KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

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.

Believe it or not, despite my bright and colourful wardrobe and matching demeanour, I do think unhappy thoughts sometimes. I keep the dark scary off the Interwebs because there’s enough negativity on here - am I right? Sometimes, I think the happy, positive people in the world probably also have the worst thoughts because if you have the capacity to be extreme in one way, you have it in you to be the opposite extreme too.

There is no hiding when I’ve cried. My eyelids puff up like I’ve had an allergic reaction to life (which I suppose you could say I did), and my eyes become so bloodshot and dry it looks like I haven’t slept in days. The worst cries are when I run out of tears and burst the little blood vessels around my eye socket so I also have little red veins streaking everywhere. No amount of makeup can hide all three side-effects of bawling my eyes out because it changes the physical shape of my eyes, lips and nose - everything gets puffy.

I don’t cry too often. I feel like crying all the time - say, about once every month 4-6 days before I start bleeding - PMS, guys, it’s a bitch. But I only cry every now and then if I’m feeling bummed out about something specific. The trigger can be big or small and the cries accordingly.

My last small cry was after a nice lunch at RSPCA Wacol's Black Cat Cafe when I saw a kitty kat being adopted by a young boy and his mum. I was so darn ecstatic for the cat and her new family I burst into tears on the spot.

My last big cry was after my dating fail with No Fun - it brought on years of self-doubt and feeling unwanted for most of my life. And people often point out what’s wrong with me when it comes to reasons I am single (too intelligent, too weird, etc) and I usually disagree with them (too argumentative) because it's the dating pool that's wrong (too idealistic). I let myself be overwhelmed and weeped every night for nearly two weeks. Sometimes it's good to let it go, Queen Elsa is right.

There's no shame in crying whether it's over sad things or glad things. Everyone needs to let themselves feel their feelings every once in a while. All because society undervalues emotion, does not mean it has no value to us as people. It is good to feel your feelings. It's where art and music and creativity and beauty is born. It's how we relate to one another and make connections. So, dear people, let yourself feel all the things. Don't hold back! ...Unless your feelings are impulses to hurt yourself or others - in which case, please reach out to people at organisations like headspace and beyondblue who can help you process what you're feeling.

I kept handwritten journals from primary school through to university. In the past decade or so I’ve lost the good habit. I rarely sit down without technology - my laptop or my phone, so I decided to digitise my journal and see if that worked. It did. I created a Gmail account that I email every 1-3 days with my latest news, thoughts and meanderings. It mostly acts as a log of my mediocre life, but every now and then it’s good to vent privately about the state of something in my life or the world, or anything really.

Even though I have this blog - which is also like a weblog of my life, I still want to keep a diary of my (im)proper private thoughts because not everyone needs to know I ate breakfast in the courtyard so I could spend quality time with my plants…and the PokéStop next door. Or that I’m constipated from eating potato chips for dinner for half the week. No, really, I am that interesting I want to record every useless thought I have. But I know it’s not for everyone so I'm doing the internet a kindness and keeping a private journal.

The perks of a digital diary means I can easily search for things if I want to recall an event without manually trawling through a dozen thick A4 books to try and find a bit of information. It took me 30 minutes to figure out how old our cat was when the Vet asked her age - a quick Gmail search would have pulled it up in seconds. It’s also handy not traveling with a book. I used to write in my journal a lot when I went on holidays away - the quiet time at night not in my own home was perfect for focussed writing, but that required forethought and packing my diary in the first place. Now I can simply email my diary from my phone any time, anywhere.

For anyone wanting to keep a journal but never quite getting started or if you have a journal and dropped off because you never seem to have time to sit down and write your thoughts, I highly recommend digitising your entries. If you’re on the internet often, it makes sense to email your entries to/from an exclusive address instead of finding time to sit down with a notebook and handwriting the story of your life. You can also attach photos and videos to keep a visual diary of your memories too. I love it.

I never knew why Mum & Dad called each other Herr and Frau until I reconnected with my Long Lost German Cousin recently. I have always known the story of how they met though - Dad told us when we were younger, and the story has come up a lot more in recent years around Mother's Day. I like to call it When Herr met Frau:

Dad Pham met Mum Pham one day at work. They were definitely not an obvious match. They were, in fact, the complete opposite in most ways. Dad is a cheeky bugger who attracts lots of friends, but also rubs them the wrong way because he has no filter. Mum Pham was gentle and loving; a natural peacemaker who kept the friends Dad made.

When it came to dating, Mum Pham was a shy wallflower. She didn't actually date, partly because of the times, and partly because her family was super strict. Mum's dating history consisted of one man she had a crush on in university. It never went beyond flirtation because a stern talking to from her older brother put an end to it.  There was also a high-ranking military officer who became infatuated with her after seeing her at Grandad's factory. They crossed paths when he came to Grandad's factory to mass order beds for the army. He often visited even though Mum would avoid him and he'd just talk with Grandad. He eventually asked Grandad for mum's hand but she wasn't interested, and neither was Grandad. Those two men were the only men before Dad Pham. Mum focused on her studies like she was told - no boys allowed, and the future war meant her studies and avoiding boys was all for nought.

Dad Pham, on the other hand, was a total ladies man. He was and is charming and flirtatious, and all the ladies love him. He was a wild child as a kid then teen. Joining the navy meant he was always being deployed, and didn't know if he'd live to come home do Dad never had a relationship - he had flings. Though, I do know he loved one woman back in Vietnam but nothing ever eventuated because he fled the country and she stayed behind, then there was a woman in Singapore that Mum was always a little jealous of, but Dad knew it wouldn't be forever because he was only there temporarily as a refugee waiting to fly to Germany. I don't know how many women he's dated - he drops sly hints every now and then about how popular he is - but those were the two he loved before Mum Pham.

As Dad tells it, he was ready to settle down when he got to Germany because, even though his whole life had been uprooted and shaken every which way by the war and aftermath, his new country was where his life was stable. In Germany, Dad became an official translator for Vietnamese refugees because he's a quick study in anything he applies himself to including languages. He would help people with their documentation and get them oriented in their new home.

Dad Pham met Mum Pham this way. He knew he would marry her almost instantly. He was taking her for a tour around town, when a local German man dropped his wallet on a busy street and no one noticed. Mum Pham snatched it up and raced after him to give it back. Dad decided then that he would make Mum his wife. She didn't have anything but the clothes on her back yet she didn't think twice about returning a wallet full of cash to its rightful owner. Basically, us Phamlings are lucky Mum Pham isn't a selfish jerk, otherwise we wouldn't exist. That would be tragic, no?




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 wish I had known about and tried Menstrual Cups sooner - I would have saved so much discomfort, and money, and waste. I discovered them last year through my obsession with all things Biome Store. Then a stellar friend vouched for them so I gave it a go. And, boy-o, am I mad at myself for not getting one sooner.

I have the Lunette Cup - Size 1 in blue (pictured). It is SO much better than icky tampons or pads. I actually forget I have my period a lot of the time because I can't feel the cup inside me the way I felt tampons and pads. The only time I am aware of having my period is on my heavy flow day where the bleeding is so heavy it leaks from the cup. On these days I'm aware of the my period because I use Ecomoon's reusable menstrual pad as a pantyliner and sometimes when the cup is really full I can feel the blood sloshing around when the cup is nearly full and I'm overdue to empty it.
It hasn't been all smooth sailing. The first time I slept with the cup it slipped further in (this is normal), and it took me half an hour to figure out how to get it out. I, of course, didn't read the instructions until I absolutely had to. You need to bear down, using your muscles to squeeze it to the base of your uterus where it normally sits. Then you can easily reach up and wiggle the cup out like usual. I also had another incident where I used the bearing down trick with a full bladder and accidentally peed all over my hand. Mm...That's a warm memory. Now I know to pee before I bear down. Yup.

The joys of womanhood, hey? Even though it can be a messy learning curve go begin with, I swear by the menstrual cup and will never look back. It feels like a big investment to spend $50-ish for a cup but think of how much tampons will cost you over 5 years or more. The cups last for years, some of my friends have had their one for 5-8 years and haven't needed to replace it yet. Seriously, worth giving them a go!

I turned off my social media notifications a month ago, and it’s probably the only good decision I’ve made all year. Washing crystals with my klutz hands in the bathroom sink and chipping the basin - terrible idea. Spraying my herbs with a homemade mix that sunburnt all the leaves cause I did so at the wrong time of day with a too-heavy mix and breaking my sister’s spray bottle when the cayenne pepper clogged the pump - also not great ideas. Hanging out with someone I referred to as No Fun - worst idea. But reducing the number of notifications I get by turning off notifications for non-essential apps? Best idea ever.

I was forever guilty of checking notifications when they popped up on my phone, then spending the next 10-30mins scrolling through whatever app I had opened. I no longer get notifications for Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Tinder, Twitter and LinkedIn - the worst offenders on my phone. I also started scheduling social posts for my blog using Hootsuite so I don’t need to go into any apps.

I turned off email notifications except for direct, personal e-mails - G Suite / Gmail is my hero here, you can set it up to filter out all the non-essential emails like e-newsletters, order updates, social media updates etc. And work emails no longer ping my phone unless it’s from an address marked as “VIP” - as in, the boss, the CEO etc. The rest of the digital world can wait until I’m in the mood for virtual socialising. And if it can’t, the people who need to reach me have my mobile number. Yup, I’m one of those old people who still uses their phone for calls some of the time.

I still love a good scroll through social media but these days it’s at my own pace and not when someone else is interacting with me on the apps. So sorry (not sorry) if I haven’t gotten back to anyone on social media - take no notice, I am not ignoring you, I just haven’t gotten around to opening the app yet.