KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY

I love you. I was talking to my girlfriends about this heavily weighted sentence. Some of them are in long-term relationships, others are in new relationships or dating.

The first time Boyfriend Pham told me he loved me was in the car as I was dropping him off at home on his last day in our office. We were both upset and spent the car ride talking about our next chapter and what we should do. The first thing I had to do, however, was to go back to work so when I pulled up outside his place, I anticipated him saying bye and hopping out. Instead he said those words. I was so surprised I thought I’d misheard him so my response was, ‘Huh?’ (I know, facepalm, Jade!) He repeated himself and I told him, ‘I love you, too.’

Many people agonise over the right time and place to say this to someone new in their life. Me? I hadn’t thought about it before this moment because I don’t know how to relationship, as BF likes to remind me when I do some oddball thing people apparently don’t do in relationships. Boyfriend Pham? He felt it so he said it, which is a very him thing to do.

Other people are not so matter-of-fact about it. One friend wasn’t sure how to bring it up and for months wondered if now was the right time to say something. And when that time came and went and they didn’t have the nerve to say it in person, they wrote a lovely letter instead.

Some people don’t struggle to say I love you, but don’t know when to keep their mouth shut. A Tinder date who, after being broken up with, came to visit my friend at her place of work. Red flag! She again had to tell him things were over, yet he proceeded to casually call out ‘Love you!’ to her back as she was walking away. Red flag! Had never said it to her before then, and for good reason: They’d only been on a handful of dates and barely knew one another.

When you don’t know someone well, maybe don’t tell them you love them because it’s probably infatuation and you haven’t seen them in a rough patch yet. When you know someone and you adore the way they conduct themselves in good and bad situations, then you’re probably in love. And if you’re in love, there isn’t a bad time to tell your beloved. The sooner, the better. Love is special. Don’t keep it to yourself. We need to share it more with the world.

When I first moved in with Boyfriend Pham he was persistent to the point of being annoying that I keep up with my weekly dinner with the girls. Why was he so desperate to get me out of the house? What was he doing without me? Eating family packs of potato chips? Watching porn? He is supportive of Girls Night because he knows and has dated girls who didn’t have a close-knit friendship with other women so their worlds revolved, a little unhealthily, around their boyfriends.

Girls Night in practicality is a night in at one of our humble abodes where we wear cute Peter Alexander PJs (not me - too lazy to pack PJs), drink wine (except me - too allergic to alcohol), and order-in dinner. Girls Night in actuality is a sanctuary. A place where we feel safe to talk about anything and everything going on in our lives. We support one another whether it’s through sympathising and sharing a similar experience so our friends don’t feel alone in what they’re going through, or giving some tough love and sharing advice we know they won’t want to hear but need to.

There is no such thing as oversharing at Girls Night. We talk about bodily functions, our relationships and dating, growing or failing friendships, our career development and changes at work, our living situations, pets, parents, and family. Whatever is on our minds, gets aired at Girls Night to a room of supportive, loving friends.

While I call mine Girls Night, yours can take any shape or form. It could be a social sport, or nights out on the town, or a book club. If it’s frequent enough to be called a regular thing, then you’ve got yourself a Girls/Boys/Friends Night. A time to look forward to, somewhere to socialise, have fun and share whatever’s going on in your life with people who matter and care.

Mum Pham was always a little fragile even in my early memories with her. Once upon a time, according to old photos she was young and - well, ‘fit’ might be an exaggeration. I suppose she was more ‘physically able’ because she was slimmer, but she preferred to walk and sit rather than run and jump. She kept her figure when Big Brother Pham was born but when I happened, she ballooned and couldn’t drop her pregnancy weight. Yup, I ruined Mum’s body with my pho cravings from inside her belly.

Dad Pham was always invincible from as early as I can remember. Dad has always been super fit because he was active as a kid - his favourite past time was swimming and playing at the beach, even when it meant a good beating when he got home because he’d skipped all his meals and curfew to stay in the water. Dad had a black belt in taekwondo, and could never sit still for long when we were growing up - he’d pace up and down the hallway while Mum and kids watched TV on the couch. And did I mention he was in the navy for most of his young to adult life?

On one of my Sunday visits with Dad this year, I noticed he was struggling to open a glass Moccona coffee jar. His fitness is finally fading in his mid-70s, though I think if Mum Pham was still around he’d be fighting fit because he needed to take care of her. Since the heartbreak of losing her, he’s aged dramatically. It’s like love kept him young in a very real way.

It’s jarring to see Dad Pham is now old and frail; it feels like it happened overnight. Luckily Little Sissy Pham and I are better equipped to aid him having learned from our experience with Mum’s ailing health. I replaced his glass coffee jar with one that has a plastic lid so it’s easy to open and close. It’s the little changes in what he’s capable of that remind me he’s not invincible anymore.

I take Dad Pham to the local lake every week so he can sit and watch me walk around the lake. Once upon a time, he would have been able to join me but these days he’s not that mobile so he sits on his favourite bench with a hot coffee in his Contigo Travel mug, and waves to me when I’m close enough to see his arms in the air.

I wear a Nike cap for sun protection on these walks. One day Dad looked at me pensively and said, “Nike is an expensive brand. You’re fortunate.” For a man who wore $1-$5 apparel, footwear and accessories most of his life, a $21.95 Nike cap on sale is a luxury.

Dad revealed he felt responsible for the charity bin clothes and hand-me-downs we wore growing up, because parents always want the best for their children and it was his duty to get that for us. I told him it doesn’t matter - it taught us to appreciate the nice things we have now, and we wouldn’t have gotten to where we were without him.

As a kid I didn’t know any different; we went to a public primary school where there were lots of kids in the same boat. Then as a teen, I knew I wasn’t trendy but I also didn’t care so it never impacted me to wear my brother’s old jeans and baggy tees. Though, now I think upon it, my older cousins seemed to like gifting us clothes. Maybe it bothered them.

Dad’s happy that we have nice things these days. Like always, we wish Mum Pham was here to enjoy the good lives she and Dad helped us build.

I've worked in the retail industry long enough to know that supply and demand is a thing. But I don't really acknowledge that popular things are real until they enter my world. Introducing the Contigo Travel Mug.

I used to drive to work with a Keep Cup with hot tea but because it was hot, I couldn’t close the lid lip. It surprisingly only ended in a couple of spills for the year I did that. And then I met Contigo Travel Mugs at Biome.

The clever autoseal lid means no accidental spills; perfect for a klutz like me. Plus, hot drinks stay hot and cold drinks stay cold for hours on end. I learned the hard, tongue-burning way the first time I used my Contigo mug to leave the lid off for a little bit before sealing hot drinks inside.

I also learned the expensive, lid ruining way that you must rinse the lid as soon as you finished drinking your tea or coffee if you use soy milk ‘cause that shit sticks to the spring structure of the autoseal and will eventually ruin the lid after months of regular use. I had to buy me a new Contigo mug, and while I was at it, I got Dad Pham one too so he could have hot coffees by the lake on our Sunday walks.

These days, I have halved my work commute thanks to earlier work hours to avoid peak, peak hours and moving a tad closer to the office. I no longer sip tea for an hour each morning so my contigo mug instead keeps cold water cold for the warm drive to and from work, and for my gym sessions. It’s a fun time. Cannot recommend these mugs enough.

I love other people’s happiness so much I asked to make it my official duty at work. I even got a budget for it and everything. By “budget” I mean I have a challenge to buy something for everyone from Daiso. Boy, there are some fun and bizarre items on the shelves there.

We tend to celebrate the achievements of people who work on projects and campaigns because look! Something new and shiny! We don’t always acknowledge the people who work to keep the business running daily in the same way.

I wanted to level the playing field, and celebrate the achievements of all team members so I came up with an idea: Work Birthdays! Celebrating people’s achievements over the past year on their anniversary. Team members come and go so it’s worth celebrating those who remain by recognising another year of a job well done.

In the context of work, an anniversary is better than an actual birth date because every chump alive was born - their parents did the heavy lifting there; not everyone can progress their career and personal development - that needs to be earned.

It means a bit of extra work for me on weekends to buy work birthday gifts, and coordinate messages with team leaders, which I then hand write in cards I’ve hoarded over the years. We then present the gift and card to team members in our weekly group meetings, and then on their actual anniversary day I send an email of what we wrote in their card.

It’s corny but I don’t care. It makes other people happy and lets them know that they are appreciated. Happy work birthday!

There was a 6 week break in my blog while I was doing the opposite of holidaying. First, there was a big work deadline that took over my life for a couple of weeks. Then I (and most of my team) was wiped out by a couldn't-see, couldn't-think, couldn't-function virus for a full two weeks - give or take a month either side for coughing fits. It was the second sickest I've ever been in my life; actual influenza was bone-achingly worse than this virus.

Our office is a disease incubator. The air conditioning doesn’t work so well to keep us cool in summer but it sure is great at spreading germs over the cooler months. I caught a cold in April that left me with a cough until early July when I didn’t get better - no, as a matter of fact, I got terribly worse.

I'd been lethargic and tired for weeks while I recovered from the latest outbreak. It took me 4 weeks to draft and publish Marco Polo because I couldn't think straight or find inspiration every time I sat down to finish it. I've had a new car for nearly two months and I hadn't told you about it!

Things are looking up though. I eased myself back into gym workouts; can't believe how quickly my muscles and stamina faded away. They also came back quickly. At the start of week 4 and I'm feeling fit and strong again, and motivated to write. Write. Write!

I have a new boy in my life; his name is Marco and he's my first ever brand new car. In case you haven't guessed from his name, this blog post title or the photo, he's a Volkswagen Polo. Named after Marco and Polo - the two crows that used to sit on the fence outside my bedroom / home office and keep me company while I worked from home and went stir crazy and started conversing with crows.

I've only ever driven second hand cars, and until the latest Getz all of them were bombs that Mum Pham and Dad Pham scrimped and saved to buy. Us Phamlings shared the cars because neither of our parents can drive. It was, how you say, the pits. Mum and Dad did so much to try and provide for us with the little they had. I wish Mum could see me now. I can afford a fancy European car that was Made in Germany like me!

I went with a VW Polo after my partner recommended it, and we rode in the back of his friend's GTI where I learned they've updated the chassis so it's not boxy and cramped like older models. It was the first car I test drove and the only one I test drove because I fell in instant love. Polos are a dream to drive. Everything is so well-made and has a luxe feel without the price tag. The Germans sure know good, efficient design. It is hands-down the best quality, small car in its price range ($19,999-$24,999 for the trendline with a few extras).

My Marco is so shiny, and new, and has so much tech that I was intimidated by him for the first couple of weeks until I finished reading the 400 page manual, of which, half wasn't relevant to my Marco because I got the basic, trendline model (still very fancy) but not feature packed liked the upgrades. Even so, after reading more information than I needed to, I understood Marco's tech isn't there to judge me for bad driving, it's there to assist me and keep me safe.

Except: I wish I didn't have him measuring me because I am obsessed with good stats (hence, fitness tracker life). I avoid zoomies in Marco even though he's so very fast to accelerate with his 1.0L Turbo engine. Gotta keep my eco stats high to stay fuel efficient! And that means accelerating steadily. Sigh. I refuse to use the stop/start engine; I know it's an eco feature to save fuel but I don't like the slight delay in accelerating and the jerk it adds to starting the car. Plus, I can't imagine it's good for the battery to stop/start so often in peak hour traffic.

Before Mum Pham managed an epic house move on her own, and before Little Sissy Pham was sleepwalking off trains; Dad Pham was flying solo in Brisbane. He came up to house hunt. The Phamly was moving away from Melbourne to get a fresh start and Dad was looking for a new home to rent.

He wasn't have much luck though. A family of 5 - two adults on the pension and three high school and uni aged students. We had no income except for government support. Being Vietnamese probably didn't help - Brisbane folk were openly racist back then.

Out of options, Dad went a different tactic. He went to the real estate, inspected a couple of houses in the morning, went home and called Mum Pham and asked her to call in all favours to pull together a house deposit. Because we have amazing family and friends, she managed to get the $10k (yeah, I know, that kills me) they needed in addition to their measly savings, and my cousin was willing to be their guarantor. That same afternoon, Dad went back to the real estate and bought what has now been our Phamly home for nearing two decades.

Yes, you read right. Dad Pham bought a house because he couldn't rent one on his pension. As he says, only in Australia. What a lucky country to live in.




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