KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

I cried so hard watching To All The Boys I've Loved Before on Netflix this week, a film based on the book by Jenny Han, which I haven't read yet but the trilogy is now on my to-read list.

I was embarrassed because it's such a sweet and funny TEEN movie so I didn't understand my feels. Why so emotional about a cute teen coming of age story? That night I went to bed still thinking about the film. The next morning I rewatched it because I'd enjoyed it so much the first time and also to see if I could figure out what about it intrigued me so.

I related to a film that had close to zero resemblance to any part of my life as a frumpy, grumpy, anti-social teenager. If anything, adult me is more like the lead character - I'm sensible yet emotionally naive and found myself in a 'second best / fake best' situation with a boy. But that's not why I loved the film so much.

As a tween I used to obsessively write fictional stories with teen girls as the lead characters. I have no idea if they were any good and they are all long gone because I wrote them on a typewriter and those pieces of paper were probably trashed by Dad Pham. He always threw out our homework as kids. I never realised until now that all of my fictional characters were white. That was all I read in books as a kid, that was all I knew. Representation is so important.

Watching To All The Boys I've Loved Before, I cried for younger me who would have admired and adored an Asian-American character like Lara Jean. I cried for what I missed out growing up, that feeling of belonging and acceptance. I cried because younger generations like my nieces will have books and films like this and realise they have a place in this world. They are not 'other', they are not invisible. I am so grateful to Jenny Han and Netflix and Lana Condor (who has Vietnamese heritage - woo)! Fingers crossed the other books in this series get adapted for film.

I'm going to see the movie Crazy Rich Asians on opening night with my (Not So) Single Ladies Valentine's Day Birthday posse. Wish me luck. I bet I'm going to cry like a baby.

I have been a bit emotional and teary this past fortnight. It is mostly hormones - the rational side of me knows this, but the irrational side of me feels or wants it to be something more because for the first time in two years I'm dreaming regularly of Mum Pham again. Every few nights she has been in my dreams and it's the best until I wake up and lose her all over again when I remember she is gone.

The dreams are always different but have one common theme - Mum is coming to visit. The first night she came to visit me in my new place and was sitting at the end of my bed and we spoke without speaking so even in the dream I knew it was a dream yet it felt real. She wasn't as old as she was when she passed - her face was smoother but she was in her favourite knit vest and dress. She was patting my legs under the doona and comforting me, telling me everything would be well.

The next dream she was coming to visit me at work with Dad Pham and they got lost on the trains, and I had to go looking for them. I had to wade through a crowd of people exiting the train station and I finally spotted them and started approaching. Dad was looking around for me but Mum saw me first - she pulled at Dad's arm to point me out and when she and I locked eyes and smiled, I woke up.

The best dream was hanging out in an almalgamation of Mum & Dad's Brisbane house and our Aunty's house in Melbourne. It was my favourite Mum dream because we were cooking and talking and eating and talking and just doing what we normally did together when she was still alive. I woke up from this dream feeling like she was still here.

Mum Pham passed on the 18/7 in the lunar calendar, which is 28/8 in this calendar year. I will burn incense for her with The Phamly and send up my prayers. I love and miss you, Mum. Always.

Dad Pham and Mum Pham spoke more English than most other immigrant parents I knew growing up. I wouldn't say they were good English speakers but they had enough language to get by until Big Brother Pham was old enough to be The Phamly's interface with the real world.

Both my parents are intelligent people but in different ways. Mum was book smart and studious - her languages she learned through education. Even into her later years, Mum used to come across English words she didn't understand and would look them up in a dictionary, then write notes about the word in a notebook. Then she'd learn the words by rewriting them into yet another notebook. I am the same. I remember things by writing them down. If I type them, I forget but something about writing the words on paper stows it into my memory.

Dad Pham - well, he hated to study and says Vietnamese teachers couldn't pronounce English words properly, let alone teach others. The giant Vietnamese-English dictionary he had was inaccurate and useless when he tried to point at definitions to help communicate with English speakers. Dad's real English skills came from working and/or living with Americans in Vietnam, and a slim English-Vietnamese dictionary he remembers one of them giving him.

I'm always amazed by people who know multiple languages. My parents both knew Vietnamese, English, German and Mum Pham knew some French and understood Chinese because it's half her heritage. Then I remember my trip to Europe where it was the norm that everyone knew at least 2-3 languages, and I am an unworldly Australian ignoramus who by birth inherited Vietnamese but otherwise would have no language skills other than English.

After a year of ups and downs, I'm craving peace and calm. I look forward to not doing much for a while, please and thank you. I'm at my most relaxed lazing in bed so I finally took the plunge and sunk hundreds of dollars into fresh sheets and quilt covers. Boyfriend got me into top sheets when I used to crash at his, and I've since upgraded all my sheets to nice sets. It's 1000TC or nothing, baby!

I have been sleeping on soft, silky, sublime, hotel quality bed sheets and it is life changing. I can't believe I waited so long to do this. So many nights of luxurious sleep wasted! I could never afford this in my early days of minimum wage employment, but I earned enough to this year finally pay off the last of my HECS debt so it's about time I treat myself. There are some perks to being an adult.

I've had crummy bargain bin sheets my whole adult life because I never upgraded them since moving to Melbourne as a poor graduate. As a result I have slept on ratty, old sheets for over a decade. They are so worn down the threads have a lot of dye so it's streaked with white and discolour. If you can afford to give a shit about sheets, please do.
The downside to having unbelievably comfy bedsheets is it makes getting out of bed even harder in the mornings. Lucky Boyfriend starts work early so I feel guilty staying in bed for too long when he's up and atom.

The first time we came to Brisbane from Germany, The Phamly didn't have the best run. We were renting a house on Wedgetail Street, around the corner from where Dad Pham and Big Brother Pham now live. I don't remember much of the time here - I was only 5 and the memories are flashes of scenery or moments that don't make sense because I'm missing context.

What I know is that something bad happened, and Mum Pham moved us away to Melbourne to be near her side of The Phamly after only 6 months in Brisbane. Mum and Dad never went into it when we were kids. But decades later, I'd learn it was because one of our relatives was a struggling heroin addict at the time and stole jewellery and cash from us for their habit. There was a big fight and Dad conceded to move The Phamly to Melbourne to be closer to Mum's side of the family.

I clearly remember one of the items that was stolen: Mum's jade bird necklace. It wasn't of much value compared to other heirlooms that were stolen but I loved that necklace. I used to play with it when Mum held me to her chest as a baby. It was of a bird in flight - similar to how children draw birds in the sky as two arched lines with curved tips. A plump version that was curved to a natural rock formation and polished with gold chain tassels on the tail. I've never been able to find anything close to the design. Maybe one day I will stumble across the original. It's somewhere in Brisbane still, I hope.

Since the initial robbery that made us up and move to Melbourne, my parents have helped bail this person out of other debts too. When I learned about everything that went down, my uni years suddenly made more sense. This relative used to visit us and would often sneak me a bit of cash for 'being a good girl.' I realise now they felt indebted to my parents and wanted to give something back once they were in a good place and could help.

Life would have been very different if we hadn't moved to Melbourne. But we did. And that's a story for next time.



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 been distracted from writing of late. Two things - One: I met a boy. Two: we moved in together. So, in your face, Dave! I did get a boyfriend with my OnePlus 5t.

It's been a whirlwind year of 3-month upheavals. After Europe last year Little Sissy Pham's boyfriend moved in with us. Then I met someone at work and three months in, we started dating. A few more months of share housing with my sibling and her man, and it became obvious I was the third wheel preventing them from being a bike. By that, I mean, most bikes need to settle down with two wheels. I feel like I'm not making sense but you get what I mean. In short, a few months ago I was tossing up whether to live in a sharehouse for affordability (but people, ew) or paying 30% more rent to live alone (but expensive, ew).

New boyfriend of a few months gave me a third option when he asked if it would be crazy for us to live together. Well, yeah it is. But we did it anyway. And so here I am a few months later and we're living together in a cosy apartment - him with his black and white minimalism. Me in my rainbow splattered everything.

We're complete opposites in most ways. He likes gyms, I like swims. He plays basketball, I throw pokeballs. He raps, I can't. He sings, I won't. I dance, he don't. I love the outdoors, he prefers temperature controlled environments. I'm all about summer, he's all for winter. And let's not talk about the long list of things he won't eat. There's one thing I don't eat - animals.

We don't even use the same words to describe things. I say extra, he says spare. I say drizzling, he says sprinkling. I say yah huh, he says nuh uh. I say shut up, he says shush. Why does English have so many words that mean pretty much the same thing?

Somehow we work though. After all the bullshit and mind games of online dating and being with a serial liar and cheater, this is the first romantic relationship where I haven't felt like it is an effort to make it work. When it's right, it's easy. Unlike all of my previous boy history, this one comes Phamly approved. It's nice to be in love with someone worthy of it. I'm a lucky girl.

I never knew I took soup for granted until I started dating the soup nazi. No, he doesn't make amazing soup and withhold it as punishment for misbehaving. He hates soup as a food category because he has terrible taste (why do you think he likes me?) and we eat dinner together so I now never eat soup for dinner. Noodle soups, hearty soups, chunky soups, wonton soups, laksa, gia ri (Vietnamese curry) - none of these are in his realm of edible foods. It kills me.

Before this I never carried soup to work because it's messy and I only had cheap takeaway containers that aren't spill proof. Since soup for dinner is no longer an option, I'm eating more and more soup for lunch at work because my cravings are next level especially during winter.

I had a couple of spillage issues on the way to work with my regular cheapo takeaway tubs so I went to my old favourite, Biome, to get a soup-friendly reusable food container. Hello, Thermos. I don't need it to be insulated because there's a microwave at work but boy-oh, it's sooo nice to travel with and I like having the option to take hot or cold foods with me on a picnic that I won't share with the boyfriend because he doesn't do soup.

My Thermos Funtainer Food Jar in Charcoal (470ml) came with a folded metal spoon in the top compartment but I took that out since we have cutlery at work. Instead, I fill it with fresh garnish like spring onion and chilli or coriander and fried shallots instead. I've level upped my office food game this month. Yay me.

One thing I've learned transitioning from a small business where it's usually me and the owner then maybe another colleague or two to medium and corporate offices is that shared spaces with five colleagues and more is never a good time. There are always the clean freaks, the careless and the adult kids whose parents never taught them any better. Put the spectrum in one space and sparks, in the form of passive aggressive signs, fly to no avail.

Don't get me wrong. I'm on the passive aggressors' side. Clean up after yourself, follow Dan Savage's relationship advice - leave the campsite better than you found it... There shouldn't be the need to put up signs instructing people to be decent human beings. Why am I picking old banana peels and plastic bags out of the recycling bin when someone put up a sign that explicitly explains what can and cannot be recycled? Ew!

One of my favourite signs in the office though is in the toilet cubicle. There's a not so secret war against whoever is not replacing the toilet paper roll. Something about the sign combined with the toilet paper brand name 'Who Gives A Crap' gives me the giggles. Clearly the culprit does not give a crap when they take a crap. Not knowingly at least.

The culprit is still wiping right by wiping at all because the more toilet paper we use, the more Who Gives A Crap can contribute to building toilets for the less fortunate. We take toilets and toilet paper for granted in Australia but it's crucial for hygiene and health.

Work uses the regular Who Gives A Crap toilet paper but I am a Premium subscriber because I want only the best for my bum cheeks given the choice. The subscription is 100% flexible - you can log in online and change the next delivery date if you have too little or too many toilet rolls left. They come in boxes of 48 so prepare to store a big box of toilet rolls. I build a pyramid next to my bed currently but when I move to my own place this weekend I'm going to stake a spot and claim if for Who Gives A Crap toilet paper storage. I also use their facial tissues. I tried the paper towel but it's not very absorbent so I haven't ordered more. The delivery service is super quick and free to metro areas. Plus, their customer service team is excellent - I've canceled subscriptions before to change my order and both times I contacted them, they were quick to respond, helpful and stupidly friendly. These people give a crap and so should you.

So, I've been keeping a secret. I'm dating someone. I've been seeing him for a while but kept it offline because we met at work and were avoiding some inconvenient office politics. The good news is, he's since left the company so I can write about him. He's great - he's funny, smart, and my friends' favourite part is he's upfront and honest (unlike previous people in my life). A bit too honest. Which is why at 34, I learned that I don't know how to chew and breathe at the same time. I am a mouth breather when I eat. Little Sissy Pham backed him up enthusiastically saying I am so loud when I chew.

We were listing things we found annoying about one another because that's totally healthy. We couldn't think of anything really so we picked petty little things we don't really mind. My two annoying yet tolerable traits are I don't push in the chair at the dining table, which I've since started doing and I chew loudly with my mouth open, which I can't figure out how to do quietly.

I have a persistent stuffy nose because I'm allergic to life. My hay fever is nowhere near as bad as it used to be in Melbourne, my eyes aren't red and sore most of the time but my nose lives in two states - runny or clogged, never clear. So while I can't chew with my mouth closed all the time like a regular a person, I can suffer through it until I run out of breath then try not to suck in air too noisily before I begin chewing again. My attempts have been very poor, according to him... but at least I try or, think about trying. Some of the time.

Such is my life right now. But hey, we're all learning and growing every day, right?

It's Phamly tradition to sleepover at Dad Pham's house for the Eurovision finale. This year it happened to be Dad's birthday weekend so it was double the fun. On Saturday, he invited his siblings over for lunch and Little Sissy Pham and I made Vietnamese Pancakes - it's the only recipe I've ever posted on this blog because writing recipes is too much like my day job and blog writing is self indulgent fun. For 70 and 80 year olds, they sure know how to party. My Aunty rocked up with more beer than she could carry. Lunching, drinking and chats went for 4+ hours - Little Sis bowed out and went home before any of the elder folk. Dad Pham was exhausted by the time everyone left but he had a blast because it's rare for him to see his siblings all together.

After lunch, I sat with Dad for a couple of hours just chatting. It's been a long time since I've had proper downtime with Dad. Mostly we grocery shop, and cook so our hangs are chore driven. I'll save his stories from today for another time.

That night, I made more pancakes for Big Brother Pham and Sister Not-in-Law. It was a fun time. I was so pooped after a whole day of cooking and hosting, I feel asleep early that night. I slept in the lounge room because Big Brother Pham's tools have taken over what was once my bedroom. Guess that's what happens when you leave home, your room becomes storage.

The next morning I awoke to Dad Pham beaming down at me at 4.40am. He woke me up early because he expected to have to come back and wake me up again like he usually does. But this time, I popped right up - went and made a coffee and set up snacks on the coffee table. Then we settled in for 3.5 hours of Eurovision glory.

This year was not a disappointment. The majority of the songs were decent tunes and we couldn't pick who the top songs would be. Australia totally tanked this year - the novelty of having Australia in the competition is gone and while Jessica Mauboy's song was good, it didn't stand out against the stiff competition. I didn't love the winning song - I thought it was different and quirky, but so ridiculous. I guess that's Eurovision for you, though. Here are my highlights from this year.

Dad's top pick was Sweden's Benjamin Ingrosso with "Dance You Off":

I thoroughly enjoyed good old fashioned power pop from Lea Sirk from Slovenia with "Hvala, ne!" but it's way to cool to actually win Eurovision:

This is the type of crazy that wins Eurovision - Netta with "Toy" took out the gong for Israel:

It's rare I like the French entry but this year they were all class with Madame Monsieur "Mercy":

Finally, I have a thing for Vikings so Denmark make my highlights list. Oh, hellooo Rasmussen with "Higher Ground":