mother goose

One of the nice things about getting older is knowing you don’t need to have had all your ducks in a row. Even as a kid, I never had one of those polished answers to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I wasn’t dreaming of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, or anything particularly impressive.

But age brings the comforting realisation that the answer doesn’t have to be a profession to be purposeful. Sometimes, it turns out to be motherhood.

My daughters have promoted me to Mother Goose, which is a far better title than anything my younger self could ever have put on a vision board. Of course, no goose can be majestic all the time, and my goslings would be the first to tell you that I am just as often a silly goose.

growing pains

I used to think heartbreak was losing a guy.

I was wrong.

The deepest pain comes when your own child disappoints you. No one lives in your heart the way your child does. They carry your love, your hopes, your prayers, and the dreams you held for them before they could hold any of their own.

When they make choices that wound you, reject what you taught them, or become someone you hardly recognise, the grief lands hard. It carries sorrow for who they are and mourning for who they could have been.

This heartbreak bruises love to the bone. This grief bears their name.

The hardest truth is that love stays. You love your child through every break in your heart. You keep hurting. You keep hoping. You keep praying they find their way back.

home for christmas

Christmas used to be just another day in my childhood. We didn’t celebrate, except for one year when my brother staged a concert at home with our cousins: dancing, singing, and gifts. It was chaotic and fun, and for a moment it felt like we belonged to something festive. Then it ended. That was our one and only Christmas party.

Years later, I found Christmas again through friends. Their meals, their traditions, and the kindness of being invited in gave it the shape I’d always imagined, even though I still felt like a guest.

In time, I came to understand what sits at the heart of this season: the birth of Jesus Christ. I met a partner who held the same faith, and together we laid a foundation anchored in it. Christmas no longer felt borrowed. It was something I could share with my loved ones, and it finally felt like home.

chemistry met character

As a schoolgirl, I liked the good-lookers. Later, I was drawn to humour, then to wit, then to attention. I kept chasing the thrill, convinced butterflies were the key. Over time, I learned those things were only fleeting.

When I met RD, the chemistry was instant, and he checked all my superficial boxes. He also had qualities I didn’t even know to hope for: kindness, stability, patience and generosity. What began as the giddiness of first sparks grew into the gentle flame of a lasting love. He became my husband, the father of our children, and the person I depend on most.

Marriage taught me that the true measure of a man is how he cares for his family. 

RD not only provides financially for us, but builds a life rich with quality time together. He creates new memories with us, shows us the world, and brings his parents, brothers and their partners along so the joy is shared. Life with him is like climbing a mountain together: steady, sometimes challenging, but always rising with trust, warmth and purpose. He makes sure no one is ever left behind.

I no longer chase butterflies. I found the man who is both my solid ground and the greatest adventure of my life.

clay date

My daughters are my greatest motivators. Even when I’m running on empty, they ignite the spark that keeps me going. My dear friend Hue is pure inspiration. Creative, thoughtful, generous, and optimistic, she lifts everyone around her. With their encouragement and enthusiasm, I find myself capable of more than I ever imagined.

We threw together a clay date for the girls and their school friends. I didn’t think I had the energy, but their excitement made it easy to rally. Hue led the pottery workshop with her usual calm magic, patiently guiding the kids as they shaped pieces worth keeping.

Lunch was a tea party spread, served on elegant three-tiered stands with avocado maki sushi, salmon aburi, spring rolls, and egg sandwiches. I loved that these young ones are now old enough to use proper dainty porcelain tea sets.

The afternoon was a mix of quiet concentration and cheerful chaos. Our guests were kind, respectful, bright, well-mannered, and mature, exactly the sort of company I wish for my daughters. I’m so grateful my little ladies have made such genuine friends.

carve diem

I used to dislike skiing, every trip felt like a painful and frustrating struggle. I stuck with it for my family, knowing how much they loved the sport and the joy it brought them. But for me, skiing showed how much I’d changed with age. The fearless adventurer I once was, racing down trails and attempting wild stunts, was long gone. I miss that version of myself, the one who wasn’t afraid of falling. Despite my challenges, this winter sport has become a great way for my family to bond and carve lasting memories. 

Skiing reminds me that I’m not as young or invincible as I once was. The days of carefree risks have passed, replaced by the responsibilities of family. I miss the reckless freedom of youth, but there’s a deep satisfaction in being needed, even if it means approaching life with more caution.

When I first learned to ski in Queenstown, I was stressed and rigid, overwhelmed by my instructor’s directions. The steep hill ahead felt impossible, and I genuinely thought one wrong move would send me tumbling to my doom.

But this time, something shifted. It wasn’t just what I’d learned, it was that I stopped overthinking and leaned into what felt natural. Drawing on my rollerblading experience, I trusted my body to guide me. Suddenly, I moved with a fluidity I’d never felt before. The fear was still there, but it no longer paralysed me. I wasn’t impulsive, just confident, and for the first time, I felt in control. My turns aren’t perfect, and I’m nowhere near as fast as the skiers speeding past me, but I feel happy and at ease. Skiing has helped me rediscover a part of myself I thought I’d lost.

cousins come in dozens

I grew up surrounded by a pack of cousins, with my brother, the eldest, at the helm. He was our fearless leader, babysitting a dozen of us at a time, and his creativity knew no bounds. Whether it was inventing games or orchestrating epic role plays, he always kept us entertained and close.

I always dreamed of my daughters having a similar experience, but times have changed. With family scattered across the globe, the close-knit cousin group I hoped for didn’t quite materialise. Even so, some of my cousins remain my closest friends, and I wanted my girls to have that same lifelong connection.

Though my sister’s family only visits Australia once a year, and the time is fleeting, it’s heartwarming to see how our children’s bond remains unshaken. Despite spending just a fortnight together each year, they pick up right where they left off, their friendships as strong and natural as ever. The dynamics between them, the way they interact, and the deep-rooted ties they share are a testament to the enduring power of family.

a tail of two sons

I once pictured a life filled with sons, but God had other plans and blessed me with daughters. So, I decided to adopt two male dogs to bring a little balance to the mix. I had even chosen my favourite boy’s name long before any pregnancy, Anakin, but my husband vetoed it, worrying our child might be teased at school. Little did we know, it turned out to be the perfect name for a dog, earning compliments on every walk.

As for Logan, he was named after a TV character I had a major crush on from Veronica Mars. True to his namesake, Logan is a reformed bad boy, charming, mischievous, and with a soulful gaze that helps you forget he’s ever been naughty. He’s got that undeniable charisma that makes it impossible to stay mad at him, no matter what trouble he stirs up. 

And so unfolds this unexpected tale: of a girl mum who found her sons in two furry companions. These two are my boys, and I love them more than I ever thought possible.

the graduate

Despite a few hiccups, I have now successfully attained my business degree, a journey that extended far beyond its intended duration. Life presented me with a myriad of distractions and reasons to defer my studies: teenage infatuation and adolescent turmoil, heartaches and heartbreaks, work and leisure, marriage and motherhood, pandemic and lockdown. Yet, the true culprit was perpetual procrastination. The excitement of academia gradually gave way to the monotony of adulthood, and my tertiary education seemed to lack a clear purpose, feeling more like a detached obligation.

A heartfelt conversation with my eldest daughter changed everything; her pride in me completing my degree reignited the dormant flames of ambition. Suddenly, excuses crumbled and motivation surged. It transformed a scholarly duty into a promise to my first born and, in a way, to myself.

My father’s efforts to inspire my teenage study habits left him with a head of grey hair, a poignant testament to the challenges faced. My husband’s encouragement and support turned what was once a burdensome learning regimen into a shared accomplishment.

With my graduation ceremony set for May, and no cap-and-gown photo to brag about, here’s a 2004 throwback: I’m at my friend’s graduation, the very year I was supposed to complete my degree before taking a two-decade detour. Little did I know, this photo would come in handy someday.

This experience proves that it’s never too late to learn and grow, and you can always make your parents and children proud, regardless of your age.

party of 6

When I purchased these stocking hangers last year - they were only available in sets of three and I needed four. I begrudgingly ordered twin packs and wondered what I’d do with the remainders. Little did I know, we would become a family of six by next Christmas! 

life's a beach

My childhood beach trips involved dozens of loud relatives, an old minivan with ripped leather seats, soggy pork rolls, homemade sticky rice, cold roast duck, an ugly second-hand op-shop swimsuit, a communal wet towel, more freckles, dirty public toilets, and sand everywhere... Needless to say, those were not fond memories, and I disliked the beach because it was chaotic and messy.

As I grew up, I held a grudge and sulked in the car while my friends made pit stops at different beach spots during our road trips. I wasn’t completely against the whole beach idea, since I enjoyed walking along the seashore at night when it was empty, clean, and peaceful, with only the sound of the ocean waves crashing.

Now, my children love the beach, so how could I possibly hate something that makes my family so incredibly happy?

grieving

Pets are more than just animals kept in the home; they are beloved members of the family and cherished friends. Unfortunately, the joy of owning a pet is often accompanied by the heartbreak of losing one. Whether due to old age, illness, or an accident, the pet you love will inevitably pass away.

When a person you love dies, it's natural to feel sorrow, express grief, and expect friends and family to provide understanding and comfort. Sadly, this understanding is not always extended when the one who died was a pet. Those who have never owned a pet might not comprehend that animals offer companionship, acceptance, emotional support, and unconditional love. They might consider grieving inappropriate for someone who has lost "just a pet." But nothing could be further from the truth.

I spent two entire days crying over my baby, Sox. My mum still cries almost every morning and some nights. He was part of the family, so when our beloved Sox died, we were overwhelmed by the intensity of our sorrow. For a whole week, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I teared up when I came home and he wasn't there to greet me. I became emotional when I saw the full bowl of dog food because he wasn't around to finish it off. 

I miss waking up to his dancing eyes and his eagerness to be near me. I miss him tugging on my blanket to wake me up because he wanted to get onto my bed. I miss curling up with him to watch a DVD. I miss playing peekaboo with him. I miss kissing and hugging him. I miss everything about him.

I think the one who misses Sox the most is his brother, Chino, who is recovering from leg surgery. They spent every day together for six years. He made whiney noises that I assumed were equivalent to crying and ran around the house looking for his best friend. He sat by the door, watching and waiting. We told him that Sox had gone to sleep. On the third day, he finally understood, or perhaps he finally accepted the truth and stopped searching for Sox. He then began to grieve. 

The whole family is still grieving. It's healthy that we're not holding it in because understanding how to grieve and finding ways to cope with our loss can bring us closer to the day when memories bring smiles instead of tears.

the escen

August was all about getting my ducks in a row, drawing up plans for the months ahead. September and October are when those ducks (hopefully) start marching in formation. There have been some new developments that I haven't shared on my blog because, let's face it, sometimes sharing isn't really caring. I usually avoid turning my blog into a play-by-play report, but I need to timestamp a few events for future reference.

I moved to the Inner West temporarily to see if I could hack it away from home. Spoiler alert: I couldn't. After seven weeks, I was back home with my family (pets included), boyfriend, and friends. I realised I had plenty of freedom, privacy, and independence at home, and the only perk of living away was being closer to work. I rented a furnished resort apartment, but thanks to the chilly weather, I didn't enjoy the facilities. Not that it mattered much since I don't play tennis, swim like a rock, and break out in hives at the thought of exercise. The sauna, though, I genuinely missed out on. Kat helped me move out, and we took a grand tour of the resort, pretending we were on a luxury holiday.

In other news, I bought my first investment property. I expected some fanfare when the settlement happened, but all I got was a phone call from my solicitor saying, "Congratulations, the settlement was completed at 2:30pm." No flowers, no fanfare, just a 30-year mortgage and a sobering look at my financial statements.

The whole process wrapped up in less than a month, and I've learned that it's not what you know, but who you know. I was blessed with a team of professionals who charged me mates' rates and pulled a few all-nighters to make the transaction smooth. Good help is hard to buy, but with strong friendships and trust, you can earn it.

shirley

I used to babysit my niece, Shirley, during school holidays because her parents thought my folks would enjoy having a kid around. What they didn't consider was that the assigned babysitter was an 18-year-old who had just finished the HSC and was eager to enjoy her newfound freedom. Perhaps my parents were fully aware and used babysitting as a clever form of house arrest.

Desperate to quit my unpaid babysitting gig, I tried to make her miserable enough to want to leave. I gave her chores, hoping she'd hate staying with us and beg to go home. I even blocked her on MSN because her phonetic shorthand texts and fluorescent fonts were driving me nuts. Once, I came home to find she’d ransacked my precious sticker collection, sticking them heartlessly all over my desk. The final straw was when she dropped my pet rabbit down the stairs, breaking his spine, and he had to be put down. I got in trouble for locking her out of my room after she woke me up every morning by banging on the door. Thankfully, I had conditioned myself to sleep through it.

When Shirl started primary school, we actually became friends. She helped me get ready for dates by curling or braiding my hair, tying complicated laces, and giving my outfit a once-over. Her creativity made my bedroom cozy, and she was handy in the kitchen, cutting up watermelon on hot summer days. I tricked her into cleaning the house with false promises of shopping trips. When I renovated my bedroom, she was my little handyman, assembling furniture with ease and showcasing freakish strength in heavy lifting. Some may call it child labour; I prefer ‘personal development.’ She matured quickly thanks to my rigorous training. My niece is smart, almost as smart as me. I sometimes see a young me in her (minus the handy work, creativity, and strength).

It almost seemed like she was the babysitter. You see, a good child minder allows the kid plenty of freedom and encourages them to be independent. I just took this method to a whole new level. My babysitting career ended when Shirl started high school, and her visits dwindled and eventually stopped altogether. I took her off my block list and was disappointed by the absence of her eager messages. Whenever I invited her over, she was busy and preferred hanging out with friends. Ouch. My little girl was growing up.

Shirley is now 15 years old and taller than me. She visited last Friday night, and I asked her to sleep over. To my surprise, she agreed, and I knew this was my chance to win her back. I pulled out all the stops: I let her hug my hot water bottle, let her pick a DVD for us to watch, and took her shopping in Paddington. We had Japanese in the city, and I bought her whatever drinks and snacks she wanted. I was at her mercy. 

We reminisced about the past and laughed about how we used to fight and slam doors in each other’s faces. She asked about my current love life, and I was pleased to hear she still hated boys. I made a mental note to ask her again next year. She showed me her Myspace page, and I made fun of her unoriginal teeny-bopper pouty-lipped pose. I'm glad we're friends again. Last night, she sewed the missing buttons back onto my coat. It feels like old times.

coming out of the shoe closet

It all began when Cinderella lost one of her glass slippers on the steps of the palace, with Prince Charming in hot pursuit. The Prince pocketed the slipper, vowing to find and marry the maiden to whom it belonged. Women from all over town flocked to try on the glass slipper, each hoping it would secure her own Happily Ever After. 

Shoe fanatics claim that shoes bring them joy. I found this amusing because I didn't share or understand their shoe enthusiasm. My older sister had a penchant for outrageously high stilettos and provided me with a vast collection of shoes to wear. I didn't need to shop for shoes because my sister was my generous supplier, trying to convert me to her passion. While I appreciated shoes like any other article of clothing, I didn't love them. I blamed shoes for making women status-conscious, superficial, and fiscally irresponsible. Have you noticed how shoe-crazy women are often portrayed as heroines in Hollywood shows and movies?

For years, I wore my sister's stunning shoes without a care for their brands or origins. My interest was minimal because I had no attachment to what adorned my feet. Luckily, my sister had expensive taste, and I received compliments every time I stepped out in her stilettos. Strangers often stopped me on the streets to inquire about *my* shoes, and I always redirected the credit to my sister. I became the envy of all my friends because I had an endless supply of fabulous shoes. A couple of years ago, my sister moved overseas, but on her visits back home, she'd bring new additions to her shoe family. 

Before her last visit, she sent a warning: her shoes had better be in their correct boxes, not scattered all over my room. Upon her return, she was horrified to find a dozen of her shoes damaged. She took them in for emergency repair, and the cobbler joked if someone had run over her "children" because of their condition. I have no idea how it happened, but I likely damaged the shoes unintentionally. I'm guilty of dragging my feet and taking heavy steps, and perhaps hopping onto park benches on my way to and from work contributed. Shockingly, my shoe supply ceased. My sister cut me off, tired of buying new shoes for me, only to see them destroyed one heel at a time. It pains my sister deeply when her shoes get scratched, scarring them for the rest of her life. 

I managed fine without new shoes, content with the three pairs I adored from her last visit. But after a few months, things changed. While sitting innocently on the train, I glanced down at my feet and noticed scratches on my pretty Mary Janes. Those scratches weren't there yesterday, or were they? I looked away, but the ache in my chest lingered.  

Oh. My. Gosh. I had fallen in love with shoes. 

It was a slow and steady descent. In hindsight, I was in denial. Wearing nice shoes always made me feel good, yet I avoided the commitment of purchasing and caring for them. To make up for lost time, I bought four pairs of stilettos in one week. Whether you're a fan of SATC or not, you have to admit that Carrie Bradshaw has brought our inner shoe-obsessed selves out of the closet and into the mainstream. We just need to set ourselves a budget to control our infatuation. 

Modern women have given up trying to squeeze into the glass slipper, realising that even if the shoe doesn't fit, happiness can still be found in the nearest shoe boutique, offering different shapes, colours, and sizes. I believe women love shoes because finding not only a pair, but the right pair that fits perfectly, provides a defining sense of self and independence, reminding us that we now have choices.

happiness shared is the flower

I've been quite antisocial at home, and I can't really pinpoint why. My family is notoriously loud; my parents sound like they're having a screaming match even when they're just discussing dinner plans. I've always preferred soft-spoken people; they seem so kind and gentle. RD is relatively soft-spoken, and I think I've gotten used to his calm mannerisms.

Yesterday, my mum decided to lecture me about my new aloof attitude during our commute to work. I responded with a shrug, which only cranked up her frustration. She demanded an explanation, so I mumbled something in my rusty Vietnamese. She didn’t understand me, so I repeated the key words, hoping she'd decipher my cryptic speech. She was unimpressed and called me rude and disrespectful. We spent the rest of the trip in silence. When we arrived, I thanked her for the lift and she nodded.

Later, she picked me up from the station, and I was holding a big bouquet of roses and lilies. She asked casually what the flowers were for, and I told her they were for her. She smiled shyly and asked why. I said they were to apologise for my bad behaviour. When I saw her eyes getting teary, I felt a pang of guilt and confessed that the flowers were actually from work since it was my last day. In my defence, I had planned on giving the flowers to her!

Whenever boys send me flowers, I go home and give them to my mum. She always says, "I hope all these flowers are from the same boy." & I reply, "No, but one day, a man will give me something sparkly that I'll keep for myself. For now, you can have all my flowers."

home beautification

This afternoon, I was watering my mum's two guava trees and noticed that they were still alive and much happier in this cool weather. I could see the birds dancing around them, so I devised a plan to keep the birds off. I assigned Chino, my dog, to be our official security guard. He loves to chase birds away from our yard, likely because he's territorial.

The birds usually fly and land on the tree as refuge from him. I once caught Chino trying to climb the guava tree. I don't think he understands that dogs cannot climb trees. But with his presence, the birds are too scared to peck at the fruits. Being the angel that my mother was, she insisted on leaving food out for the birds. After some intricate and complicated physics work, I was able to calculate how high to place the bird feeder so that it would be impossible for Chino to jump from the ground to the feeder without a serious concussion. Thankfully, my dog is a mathematical creature, as he hasn't broken any limbs. My plan is working like a charm because the guava trees seem healthier and the birds are whistling outside my window as I type.

While in our backyard, I saw three elaborate spider webs on our fence. The patterns were gorgeous and probably took those little spiders hours to create. So, I went inside, grabbed my Raid can, and sprayed all three. I hate spiders. The webs were not ruined (can't say the same for the spiders), and in fact, the glistening whiteness of the toxic spray left them looking very distinguished in the afternoon sun. I think the spiders were secretly pleased with the free touch of home beautification I supplied, though they were apparently too busy choking to death on the poison to truly express their gratitude.

phat

Who says you need to be busty to look hot? Look at her flat stomach! I love this shot; it makes me want to strip off my clothes and run across the grass in my front yard, with the sprinklers spraying water on me.

I tried to strike this pose on my webcam to show my best friend, but she burst out laughing. I had shown her the photo I was trying to imitate before attempting it on the webcam. She did have some good suggestions, though. "Haha, your boobs need to be smaller!" Well, isn't that just fantastic? Let me just deflate my breasts, and then I'll be on my merry way to Sexytown.

I think I need to hit the gym for a whole decade before I can have a body like that. It's too bad I'm allergic to exercising. I've only been dragged to the gym twice in my entire life, and both times I had trouble breathing after two minutes on the treadmill. My face turned into a tomato, and I saw stars every time I blinked. Maybe I didn't warm up properly. Ah, it just wasn't meant to be. My sister used to do aerobics at home; I supported her by sitting on our couch, encouraging her to keep going, while happily munching on a bar of chocolate and teasingly waving it at her every now and then.

nine west

Last night, my sister and I attended the Nine West (shoes) boutique event in Double Bay to celebrate the launch of their new spring line. Sparkling champagne, fresh strawberries, finger foods, and live saxophone music created an atmosphere of class and elegance. Upon arrival, we were each given a raffle ticket for a surprise drawing. At the end of the launch, they announced a winner for a Nine West handbag, which looked less impressive than its valued price.

The room was filled with about twenty shoe-obsessed ladies who seemed to be in heaven. My sister's eyes lit up at the sight of the rows of shoes surrounding us; I've never seen her happier. She bought a pair of slip-on stilettos, lured by the special 20% discount. Fickle! My only opinion about the stilettos was, "Those heels aren't that high, are they going to make me look taller?"

The new season's spring selection featured bright, vibrant colors and patterns. Everyone was in awe of the new line of shoes that Nine West carried, except for me. I was more preoccupied with eating the complimentary strawberries. While the other sophisticated women made small talk and sipped their champagne, I was slurping my iced water and nagging my sister, "Can we go now?"

There was only one guy present at the launch, and he seemed more excited about the shoes than I was. He seemed mildly gay or just overly gentle and feminine. My favorite part of the launch was when they gave us gift bags on our way out. The bag was full of goodies! Girls and their obsessions with shoes - I will never understand it.

tell sox that i love him

This morning, like every other morning, I debated whether to wake up for either work or uni. Waking up is the hardest part of my day; I'm still sleepy after I get dressed, and it's only when I'm on my way to the train station that I fully wake up. My mum drives me to the station every morning, and let's just say she is not the best driver in the world.

When you're sitting in the car with my mother, you have to be focused because it's vital to scream out, "Mum, watch out! There's a car next to us!" when she blindly changes lanes. It's also important to be aware of your surroundings, especially when you turn to look outside and find your car almost being squashed by a big truck. Don't be alarmed if you notice that your car is driving too close to the edge of the road - 1cm from the curb and about to hit that cute innocent little boy on his bicycle. Resist the urge to strangle yourself with the seatbelt (even if it seems like a more appealing fate) because, somehow, the mother figure has everything under control. 😬

Being stuck in this death seat every morning has taught me to be wide awake as my life hangs in the balance. My mum has her Gold license, mind you, but like most older Asian women, she can't drive for peanuts. I dare not speak to her while she's driving, as it would distract her from the road and kill us both. I listen to her talk, though; she sees this as an opportunity to bond. Maybe it's because it feels like we're both in our deathbeds, so it's a good time to discuss life (and sometimes love). I always just nod and say, "Uh-huh," because unlike my sister, I don't talk to my mum about my "problems."

My mum always says to me, "Don't be angry at people; you're the only one who will suffer because they don't know or care that you're angry at them. They will go on living their life happily while you struggle emotionally." Mother is not wrong there. So yes, let's not be angry and let's just all be friends. Group hug, everyone!