For as long as I could remember, my mother would always call me lanh in Vietnamese - meaning quick-witted and agile, or as my Aunty Nhu puts it, “fast with one-liners”. While I can’t say I was always comfortable with that label, I do consider myself to be three things: an optimist, a hard worker and a problem solver -all three have been put to test at one stage or another.
From the age of two, I’ve spent my weekends and holidays with my mother at her work at the nail salon. There, I inherited those qualities from a trio of women who ultimately helped shape my life. My ‘aunty’ Cô Nguyệt who lived by the value of hard work and service every day; my second-cousin Chị Phượng who always saw the goodness in others even when it was difficult to; and my mother, Huệ Anh, whose strong will taught me there is no problem too big to tackle.
Working at a nail salon meant days would start at 9am and end right at 9pm. As an adult, I’ve often wondered how each of these women managed to keep those qualities unmarred by the pressures of daily life: juggling parenthood, career and living in a foreign country with minimal support. Growing up, I would quietly watch these women greet customers with kindness and patience. Even from the sideline, it didn’t look easy. Yet I have never heard Mum, Cô Nguyệt or Chị Phượng complain.
As an adult, I’ve often wondered how each of these women managed to keep those qualities unmarred by the pressures of daily life: juggling parenthood, career and living in a foreign country with minimal support.
At work, there was an unguarded feeling amongst them – a sense of unspoken trust. I could see that being in each other’s company energised them. My mother was a social butterfly, she would organise gatherings and celebrations for all sorts of reasons, bringing together all of our friends, family, everyone else’s friends and families. Looking back, I now understand what she was trying to build – a sense of family in her own self-made ‘village’.
Like the way one’s hairdresser can turn into their confidante, time at the nail salon was also full of probing, opening up and emotional moments. Whether it was family or school issues or the usual frivolous chatter about customers, everyone’s story was seen and heard. During down time, the staff would lean on each other for support and guidance, with the kind of vulnerability that’s only possible among people you know and trust. To me, it was a safe space and a second home that was all about the camaraderie as much as the manicures and pedicures.
On the mornings when my mother rushed off to work at first light, she would sometimes say, with a mock-sternness in her voice: “I need to go to work to provide for our family.” Behind that line, I caught a hint of something else occasionally. Something that felt like sadness, which made me want to pull her back to bed. On those mornings, guilt was a natural byproduct. But back at the salon, Chị Phượng (the empath and optimist) would remind me that Mum did everything - including the things she seemed none too happy about -out of love.
First anniversary celebration of one of my mother's (Huệ Anh) nail salon. From left: Cô Nguyệt ,Mo, Huệ Anh, Linh and Phượng. Source: Supplied
It was from these women that I learnt work didn’t need to be seen as awful or unacceptable. Mum and Chị Phượng showed me there was pride in any kind of labour that puts food on the table and a roof over our heads. As a young girl, I learned from my mum’s incredible work ethic – as she raised my brothers and I, worked seven days a week at the salon and took care of her entire family in Vietnam simultaneously. To others, it may seem like she had done the impossible, a model migrant who managed to “have it all”. But I also saw the conscious choices she had to make, the harshness of the trade-offs that gave us a better future, and the way she moved between different worlds – work and family, family and school, school and work – always with an immaculate sense of care and duty.
Mum and Chị Phượng showed me there was pride in any kind of labour that puts food on the table and a roof over our heads.
One of my earliest memories at the nail salon was seeing my mother being tersely corrected by a customer for mispronouncing a word. I remember watching her listen with composure, taking it all in but never once letting the other person interfere with her dignity. Back in those days, Cô Nguyệt would step in and help my mother out with a difficult customer occasionally. But she would also remind us it’s OK to speak up if bad behaviour stood in our way. Those moments taught me something I hold dear to this day -in my mother’s words, “Not everything that we face in this world can be changed, but nothing can be changed if we don’t face it.”
To me, there is something deeply moving about that ethos: the idea that each of us could make a difference in the smallest attentive decisions we make. These days, the hard worker in me seeks out every opportunity to make conscious changes in my community; the problem-solver in me reflects on the ways I live, work and how I can raise strong women around me one day. As for the optimist, anything feels possible with the wisdom I have inherited from the nail salon days.
