It was great to get away for the full weekend.
The beautiful wedding
With attempted family photos
Followed by evening fun
Category Archives: Family life
City Escape, Seaworks Car Show
When you’re enjoying sharing the little moments, with the ones you love. They won’t be little forever, they barely want to spend time with us now!
St Skilda Beach Markets
Enjoying the windy walk down St Kilda Beach, checking out the local makers market!
Confidence, Chapters & the Chaos In Between
It’s a new year, and I’m walking into it with a different kind of energy.
Last year, I closed a major chapter — one of those milestones you know will leave fingerprints on you for decades. For me, that chapter spanned three intense, formative years. It was a period defined by transformation: professionally, personally, mentally, emotionally, and in ways I couldn’t have predicted when it began.
The last three years didn’t just shape what I delivered at work. They reshaped how I work, why I work, and who I want to be while doing it.
Looking back, I’m not just proud of what I experienced and delivered, I’m deeply grateful for what it built in me along the way:
- Skills that hardened under pressure
- Grit that sharpened through repetition
- Perspective that only comes after navigating uncertainty at scale
- Empathy that only comes after being treated like your voice doesn’t matter
And the confidence that grows quietly after proving to yourself you can handle more than you once thought possible
And this year?
I get to apply those learned skills to the arenas I’m most passionate about — the places where passion and profession finally overlap.
I strongly believe that life isn’t meant to be compartmentalised into what you’re good at versus what you love. The best version of ourselves exists where those two worlds collide, even if it feels messy at first.
And speaking of collision. That’s exactly what happened when advice from a thought leader landed in my inbox at just the right moment.
The piece used the phrase:
“Fake it till you make it”
It was used as a symbol for how confidence isn’t built. And while I agree entirely with the wreckage that slogan has evolved to mean — confidence by performance, not proof — it triggered a thought in me that went beyond the words on the screen.
It made me reflect on the why.
Not whether the advice was wrong, but why advice like this often fails once it leaves the sender’s hands.
Because so many people heard:
“Fake confidence. Hide the fear. Be someone else.”
When the real intent was likely closer to:
“Start before you feel ready, borrow courage while you build capability.”
For me. It wasn’t the advice that failed.
It was the interpretation layer.
And we all know this, even if we don’t say it out loud enough:
Communication is only effective if the receiving audience interprets it correctly — not if you think you delivered it clearly.
I’ve built campaigns, launched products, delivered stakeholder narratives, and led rooms full of dominant communicators. In every one of those environments, success wasn’t defined by the message that was sent. It was defined by the meaning that was understood.
And confidence?
It works the same way.
It’s not built by memorising motivational slogans or performing like you already own the result. It’s built by:
- Being yourself long enough to learn from failure
- Doing the reps even when you’re still in beta
- Collecting evidence through experience
- Keeping the promises you make to yourself
- Letting rejection and failure become data, not deterrents
And trusting yourself through uncertainty, without needing to look fearless while doing it
So maybe the real lesson isn’t about faking or making at all.
Maybe it’s this:
Say it clearly. Interpret it generously. Act on it bravely.
As I step into 2026, these are the guiding principles I’m taking with me. Not because they’re universal truth, but because they’re the ones that resonate in my bones right now.
And if there’s one thing chaos has taught me, it’s that we’re all still learning. We’re all still interpreting. We’re all still figuring out which principles we’ll subscribe to next.
So here’s mine today.
How about you?
Late Afternoon by the Coast, into Evening at Queenscliff
After work (yes I am working through the Christmas holidays) we headed towards Geelong in search of a sandy beach to enjoy the open ocean and pulled over for our first stop just past Geelong, before reaching Queenscliff.
The beach was quiet as people left for the day, so we enjoyed an uncrowded stretch. Shoes off immediately. The kids ran ahead, straight to the water, shrieking at how cold it was while daring each other to go just a little deeper. I stayed back for a moment, breathing in that unmistakable coastal air — salt, seaweed, and space. The kind of stop that resets everyone without trying. A reminder of the beauty nature provides free of charge.
From there, we continued to Queenscliff Harbour as the day softened into evening. The marina felt calm and steady, boats rocking gently as if the day itself was winding down. The kids leaned over the railings, counting boats and asking where they might be heading next. There’s something about harbours that invites curiosity. A reminder that every vessel has a story, a departure, a return.
Opened my phone and googled away. Queenscliff is known as the historic guardian of Port Phillip Heads, once a strategic military and quarantine town guarding the entrance to the bay. We drove past the fort (which i plan to revisit during openjng hours) and you can still feel that layered history in the historical buildings and wide streets.
As the sun set, we took a leisurely walk down the pier. It was the perfect lighting for photos, and a nice, relaxing gear shift for the chaotic last week of Christmas and Hmong New Year. While it wasn’t a big trip or a packed itinerary, it was perfect for unwinding. Just a beach stop, a harbour, and an evening walk together. But those are often the moments that linger the longest — simple, shared, and quietly full.
Between Threads: Wearing What We Carry Forward
Fashion has always been more than clothing for me. It is memory, inheritance, and question all at once.
This year marks the first year I decided to design my first official collection and showcase at the 2025 Hmong New Year, and I am calling it “VANG: Between Threads“
I wanted to create a space where tradition meets choice, where culture is not fixed in the past but actively lived, negotiated, and reimagined.
As a Hmong Australian, I work with an awareness that our cultural expressions are often misunderstood, simplified, or expected to remain static. Yet Hmong identity, like all living cultures, has always adapted across borders, generations, and circumstances. The garments I entered in the Fashion competition explore that tension:
What we inherit, verses
What we carry, verses
What we choose to transform.
Grounded in Indigo: May & James
Indigo is central to this collection because it has long been foundational to Hmong textile practice. Hand-dyed indigo cloth—woven, dyed, and patterned through slow, labour-intensive processes—formed the basis of everyday and ceremonial dress. It speaks to endurance, connection to land, and the quiet strength of women’s work passed through generations.
May’s design honours this lineage through a structured bodice and flowing high-low skirt. Traditional geometry meets contemporary femininity, allowing movement and lightness while remaining anchored in craft. This piece is an homage, but not a replication—it reflects how tradition can remain present while evolving in form.
James’ look reinterprets Hmong menswear through modern proportion. Balloon-style trousers reference garments historically designed for movement—farming, travel, ceremony—now refined with cuffed legs and minimalist layering. The focus remains on the indigo textile itself, positioning heritage not as spectacle, but as lived continuity.
Together, these pieces speak to grounding—what holds us steady.
Red as Threshold: Kevin
Red is not a dominant colour in everyday Hmong dress, and it is essential to say that clearly. Unlike in other Asian cultures, where red is widely celebratory or decorative, Hmong use of red is spiritual, rare, and deliberate.
My inspiration comes from a specific spiritual context: the red mask worn by Hmong shamans during ritual practice. In this space, red signals protection, transformation, and the ability to move between worlds. It is not about celebration—it is about spiritual authority and liminality.
Kevin’s design explores red in this charged way. Japanese-inspired overcoat forms and wide-leg proportions create restraint, balance, and stillness. Within that calm structure, bold Hmong motifs are intentionally framed along the edges and in the panels where meaning is concentrated. Red becomes an interruption, an invocation, a presence.
This garment exists between realms: spiritual and material, inherited and reimagined.
The Future Speaks Back: Helena
If the earlier looks are about grounding and threshold, Helena’s design is about voice.
This piece reflects a generational shift—where heritage is no longer something worn only in prescribed ways, but something actively reshaped by youth. The cropped top and mini pleated skirt are unapologetically modern. They signal autonomy, visibility, and confidence.
This is not a tradition being abandoned. It is a tradition that is claimed differently.
Helena’s look asks an important question: What does it mean to honour culture when its old forms no longer bind you?
The answer here is not rejection, but ownership.
Between Threads
Across all four designs, the idea of between remains constant:
- between generations
- between ceremony and everyday life
- between inherited form and personal expression
This collection does not attempt to preserve culture through replication. Instead, it explores continuity through adaptation. The garments are not costumes or recreations—they are contemporary expressions shaped by lived identity.
Walking away from 6-figure salary, my bonus and a retention package so I could walk towards a future I wanted.
I walked away from my $200K+ salary, annual bonus, and retention package — not because I could earn it elsewhere, but because it wasn’t the life I wanted anymore.
People say it’s honourable but not logical.
But here’s the truth:
I didn’t make a financial decision. I made a values-led decision.
Because while money can buy a comfortable life,
I can’t buy time back with my kids.
And it definitely can’t buy the feeling of building a life that is mine, if earning it means being trapped in a world that challenges my values.
So I chose me.
And today, as I settle the papers on my new commercial property, I’m reminded exactly why I walked away:
✨ To build foundations, not just careers
✨ To create businesses I’m excited to wake up for
✨ To spend more time doing what lights me up — not drains me
✨ To work with incredible clients who energise me, not exhaust me
✨ To be closer to my passions — cars, creativity, and collecting Pokémon cards with my kids
✨ To design a life where my work reflects my values, not my fears
Walking away from six figures wasn’t the loss.
Staying would’ve been.
Because I don’t want a life that’s “supposed to make sense” to other people.
I want a life that feels true to me.
And I’m finally living it. One decision, one building, one adventure at a time.
Here’s to foundations
that I’m building brick by brick.
Not for logic,
but for legacy.
Walking Myself Back Into Life
I’m pacing down the footpath, a dog lead in one hand and tissues in the other — because yes, spring hayfever does not care about life choices. My eyes are watering… partly allergies, partly gratitude.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m walking the dog.
Not rushing out the door for a 7am meeting.
Not glued to a screen answering urgent emails.
Not living life in the small cracks between stress and exhaustion.
Just walking. Just breathing. Just… being here.
Minnie trots ahead, proudly showing off her summer coat, shiny, soft, and completely unaware she’s become the mascot of my comeback to living. Three years have slipped by since I’ve done something as simple and sacred as this daily ritual of movement.
And as I watch the kids run ahead, laughing over who gets to hold the ball next, something hits me:
I feel like I am part of my own life again.
I’m seeing moments I used to scroll past.
I’m hearing the conversations I used to tune out.
I’m rediscovering the man walking beside me, my husband, not as a co-parent in survival mode, but as my person.
This isn’t about slowing down. It’s about finally moving forward.
Leaving that high-stress job wasn’t a loss, it was a homecoming. A return to the parts of me that were buried under deadlines, performance reviews, and the constant pressure to be “on.”
Now, the most important thing I show up for is right here on this evening walk:
✨ My family.
✨ My health.
✨ The little joyful things.
✨ The dog with the gorgeous summer coat who reminds me to enjoy the sun too.
Spring may set off my allergies, but it’s also giving me a season of renewal.
And as the breeze carries a mix of pollen and possibility, I can finally say:
I’m back.
I’m here.
I’m living my own life again, one dog walk at a time.
The Journey of Kid Gaming: Watching My Son Fall in Love With My Singing Monsters
There’s something magical about watching your child find a world they truly adore — and for my son, that world is MSM. Yes, I’ve learned recently it stands for My Singing Monsters, and honestly? It’s adorable.
I’ve watched him go from casually opening the game… to becoming a fully committed little monster maestro.
The kind of commitment that looks like:
✨ Staying up late waiting for game updates
✨ Saving every dollar of pocket money to buy gems
✨ Carefully planning his island layouts like a mini architect
✨ Mastering breeding combos like he’s running a genetics lab
And in the middle of all that? Pure, unfiltered joy.
As a mum, it’s easy to underestimate games. We worry about screen time, we worry about distractions, we worry about tired eyes and forgotten lunch boxes… but then you see this side of gaming:
The creativity.
The patience.
The excitement of unlocking a new monster.
The way he beams when he teaches me the characters’ names — as if I’m the student in his tiny classroom.
The pride in saving his own money and choosing how to spend it.
It’s not just a game to him. It’s his little universe.
And I love that he gets to be just a kid in it.
A kid who is passionate.
A kid who is imaginative.
A kid who celebrates small wins.
A kid who stays up (a bit too late sometimes) waiting for something he’s excited about.
Isn’t that exactly what childhood should be?
In a world that grows up too fast, these are the moments I treasure:
Watching him record his MSM videos… hearing him giggle when his monsters start singing… seeing him proudly show me his island like it’s a work of art.
It reminds me that joy doesn’t have to be complicated.
Sometimes it’s just a boy, a phone, a singing monster, and a mum smiling from the doorway.
Why $660 on Pokémon cards wasn’t really about the cards at all
On paper, spending $660 on Pokémon cards doesn’t make sense.
It’s not the “logical” thing to do. It’s not an investment strategy. It’s not a necessity.
And it definitely isn’t something any financial advisor would celebrate.
But here’s the quiet truth underneath the noise:
I’m not really collecting Pokémon cards. I’m collecting moments with my kids.
In a world obsessed with optimisation, efficiency, and “making smart choices,” we forget something important: Not everything that matters can be measured.
And not every meaningful moment comes wrapped in logic.
Sometimes the things that nourish us most make zero financial sense — and infinite emotional sense.
The Real Beauty Behind the Packs
Every pack we open together is a ritual.
The excitement.
The predictions.
The loud “NO WAY!” when we land a hit.
The laughter when we pull yet another duplicate.
The way my kids’ eyes light up like they’ve just found treasure.
In those moments, I’m not a manager, a leader, or an adult juggling responsibilities.
I’m just Mum.
Fully present.
Fully theirs.
And that is the real value — one that no PSA rating or market price can ever match.
Why Serving Happiness Matters
We spend so much of our lives being logical: Make the practical choice. Save the sensible amount. Choose stability. Follow the rules. Do the “right” thing.
But what about joy?
What about connection?
What about the memories we’ll hold onto long after the logic fades into dust?
Serving happiness isn’t reckless.
It’s intentional.
It’s choosing what matters most even when it doesn’t add up on a spreadsheet.
Because the one thing life keeps teaching me is this:
Presence is the real currency.
And joy is the real return.
A Reminder I Keep Coming Back To
When my kids grow up, they won’t remember how much I earned.
They won’t remember what was “logical.”
They won’t remember the sensible decisions I made in boardrooms.
But they will remember:
Sitting next to me tearing open packs The sound of our collective gasp when we hit something big The inside jokes The energy The softness The time The love
That’s the legacy I’m building.
Not a binder full of cards, but a childhood full of memories.
So yes, I spent $660 on Pokémon cards.
But what I really bought was joy, connection, presence, and moments I’ll never get back.
Happiness over logic. Every single time.