KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

Photos: Cousin T & Big Brother Pham (with Little Sissy Pham on the side) in 1987 versus Little Sissy Pham & me in 2017

In Vietnamese culture we refer to family members in birth order. So, for example, Big Brother Pham is number 2, I am number 3, and Little Sissy Pham is number 4. It's relative to the speaker so to my siblings I'm sister 3, my nieces Aunty 3, or to elders child 3. And then everyone has their name too so I can be Aunty Ngoc or Jade. And in Mum's Phamly they have their Vietnamese name AND their Chinese name. So depending on which side of the Phamly I speak to I refer to them by their Chinese name (Mum's side) or by their number (Dad's side)... it gets rather confusing so for blog purposes so I will use numbers relative to me.

Mum Pham was the youngest of 10 kids. Aunty 9, being the 8th in line, helped raise and care for Mum since Grandma passed away when Mum was a toddler. Mum loved Aunty 9 and though I hadn't seen her in decades so do I. Her care and love helped shape the care and love Mum gave me. I was ecstatic when Cousin T told us his mum could see us.

So on our first full day in Hometown, we went to visit Aunty 9 in the old flat where The Phamly used to visit every weekend. It was strange to walk the streets and halls that Mum & Dad Pham used to walk every weekend, and then to see the same flat that is in so many Phamly photos. I made Little Sissy Pham recreate a photo from childhood - except instead of Big Brother Pham and Cousin T, we were in the pic. It was the funnest!

It always makes me happy-sad to visit family and friends who knew Mum. I can see the love and loss I remind them of when they see Mum's face in mine. I'm almost the age Mum Pham was when she fled to Germany too. Aunty 9 says I even have the same gentle way of speaking. Ooph, it's like good, firm kick in the feels every time.

In long-held Phamly tradition, Aunty 9 overfed us to the point of bursting...and then took us to an all-you-can-eat buffet with Aunty 6's kids. Aunty 9 was so happy to see us, she spent hours strolling the streets of Hometown with us even though she's only recently out of hospital and not up to her regular strength. One thing we noticed in Europe - everyone is way fitter than Aussies of any age. People are just healthier and more active - obesity wasn't really a thing. Or if it was, we never saw anyone morbidly overweight in our travels.

Aunty 9 and her husband still went for bike rides up until her surgery and his (he was in hospital when we were visiting so didn't get to see him). I remember I used to annoy the crap out of him because he didn't like noisy kids, and I was chubby chaos. Cousin N told me how one time he told me to be quiet, and I had a full tantrum, stormed off into the bedroom, and refused to talk to anyone or do anything I was so mad for hours. What a little shit I was.

Being back in the flat where all these memories were made was surreal. I couldn't tell which bits I remembered from actual memory or from old Phamly album photos or tales. Either way, it was indescribably wonderful to be back at the flat where we hung out every week as kids. So much love and fondness was felt the whole day there.

Pics: Dad & Mum Pham in 1988 versus Little Sissy Pham & me pulling my best mum face in 2017

Beautiful, grand, pompous, over-the-top Paris. It was our first stop on the Europe trip so we spent a little longer there than other cities on our whirlwind trip, in case we gots the jet lag. Instead, we got the cankles which was unfortunate because Paris was the biggest city we visited with sites spread out far apart. Nice walking distance for the fit and healthy. Torturous and painful when your sibling has cankles and is in agony.

The people were arrogant, (though very very good-looking so I forgive them) and generally did not give a crap about tourists or anyone for that matter. The food we had was expensive and the worst we had in Europe - I'm guessing Paris is one of those places you have to be in the know to find the good food spots. Basically, we did not have a good time in Paris. I'm glad I experienced it but will never go back - there are too many other places I'd rather explore or return to in Europe.

Day 0. We arrived, took a while to get to our airbnb apartment, then took another little while to find a SIM so we could call the host and get inside. We adventured as far as the nearest supermarket to gawk at all the things that looked same same, but different. Then went back to sleep because it was 10pm in Paris but 6am in our body clocks.

Skull candy.

A post shared by Jade (@thephamly) on Aug 10, 2017 at 11:26am PDT

Day 1. We went to the catacombs because it felt like the thing that you have to do when in Paris. It was a mildly stinky adventure, and not creepy because everything was well lit but boy, I would not want to be the tourists who got stuck down there in the dark for days. You'd have to walk along the corridors, feeling your way, along dead people's bones. Ew.

We walked through Luxembourg Park which was gorgeous - our favourite park on the entire trip. Though, the Gardens in Prague trump it for beauty. As a public park, it was so beautiful and vibrant and full of activity once the rain cleared up.

From there we walked to the Notre Dame, which is my favourite of all the buildings we visited in Europe. Gaudi's Sagrada Familia in Barcelona was stunning in its uniqueness but there was something about the Notre Dame that I adore. This early in the trip we were still excited by buildings so went into the Sainte-Chapelle as well. We'd soon burn out and just look at the outside instead of paying to go in and mozy about.

Day 2. We went to the Louvre because, duh, you have to. It's so bloody big, and full of art history. The Mona Lisa I didn't expect to be so tiny, crowded - I didn't get it, hey. But then I'm not into historic, traditional art. We also went to the Musée de l'Orangerie to see Monet's Water Lilies - probably my favourite art piece on the trip. I found it soothing to sit and stare at the paintings. Then we soldiered onto see Napoleon's grand tomb before we called it a day.

Eiffel Tower.

A post shared by Jade (@thephamly) on Aug 12, 2017 at 3:27pm PDT

Day 3. The Eiffel Tower was awesome but probably because of the personal connection. It was one of the few places Mum & Dad Pham made it to on their honeymoon before Big Brother Pham had an asthma attack, and they rushed back to Germany. We opted to cheat and take the elevator because Little Sissy Pham's cankles were killing her. The view was stunning, and the novelty of being on the friggin' Eiffel Tower made my day.

We also went on two boat tours of the city at the recommendation of a French friend. A day one to see all the beautiful buildings, then a night one to see all the beautiful lights. I enjoyed the day one more because I love architecture, but the Eiffel Tower lit up is gorgeous at night so I’m really glad we had time to do both. Hoard all the experiences!

Day 4. Versailles aka the day from Hell. It was a spur of the moment decision to do a day trip to Versailles and we thoroughly regretted not doing our research and booking a tour group in advance so we could skip the epic, 5 hour queue in the sun to then walk in a dusty and old albeit decadent castle. I loved the gardens WAY more, and while I would still see the castle again given the choice, I'd have booked in advance to allow more time adventuring in gardens with the water fountain shows.

Day 5. We took our first and only local flight from Paris to Barcelona, which I'll tell ye about next time, in my Europe 2017 series.

How is this even real? #nofilter

A post shared by Jade (@thephamly) on Aug 10, 2017 at 11:09am PDT

I learned some things about why I keep failing at men, while I was using Tinder across Europe. Aussie men are afraid of women. They treat us like a foreign species instead of a different gender. The European men I chatted to were much more relaxed, confident and straightforward in their flirting. I didn't get offended and delete a single one for being disrespectful or inappropriate. Plus, I never once got a 'How's your day?' which is Brisbane men's default question… every day for 4-5 days before I delete him because he either doesn’t know how to speak to women, or was texting so many people he couldn't keep the conversation going and/or was too lazy to scroll up to see what we'd already said.

The men I matched with in Europe asked me about me, and shared things about them - none of this trying to be overly clever, using pick-up-lines, or not knowing what to say. It was refreshing to have men chat to me like a fellow human being with a personality and brain. Crazy, I know.

I found French and German men the most attractive in very different ways. The French were exotically dark, handsome and confident. The Germans were striking with bold, pale features. Italian men I found a bit pushy - half a dozen sidestepped Tinder matching to DM me on Instagram even though I'd expressed no interest - I ignored them all, respect my space please. The Spaniards were sensual, friendly and most chilled out. By the time we got to our last stop in Prague I was out of data and the apartment wifi wasn't working so I didn't get any Czech matches - though, if it's like their customer service the matches could be aggressive, cold and intimidating. I could be wrong though.

I did have one Tinder win story in Berlin. My first Tinder win in 5 years. All I had to do was go to the other side of the world. Maybe I'll tell you about him some time. But yes, Aussie women traveling Europe - I highly recommend using Tinder over there even if you’re burnt out from Aussie Tinder here!

Back in Germany in the '80s, every Saturday or Sunday The Phamly would walk a half hour to Aunty 9’s house. Well, it's a 20 minute walk as an adult for us when we went back to Germany for the first time in 29 years, but Dad & Mum Pham had to haul 3 young kids with them. Aside from the cousin who lived with us, we were probably closest to Aunty 9's kids.

We reunited with our cousins in Frankfurt on our Europe 2017 trip. Genetics is a funny thing - I recognised my cousin rounding a corner at the train station immediately because he looks EXACTLY like his mum. And he spotted me immediately because I look EXACTLY like Mum Pham (his Mum's sister).

It's been 29 years since we've seen each other. I was a pudgy 4 year old and Little Sissy Pham a scrawny 3 year old when we left Germany. In my memories, our cousins were so big and tall, and now I dwarf them. In fact, we dwarfed all of our German Phamly. Mum Pham used to say we grew enormous because we had cows' milk and potatoes as kids since we were born in Germany, then raised in Australia. Our cousins were born in Vietnam, and immigrated or migrated over.

Our Frankfurt-based cousins, Chi N (10 years older though looks 10 years younger than us now) and Anh T (3 years older), are in heaps of Phamly photos because we used to do all the fun things together. Parades and games and birthday and playground photos.

If we had stayed in Germany, I know I'd be really close to Chi N who's a graphic designer, artist, singer, and super-funny and sassy to boot. My kind of human and humour. Big Brother Pham and Anh T would have been the best of friends too. Anh T was his mum's shadow as a kid but when we went to their house, he and Big Brother Pham would go off playing adventure games together. He studied IT and is a software developer for Germany's Federal Intelligence Service. Big Brother Pham studied IT too but didn't finish his course due to some unfortunate turns of events in his life. Makes me wonder how differently all our lives would have turned out if we'd stayed in Germany. But we didn't, so no use dreaming of our fluent German, not knowing English and maybe having a smoother ride in life than we had - though with less fresh Vietnamese food because tropical-friendly food is not so common in freezing cold Germany. Life would definitely have been different for The Phamly.

Chi N shared stories of when we were little because she was old enough to remember. This one, made me laugh because it’s so typically me and Mum, and it involves something as mundane as a toilet door:

One day at Aunty 6's house when I was 3 years old, I locked myself in the toilet and didn't know how to unlock the door because: imbecile child. After a while people noticed I was missing. Soon they discovered the toilet door was locked and couldn’t think of who else would be in there so they called through the door to ask if I was OK. I was either too petrified or too dumb to reply so didn’t make a sound. As soon as Mum Pham realised I was locked inside and not responding she did what Mum Pham does best - she went into full-blown panic mode, and freaked everyone out pacing back and forth, screeching that the worst has happened because I could have had a seizure in there (I’d had one a year before), or tripped and hit my head, or fallen in the toilet and drowned. So one of our older cousins, who shares a name with Big Brother Pham so the Phamly refer to him as Big Big Brother, and my brother as Small Big Brother (cute!) - anyhoo, Big Big Brother Cousin busted the door open and they found me just sitting in there completely fine. To this day the toilet door doesn't shut properly because of young me. What a pest.


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.