KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

It might seem a bit impulsive to move out with someone I'd been dating for only a few months, but the beginnings of our friendship then courtship then relationship happened during some very trying times at work where we met.

I got to see how he handled himself in a tense situation and I fell in love with what I saw. He kept his cool and showed more integrity than I could have mustered given his circumstances. I was ready to rage-quit on principle, which would have been way more impulsive than moving in together so quickly. Boyfriend, being the level-headed person he is, convinced me to use my head and not my outraged moral compass. Another thing I love about him - he's got my back and always looks out for me. Except in his sleep when he sometimes accidentally punches me in the face (he vehemently denies this but I never woke up with a swollen nose when I slept alone for all of my life so...).

I'm grateful we went through tough times early on - it made us closer and I gained immense respect for him. I know him better than most people I've known for years. People show their true colours when they're under pressure.

It all worked out for the best. If we still worked together we wouldn't have moved in together; and if he hadn't left when he did, he wouldn't have found his current dream role. The only downside is we work on opposite sides of town now and live in between, so these days I don't dawdle at work or hang out with the crew 'cause I'm rushing home to meet my favourite person in the middle.

Dad Pham used Little Sissy Pham's old, pink Motorola flip phone and would never have changed phones if it weren't for the whole 2G network becoming obsolete. For some reason (laziness) I left it to Little Sissy, the least techie of the three Pham siblings, to find Dad's next phone. She got Dad an Aspera F24 Seniors Big Button Flip Phone. The phone says it's for seniors but Dad found the user interface counterintuitive and the sound too quiet for his failing hearing. Dad struggled with it for nearly a year thinking his troubles with the phone were his failing to adopt new technology, but really the new technology was failing him. When he remembered how to turn on loudspeaker, the sound was fuzzy and hard to hear. Finally, he gave up and let us get him a new phone.

Round 2 started with Little Sis calling me an idiot for letting her choose Dad's phone and I should have done it. She's right. This time I went on the hunt for a seniors friendly phone that was intuitive, easy to use, and LOUD. I found the Olitech Easy Mate+ phone via intensive googling and research. There aren't too many phones for Seniors on the market and most seemed too much like the dudAspera F24. The Olitech Easy Mate+, however, is designed and produced by people who have worked in occupational therapy, and orthotics and prosthetics so they understand the accessibility challenges of technology for people who are less able-bodied.

Unfortunately, no big tech stores seem to have picked up this handset so I couldn't have a look at it in person before buying. Instead, I took a punt and ordered the phone direct from Olitech online. Worth it.

Dad loves his new phone and I do too. These days I can clearly hear Dad squirming to hang up on me. He's not a big talker so our calls are always super efficient and all about agreeing on logistics for Phamly plans, and occasionally an appointment or social event he needs one of us to taxi him to.

The sound quality on the Olitech Easy Mate+ is clear and loud. The buttons are nice and big. The user interface is easy to use because it's intuitive and logical. I only had to show Dad how to do things once and he got the hang of it. It's well thought out and designed. I cannot recommend this phone enough to seniors who just want a phone they can use to make calls and text.

Even though he was far from Phamly in Brisbane, Dad had the best time in Melbourne with his old navy buddies. Melbourne was where he was most relaxed and, even though we were a poor Phamly and Mum had to stretch every cent of their pensions and our youth allowance to keep a roof over our heads, electricity in the home, and food on the table; it was also the first time Dad felt at home since he'd left Vietnam. Germany was where he had to make his home after the war, but we were very much outsiders. Melbourne is where he had community and friendship - and Vietnamese food!

Distance and Dad Pham's penchant for changing phone numbers every few years because he gets over being popular and wants to hermit for a while put him out of touch with most of his friends. Recently, a Melbourne friend called him after nearly a decade without contact and it sent him down memory lane.

Dad used to go for sauna and swim session most days, and morning walks or bike rides along Maribyrnong River with this friend. Bac Yen tracked down Dad's number through a mutual friend and for over an hour they caught up on each other's lives, compared old age battle stories, and reminisced about the past. For a full week, Dad was keen to win the lotto so he could move us all down to live in a row of townhouses and be near his favourite Melbourne people and spots. That fantasy died when he remembered how cold Melbourne gets, and how he can barely cope with Brisbane winters now. If anyone has lived through Brisbane winters, it's cardigan weather (if that) for Melbourne peeps.

Melbourne may have been the happiest time of his life, but Dad came to realise the past is past and even if he moved down things wouldn't be what they were. He and his friends no longer have the energy to go for long walks every day, and the massive feasts wouldn't be the same without Mum Pham to cook and host them.

I wonder what time in my life I will look back on as my fondest. I'm kinda loving where I'm at now. But Dad likes to remind me that I'm simple, and I'm always happy because I'm content with what I have. Maybe I won't have a favourite time of my life, because pretty much all of it is my favourite. Even Mum's inevitable passing, though devastating as it was, taught me to love and appreciate on a deeper level than I had before so I don't look back on that time as a bad part of my life.



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

Life has a weird sense of humour. I, Jade Pham, serial gifter and enabler of other people's happiness, am dating a boy who hates receiving gifts. In his bizarro world gifting is a product of a consumerist society and yada yada yada - I stopped listening to that rant because I've heard it so many times. But I did listen to his rules about gifts being wanted, practical and meaningful.

They're allowed for things like that time he flew across the country to surprise his close friend of his birthday, or that time he printed photos of him and a friend with The Doppelgangaz at their Perth gig, sent the photos to the US with return postage so the rappers would sign the photos for a birthday present. So some presents are allowed as long as you follow the rules. I do like rules. I like following rules a lot. But what I like even more than following rules, is finding ways to bend them to the point of breaking.

Which is why for his Christmas present, I spent an hour peeling and chopping garlic to put in a big jar with olive oil. He likes eating garlic but he hates chopping it up because of the stank. I, on the other hand, have spent the past however many years with stinky garlic hands every other weekend because I bulk cook for Phamly gatherings so it ain't no thang.

The gift went down well...ish. At first he was mad that I got him a present but when he realised I made it myself and it was practical, he calmed down... a little. Then for his birthday, I got him one of my favourite books because he churns through novels the way I churn through honey jars, and again he was mad but he got over it. So then for a housewarming gift when we moved in together, I got him the riskiest gift yet: a Nintendo Switch. I've never seen anyone so angry about receiving something they've talked about for half a year - he thought about breaking up with me, but by then it was too late because we are both too lazy to move house again so soon. I haven't gotten him anything big since then because he very loudly complained about the Switch for the first many hours he sat there playing Zelda. But now the memory of that is fading, I'm about ready to find another awesome gift that he'll hate accepting.

It probably is for the best that the man for me isn't a taker because I would give more than I should and burn out like I've done with so many takers in the past. He's infuriating as hell, but right for me.


UPDATE 11/01/2020: I no longer pre-chop garlic because bacterial infection is a real risk. Instead I buy giant jars of crushed garlic that's loaded with preservatives to keep it safe.

I tried not to get my hopes up in case I was disappointed, but with the many glowing reviews from the American premiere by the time Australia's opening night came around I was stupidly excited to see a Hollywood romcom featuring Asian actors from around the world. The anticipation was killing me. So soon after I discover the magic of To All The Boys I've Loved Before and my newly acknowledged need for representation, my little heart could barely handle the excitement.

Now normally I'm disappointed when a movie session I planned to see is SOLD OUT but when I rocked up early and saw there were no tickets left I was ecstatic. The movie is popular! The girls and I booked ahead at the nearest cinema (we'd learned our lesson), scoffed some dinner then hurried over to the nearest cinema where we laughed and teared up (of course, I cried) with the rest of the audience.

One viewer whistled in appreciation when a male character stepped out of the shower. The first of many delightful shirtless scenes where an Asian male was depicted as sexy and desirable instead of the usual unappealing dork. It was refreshing to see Asian actors play well-written characters that had depth. You understood their motivations and actions so could connect with them. There was no tokenism or cheap jokes that relied solely on stereotypes.

Crazy Rich Asians is at the heart of it a really good romantic comedy. Don't go into the film feeling you have to be crazy, rich or asian to enjoy it. It's a love story that's visually stunning because a lot of the film is in Singapore and not the Western cities we are used to seeing in Hollywood films.

When we moved to Melbourne we had only lived in Australia for about 6 months. I had been to pre-school in Brisbane but I have zero memory of this. My first memory of schooling is going to English classes in Footscray Primary. We had a rental house in Footscray that my brain associates with rodents and Dad Pham would walk me to and from English school.

I think the main reason I remember English school is because of my friend, Tuyen. She was a chatterbox and would chat to everyone including my Dad when he came to walk me home. She'd tell him what we learned that day, how I was doing in class and how the teacher let me get away with anything, even not answering questions or completing tasks. I don't remember being a slacker, but Tuyen didn't seem a liar so I must have been - that, or I didn't understand what was being asked.

Mum Pham's favourite memory from my school days in Footscray wasn't from English classes though, it was from Vietnamese class. One day after school, she asked what I learned and I replied (in Viet), 'Today I learned cows breastfeed calves, and calves breastfeed cows.' She nearly died laughing. I didn't get what was so funny at the time, but she repeated that story to me year after year after year until I finally got it because I learned about reproduction, anatomy and the circle of life.



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 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.