There’s something really cool about celebrating Australia Day just a few days after the Chinese New Year.
Within a week, I’ve almost been forced to wonder which aspects of my identity is based on my Chinese upbringing or from growing up in an Australian culture.
In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise that I’m pretty crap at being one or the other.
I speak really bad Chinese, I wear my shoes in the house, I’m iffy about the whole heaty/cooly thing, I haven’t honoured my parents by being a doctor or lawyer, and I can’t order dimsum in dialect.
On the same scale, I’m not too fond of beach sand, I hate getting sunburnt, I don’t drink much beer, I’m not crazy about sport, and I lived with my parents until I was 23.
It all makes me laugh. I guess in the end, I believe I’m a healthy mish-mash of both worlds. And I’m glad I’m living in a place where mish-mash is OK.
Our Australian version of the Chinese New Year’s Eve Banquet resembled something not far from a barbecue.
There was outdoor chit chat, mosquito candles being lit, screaming kids playing footy on the grass, noisy aunties preparing food, and lazy uncles drinking beer.
There were mountains of food! Shark fin soup, fish salad thing (what’s that called again?), roast chicken, roast duck, roast pork, stewy mushrooms, battered prawns, fungusy things, noodles, and deep fried crab meat things. It was all gooooood.
There were heaps of sparklers, Chinese cookies, almond + fruit jelly, melon seeds, Pocky and angboas.
We gave 16 angboas out this year. Damn there were a lot of kids.
However, we still made a profit. Being parents of the great-grand-child has its perks.
Went to a hen’s night on the weekend.
Started the evening at 7pm.
Cocktails + wine + Japanese food + jazz.
Giggly girly chatter all night.
Divided into Horny Devils and Virgin Angels.
Played hen party games :
– Made toilet paper wedding dresses.
– Scribbled obscene images on the table cloths.
– Shared sex tips (most popular one involved Listerine + ice).
Moved on to a pub with live 80’s music and dancing.
(And drunken men who took off their clothes.)
Moved onto a night club.
Where young boys hit on us all night! Ha!
I was the responsible and sober one. That is, I didn’t have my head in the gutter by the end of the night (haha only kidding!) and I drove half the bridal party home. I got home at 4am!
Callum (9 months) woke up at 6am, and my husband (ah, bless him) woke up to attend to him for the whole morning.
It’s nice to know I have the energy to do these crazy stunts once in a while. And thank god for coffee.
I’ve been feeling a little empty lately.
Being a full-time mum is beginning to run me dry.
My baby is only 9 months, but
I’m craving to do designery and arty things again.
I aching to go back to do what I love doing.
Sigh. I’m creatively frustrated.
I walk through life with people, places, colours, textures, music — all once inspiring and burning me to write, draw, design, photograph, create, imagine, and dream…
Of course, that doesn’t happen anymore.
Now, all is captured and simply stored into little boxes
labelled for future use.
And. I’m not happy about that.
So I’m working on a plan for world domination.
EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW. I’m so grossed out!!
My husband fished a cockroach out of my 9 month old’s mouth this morning. It was still moving and it’s guts were still oozing out.
I thought I was going to be sick.
Callum was happy as could be — although a little grumpy that we stole his snack.