KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

Like most women, I judge the length of my hair by how often it gets caught in things and how varied those things are. Doors, windows, chairs, zippers, buttons, bras, handbags... When it becomes an hourly ouch, it's time to get a haircut. Wait, that's not how you decide to make a hair appointment?

When my Melbourne hairdresser became horribly allergic to hair treatment chemicals and retired, I floated around from hairdresser to hairdresser for years before resigning to cutting my own hair. And then I found my knight in poker-faced armour, Richard from Richard & Maisy Hair Styling at Level 4/190 Edward Street in Brisbane City. They used to own Hair Corner in Elizabeth Street Arcade in Brisbane CBD if that name rings a bell.

Richard is the bomb. He doesn't chat much - mainly because of the language barrier. His English is fine but not strong enough that carrying a full English conversation would be effortless and we'd both prefer he put his effort into the hair over small talk.

As always, I'm blogging as a genuine customer and fan. I've been loyal to Richard ever since he didn't bat an eyelid when I asked to shave my head (again). Instead, he gave me sensible advice unlike a few other hairdressers I'd visited - they questioned my choice, tried to talk me out of it and made me feel like I couldn't trust them to do the good job so I walked out. Which is lucky because that's how I ended up in Hair Corner.

One of the many things I wished I'd done before Mum Pham passed away was talk to her in detail about her life. The things I know are pieced together from lots of little stories she shared. I never once sat down and learned her story in full. I know she grew up in Saigon, and that Grandma passed away when Mum was young so she was raised by her 8 older sisters and older brother. And, of course, Grandpa.

Grandpa came from China. When the Vietnam War broke out in 1962 and the Viet Cong began to gain ground heading south, Grandpa told his children that if the communists win, they had to flee. But Grandpa didn't live to see the end of the war and my Aunts and Uncle did not heed his warning when the time to flee came in 1975. As Saigon fell, my mother and her siblings made the mistake of not running like so many thousands did.

While Dad Pham was losing his sanity in a re-education camp, Mum's family stayed and learned first-hand why Grandpa had wanted them to escape. In its own way, things worked out - if Mum had fled when her dad told her to, Dad Pham would still be wasting away in prison and wouldn't have been in Germany to meet her as a translator and The Phamly would not exist. Life's funny like that.

Mum Pham never went into detail with her stories of the Viet Cong, but what she did share is that people lived in fear of the regime and those who spoke out against the communist government were killed, put in prison or disappeared. The Viet Cong could simply take, harass or intimidate people into handing over property - real estate, personal belongings, anything they desired because in communism, things don't belong to you, they belong to the community (so long as you are Viet Cong). That's why Mum Pham's siblings hid their jewellery, and eventually the diamonds in my Phamly ring were smuggled out of Vietnam and remade into a ring Germany.

I still own a few of the sleeveless tops that Viet Cong soldiers harassed mum for wearing. Apparently, they they were too revealing (see photo for said tops). As Mum tells it, Aunty Nine told the soldiers off for picking on a bunch of girls, while Mum held her breath waiting to be punished but instead the soldiers let them go with a warning. That night mum and her sisters sewed cap sleeves onto their sleeveless tops. I remember these tops from when I was a kid - Mum no longer wore them, but she'd kept them through her journey from Vietnam to Germany and then Australia. They must have meant something to her - I wished I'd asked what that something was.

Looking back, it seems silly to think ugly, mismatched sleeve caps was the fashion in Vietnam. I didn't learn til I was a teen that they happened because the Viet Cong officials could tell people what to do, how to live, where to live... the freedom fighters turned out to be dictators. Saigon fell in 1975. Years later Mum Pham would flee Vietnam and meet a handsome fellow I call Dad in 1979, but that's a story I'll piece together another day.



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

It's been so long since I've been on a date or asked anyone to go on a date or been asked by anyone to go on a date -  I forget that people have feelings and expectations and history that motivate their actions and give them personality nuances that are totally peculiar to me, yet normal for them. What are all these feelings? I don't like them - you keep them, thanks.

I know I come with baggage and quirks too. Like, right now I have zero patience with texting coming out of a long distance relationship where my boyfriend was pretty much an iPhone - I may as well have dated Siri that's how text- and tech-heavy we were. Though, Siri always answers when you call her (or him) and greets you in the morning with a weather update, breaking news and reminds me what I have on that day so she was more involved in my life than my partner by the end. I need a break from tech-based relationships with boys and software.

Instead, I've been catching up with old friends; making new friends; making eye-contact with and greeting strangers and regulars - except the neo-nazi who growled at me once and glares at me all the time and I'm pretty sure he's the one who carved the swastika in the wet concrete across the road from my house - him I don't greet. I'm also getting out of the house more - morning walks, taking dad to the lake, going to the pool, shooting hoops in the park and finally not failing my Fitbit on a daily basis. It feels good.

I think this whole not hanging out with my phone is helping me get back into blogging. I'm not using my word count on texts so my brain is able to use my words elsewhere. Also, I've gone on a major post-break-up shopping spree so I'll be wanting to share some of my fave buys in new Upgrade U posts soon because nothing says I don't want to catch feelings like mass consumerism!

Text you later.
xoxo

I'm usually not allowed to deal with the public at work - a self-enforced rule because dressing like rainbow vomit, shaved hair and head tattoos isn't quite on-brand for the day job. But every now and then during festival season, I'm forced to step out from behind the scenes - mainly because there's no one else to do what needs doing, and make a rare public appearance.

This week, I learned of a slightly distressed couple who had lost their 2x irreplaceable tickets to a very sold out Listen Out festival. Tickets are like cash y'all - hold onto them tight because once they're gone, they're gone for good! It took a few days and a little rejigging within the team, but I was able to offer them 2x VIP passes. When I called to tell him the good news, the first thing Damian asked was, "Is anyone in your team going to miss out?"  He was more concerned about others than himself. That made my day - other people's happiness is even better when they're good people.

At the end of a long week, I re-read his happy email. It made me smile. Though, now the festival's nearly over I'm going back into my hidey hole. Until next time....

(So you know, my team didn't miss out either. Everyone wins.)

Hello, sunshine. It's been a long while. I've been in hibernation post-Uncle Ho takedown, I was a pretty bummed that the only negative blog post I've ever written blew up like that. I see why media like to report bad news - people like that shit. But that's all blown over now and I can go back to not thinking much like Dad says.

I've also put my life on hold in other ways. I did the long-distance thing for over a year. We were going nowhere so that ended. Now I'm back to being a single lady.  I'm not ready to jump back into the wacky world of online dating, and I'm hoping to avoid another online dating horror story. But here's hoping there's a little sunshine, happy times and fun up ahead.

Love,
Jade

1. "jade bracelets that don't come off" - I'm not alone!
2. "how to buy potato chips" - with money?
3. "wearing his lego brick backpack" - is that you, wild style?
4. "asos porno" - okay, I shopped a lot on asos once upon a time but that seems extreme
5. "cow u" - moo me?
6. "online dating cat lady" - nailed it
7. "insult" - what did i do?
8. "milk drunk onesie"- i actually have no idea why my blog came up as a result. I hate onesies, they're so impractical for small bladders
9. "penguin gifts for adults" - because duh
10. "happy old asian lady" - yes. yes i am

I found this photo of Mum Pham (left) with her bestie (right) at school back in 1966. The duo were separated by the Vietnam War and about 10 years ago reunited when her bestie migrated to Brisbane. The reunion was glorious.

Mum would be 21 in this photo. I wore that same gold bracelet on her right wrist when I was about 20 (sadly, it died a tragic death when I got crushed at a music festival). It would be 15 years before Mum Pham would become a mother. She was pretty much carefree in 1966 and had no idea what lay ahead for her.

Mum Pham studied to become a pharmacist and finished her degree, but never received her official documents because she refused to do a year of military service. She hated learning firearms let alone what that skill was intended for. No way she'd be willing to shoot someone if it came down to that.

All her chemistry and biology studies didn't go to waste though. 13 years later when she fled to Germany with my cousins, and didn't have her 8 older siblings around to cook for her, she had to learn to cook. She was a late bloomer but, by gosh, the woman could cook. Mum Pham used to be able to taste a dish in a restaurant and recreate it at home on a Centrelink and Veterans Affairs budget. Mum could stretch a dollar in ways I still to this day can't figure out with all my access to computers, spreadsheets and calculations.

It makes me sad that Mum Pham passed away just as us kids started coming good. Or maybe her falling ill is what drove us to work harder, be better and succeed. We can afford delicious home-cooked feasts on the regular, presents for occasions and fun Phamly outings that we never could when she was alive.

This Mother's Day, The Phamly will burn incense for Mum Pham and celebrate Big Brother Pham's partner and mother of their 3 gorgeous children. By celebrate, I mean we'll feast. This year we'll be making lemongrass beef & vinegar poached beef rice paper rolls (tofu rice paper rolls for me) and eating until we are all uncomfortable in our own skin. Mum Pham would like that.

Happy Mother's Day everyone - hope you spent it with family and loved ones.

Apologies are hard. Because I don't like to be wrong, let alone admit it. Ask Little Sissy Pham - when we were kids (and into adulthood if I'm honest) I'd argue with her until she agreed I was right even though I knew I wasn't. Only when she'd admit defeat did my fat ego then apologise for being wrong. I have serious issues.

Sometimes it's too hard to apologise to someone but Apomogy makes it easy if there's something you want to get off your chest - like say, accidentally killing someone's mother...?! Apomogy is anonymous apologies expressed on pom-poms because obviously - it's called an apomogy. It's an ongong group art project about saying you're sorry with the help of the almighty pom-pom.