KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

I'm a deep level of dopey that makes strangers offer to help me carry groceries even though I'm totally capable...I'm just super awkward and uncoordinated. So when work helped launch Groove Therapy 101 in Brisbane & the Gold Coast (good job, Queen B!), I thought it'd be a great idea to go along and embarrass myself in the name of team building. And also, I like to try new things. I've been going every week since!

Groove Therapy isn't like other 'beginner' dance classes where you need at least some dance background plus the ability to follow choreography. The format for Groove Therapy is so much simpler - the dance therapist shows you a move facing the room, and you mirror them - that's it. You don't have to remember a bazillion steps, they read the room and simplify steps or add little extra grooves to suit the skill levels so everyone can follow along. Plus there are no mirrors and the lights aren't bright so you don't have to see what you look like, you just feel like a damn queen nailing all the moves (even when you aren't).

I totally sucked for the first month at Groove Therapy because my body is not used to moving in a way that resembles having rhythm, but I eventually got used to mirroring the instructor, and even add my own little grooves once I nail the basics. In Brisbane, we play little dance games and end each class with a little combo which is a few steps from today's class combined.

A post shared by GROOVE THERAPY (@groovetherapy_101) on Oct 7, 2017 at 5:59pm PDT

Wanida, the Brisbane dance therapist, is a little pocket rocket - so cheerful and energetic and encouraging, she brightens up my day and gets me pumped for the rest of the week! I notice I've been dancing along to music at work more as a result, and while I'm driving and singing car karaoke in the mornings. Seriously, dance brings so much joy - if you've ever wanted to groove along to things but don't know how and don't want to take formal dance lessons, get along to a Groove Therapy session and party in a super-chill and welcoming space! I love, love, love Groove Therapy. I start my week by partying with Groove Therapy Brisbane @ the Latvian Hall in Woolloongabba @ 6.30pm for an hour.

They hold sessions in Brisbane, Gold Coast, Byron Bay, Sydney and Melbourne. Check it out: groovetherapy101.com.

Little Sissy Pham and I finally made it back to our birth town in Germany in August this year, and it was predictably the best time EVER. Our beautiful cousins on both sides of the Pham made time for our visit and shared so many stories and memories we didn't know we had. I'm going to capture these memories in a Phamly Reunion series beginning with this post.

I am so grateful that Mum Pham and Dad Pham raised us to speak Vietnamese. It wasn’t a conscious decision they made, more like it was too difficult for them to learn English after burning through brain cells to learn German, the strangest standalone language in the history of mankind, so their English remained broken and we had to keep speaking Vietnamese as kids in order to communicate with our parents. And gosh darn, it came in handy in Germany where Vietnamese was the common language we had between three generations of Phams.

It’s bizarre hearing our cousins speak fluent German. Most of our Vietnamese relatives back home in Australia speak broken English (if that) with really heavy accents. It's probably bizarre to them that we speak Vietnamese with a foreign accent. One cousin said we were like the Vietnamese-American beauty pageant contenders on Viet programs who answer questions with funny Vietnamese because when we don't know the words to say something in a straightforward way, we find a workaround to explain what we're trying to say.

Conversation was sometimes slow as a result because my Vietnamese isn't great, and my vocab is largely centred around food because Mum Pham loved the kitchen so much. But being able to connect with extended Phamly in our parents' native tongue was so wonderful. I’ll share stories from our Phamly Reunion over the next few months. So many stories!

It took me a few weeks to get back into the swing of things. I had writer’s block… well, I had ideas but I didn’t want to sit down with a MacBook for the longest time because I’d gotten used to not hanging out with computers on account of I didn't take one to Europe. But now I am back in Australia and back on my laptop and back to reality.

Our welcome back wasn’t so nice. First, I come back to a plebiscite about a human rights issue that’s only an ‘issue’ because our politicians are cowards who won’t stand up for what’s right for all Australians. Of course, I voted yes but I’m disappointed that I had to, and I'm also irate that it's non-binding anyway. Why do we even need to do this?!

Second, a piece of trash at Brisbane International Airport mistook us for tourists and slagged us off in Boganese thinking we couldn’t understand her. Then, Dad Pham went and had himself some heart failure at our first Phamly Dinner back - thank goodness we had jet lag to make spending a night in Emergency less painful (though first day back at work that morning hurt quite a bit). I’m glad I was back in Australia in time to care for Dad but the culture (or lack thereof) shock left me with a bad case of the post-holiday blues.

Being overseas and meeting great people, then returning to that choice local twat, I realised I don’t really like Australians. The Europeans I encountered all had an inherent understanding or at least an awareness of other cultures and other languages that most Australians simply lack. I was so impressed with how nearly everyone we met could speak 2 or 3 languages. I’m only bi-lingual because of my heritage, otherwise, I’d only speak Australian like most folks here. I felt so uncultured, selfish and spoiled in Europe. I only learned enough to say hello, bye and thank you in the countries we visited - and expected (and did) find English speakers whenever I needed to communicate something important.

Australians tend to live in ignorance because of our isolated island. Sure, there’s racism everywhere in the world - not just Australia, but in Europe every country is bordered by many others so their racists know a bit about what they hate/fear about a different race or religion - doesn't make it OK but makes it different. In Australia, the racism is an ignorant and aggressive hate/fear - backed by a strong sense of entitlement to a land that we invaded, yet don't acknowledge or pay respects to its original owners to this day and still celebrate invasion day like it's something to be proud of. At least the conversation has started around that now - but it could be years before anything is done.

I miss Europe. I miss talking with strangers who know how to ask about my cultural background and history without making me feel like an alien or super-awkward. I also like not being petted on the head like a good doggo because some Aussie chick thinks I "look so cute" - I was so shocked when that happened I didn't say anything, but damn, bitch, treat me like a human being, please. I still love Australia, and I think we’re the luckiest country in the world. I just wish we’d stop promoting ourselves as a multicultural country and start to live it instead - we'd probably enjoy or at least learn a thing or two by opening our hearts and minds to people who don't live life exactly the same way we do.

And that's how I became the third wheel on my own vacation.

Wait, let's start from the very beginning. Little Sissy Pham and I were planning a trip to Europe in 2011 for when the Eurovision Song Contest was in Germany. Unfortunately, Mum Pham fell ill and we postponed our trip but life happened. Jobs came and went, boyfriends came and went, then the more responsible one (not me) bought a mortgage and suddenly it was 2017 and we hadn't gotten around to our trip. So we decided this year had to be the year.

Little Sissy Pham has a new(ish) boyfriend and they're still doing the cutesy new sweethearts crap so instead of wanting to get away from him, she wanted to invite him. So that's how I became the third wheel on my own vacation crashing on couches while they slept in cosy beds. And yet, they were the ones who needed naps during the day (no gumption)! It worked out since I liked going out exploring on my own since Little Sissy Pham couldn't walk fast or far in her cankles.

5 weeks in Europe nearly killed the sloth couple. I was pretty tired by the end too, though I could have pressed ahead for another week of trekking around. By the last stop in Prague they'd given up on exploring and just went shopping, which is a shame because Prague city centre is one of the prettiest places I've ever seen. Every which way I looked it was beautiful.

There's so much to explore in Europe. Our trip took us from Paris to Barcelona to Marseille to Nice to Rome to Venice to Milan to Geneva to our hometown via Frankfurt to Berlin to Prague. We traveled mostly by train using a Eurail Pass, then roamed the streets of every city visiting as many sights and destinations as we could. It was exhausting and exhilarating.

Expect a string of Europe travel inspired blog posts to come!

I don’t like embarrassing people unless it’s to delight them at the same time, ‘cause otherwise that’s just mean. My latest office prank-practical present was for a team member who eats a can of tuna for lunch every day. You read that right, a single can of tuna a day every day, unless he’s super hungry and then he may have two.

Tuna Breath doesn’t like to make a fuss over his birthday though, so I didn’t know the special day had arrived until I rocked up to work. I sent him a smart ass birthday email - this year I told him he’s by far my favourite person over the age of 100, and wished him a wonderful day. But somehow, this didn’t feel like enough.

So, I pitched an idea to the team - let's get Tuna Breath a comical amount of his favourite tuna, and surprise him when he munches down on a @cake.letters birthday cake. The team got on board, and oh boy was it glorious.

I stacked a poster tube with 14 tins, then taped it up with eBay tape to make it look like an online order. Then got a fancy looking gift box to make it look like we got him something sincere. Then, as a third and final joke, got him a single carrot that I individually wrapped for dietary balance (you should eat your veggies, kids).

The unboxing was perfect. He turned red as soon as he saw the tuna in the poster tube. Then, we deliberately put the nice, gift box on a table instead of handing it to him so he wouldn't feel the weight of it; he just needed to lift the lid and uncover the tissue paper, then BAM! more tuna tins. He nearly died when saw the 21 cans in the box. He could barely keep it together, and I was nearly pissing myself laughing from his reactions 'cause I'm a jerk.

Then he tried to walk away but I surprised him with the carrot - nicely wrapped to look like a pen box so again he was disappointed by our insincerity. His reaction was priceless - so much outrage and appreciation all at once. Ah, it was fun. He hated it at the time, and has put 3 calendar reminders to get me back on my birthday but I heard him telling his sister about it all when she called so I know he secretly loved it.

Tips for traveling with Little Sissy Pham: don't. 

The girl suffered through swollen ankles then a cold then constipation then headaches then motion sickness then claustrophobia. It was literally one thing after another for the whole 5 weeks. It was the worst.

Tips for traveling long distance flights: compression socks. 

Our friend told us to get socks the day before we spent 26 hours commuting but did we listen? No. We were lazy about going to the shops because we'd already tapped out and slid into holiday mode. It ruined Paris for Little Sissy - she was in agony the whole time we adventured to all the grand and beautiful sights. It also meant we couldn't pack as much into each day since she was in agony and didn't enjoy herself.

Instead, we bought compression socks in Paris for a lot more than we'd have spent at home as a lesson to always listen to clever friends who care about your health and well-being. Ijiuts. We wore the socks for the return flight and it helped a lot. We also wore it on long haul train rides between countries because in Europe you can get to most countries by high speed rail unlike in Australia where trains are slow and cumbersome. And in Brisbane where sometimes folks can't get home from work by train if the weather is too rainy or too hot. Australia's just not great at trains, hey.

So now I'm hoping that people reading this who are about to go on long haul flights will heed my warning to not be dumb like us. Wear compression socks and keep those legs moving - will save you a world of pain on the other end.

My car got a little smushed at a roundabout by an SUV that didn’t see me - maybe they were colourblind, my car is green. So I took the train for the couple of weeks while it was at the car doctors. What do you call those? Mechanics? I enjoyed public transport for the first few days, though I missed my morning car karaoke sessions. Then the early starts and longer, somber commutes began to wear me down. Still, it was fun to people watch on the bus and train.

I find it funny that some people who enter my life for fleeting moments on public transport, or driving through traffic will forever be remembered as the lady with the superhero run, or the suit with the epic yawn face, or the gym jock nose-picker. People in cars are my favourite though. They somehow think a clear dashboard window hides their hilarious, private antics.

My all-time favourite is a sweet moment a Dad and daughter shared. She was dancing and singing her heart out to whatever song was on the radio, and being a cheeky monkey. I still picture the glimpse into their lives when he turned to look at her at a red light as she strikes a dramatic hip hop pose, their eyes meet for a weighted moment, then they both burst out laughing like it was the best thing ever. That was real love right there.

So next time you’re walking the streets, sitting on public transport, or driving your car - remember, I could be creeping on you in my rearview mirror or through my windshield. But feel free to be yourself, and do embarrassing or sweet things like there’s no one watching.

Finally! A bicarb free, palm oil free and aluminium free deodorant that works really well, and lasts all day!

I was using crystal magic for the past year after trying half a dozen ‘natural’ deodorants. By natural, I mean aluminium chlorohydrate free. Most people who wear 'natural' deodorant are avoiding this compound that is possibly linked to cancer. I don't care about that though. I wanted a palm oil free deodorant because all the roll-ons in the super market contain conflict palm oil derived ingredients, which is killing orang-utans and devastating lands in less fortunate countries. So 'natural' deodorants was my only palm oil free option. Unlucky me though, I am sensitive to bicarb, which is the most common anti-odour replacement for aluminium chlorohydrate - it gives me painful, red and dry rashes. There are bicarb free pastes and roll-ons but the ones I tried only lasted a few hours and I was stinking by lunch time after applying in the morning. So for the past while I've been using crystals but they only fight my stench, they don’t help with my profuse sweating.

No Pong came across my Facebook feed as a sponsored ad and at first I was sceptical because advertising. But then I kept seeing real people’s comments raving about their product, so I had a look at the ingredients list. Alas, it had bicarb so I couldn't use it. But then a bicarb free version was developed. Again, I was sceptical because I had tried other bicarb pastes and still ponged but their bicarb version had such mad fans, I decided to give it a go. I am so glad I did - game-changer!

No Pong does what its name says. It stops the stink, and also absorbs sweat so you're nice and dry. A tiny pea-sized blob rubbed under each arm lasts all day. It also has the most pleasant and mild scent, which is another thing I didn’t like about other natural deodorants - they all used really strong oils that made smell like an incense stick whenever I raised my arm.

I’m now onto my second tub of No Pong already, and have not had a day where I needed to reapply! Though, I should note I do morning exercise then shower before I apply the anti-odourant - I’m not sure how it holds up if you go to the gym after work. I have just started going to Groove Therapy (pre-beginner’s dance class) once a week after work, and that’s fine. I’m not fresh afterwards because so much sweat, but I don’t reek either. Similar to how I felt after adult beginner ballet classes when I was using Dove deodorant  roll-ons. Not fresh, but not gross either. What can I say? I’m just a natural stinker. But No Pong helps with that while being bicarb-, aluminium- and palm oil-free! It really is wonderful, and I cannot recommend it enough!

We’re pretty excited about this announcement! Meet the newest member of our family - No Pong Low Fragrance, Bicarb Free! We’ve designed this No Pong especially for people sensitive to fragrances and bicarb in deodorants. As you can imagine, we wouldn’t release a product unless we were pretty sure it did what it says on the tin, and we believe this No Pong is just as ridiculously effective as our original, whether you are sensitive to those ingredients or not. Our all new patent-pending formula comes with some new premium all natural ingredients to get the job done, and a month of freshness is available right now for $6.95 + postage. -www.nopong.com

A post shared by No Pong, All Natural Deodorant (@nopong.deodorant) on Apr 28, 2017 at 12:41pm PDT

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.