had to take a hit and admit it wasn’t his roster that was the problem - I just wasn’t on his to-do list. It’s a shame, we had non-stop laughs on our first date and nerded out when we realised we were reading the same book in an old 14-book fantasy epic. Oh well, I wanted to see where it went and it ended up going nowhere like all of my Tinder dates. I'm taking a break from Brisbane boys to adventure in Europe right now. Currently in Paris, here's hoping I have a bit more luck in love from visiting the city of love...and urine-scented streets.

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!