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Who am I?

A blog by Philip in General

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About this blog

A journey of self-discovery, reflection, and creativity. Who Am I? is a blog where personal stories, life lessons, and musings on identity come to life. This space is for anyone curious about the twists and turns that shape who we are. Pull up a chair, dive into the words, and let’s figure it out together—one story at a time

Entries in this blog

Relationships

On Music

To the songs that breaks us.   It is almost bedtime.   I am listening to one of my Vietnamese bolero songs, and suddenly, I have this urge to sing. I think of another song—one I’ve never been able to finish, that always catches in my throat, that always makes my voice waver.   I try again this time.   The song is called Mỗi Mùa Xuân Về Là Thêm Một Lần Dối Mẹ. It tells the story of a son who leaves his home country,  lies to his mother every spring, telling
productivity

On Time

To Time who we never get enough of.    A while back, whenever I planned things with my friends, because of the flexibility I had with work, with life, with time, I always found myself with more to spare.   And the people I called, the ones I asked to hang out, I always thought they were busier than me. Their schedules packed. Their days full.   So, I let them decide.   I told them to give me their availability, and I would plan around them. I always put my
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Relationships

On Mentorship Part 2

To the legacy we leave behind.   I’m at work. Today is Paul’s first official day on the building station, a station I’ve been training him on for the last two days. We’re throwing him into the deep end. We’re doing 80 tires—the maximum we can possibly do in a day. It’s been a very long time since anyone’s come out of training and done 80 tires on their first day. The people I’ve trained before? They haven’t done this yet. And honestly? I doubt my own ability to do it if I had just come
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On Mentorship

To the students that surpass us as teachers. I’ve been training Paul for a while now at work, and today, I realized something profound. He’s exceeded me in a few of the stations. There are ten stations in total in the factory. I’m a jack-of-all-trades in all of them, mastering one—just one—that I’ve been doing for the past seven years. Since Paul started, less than three months ago, I’ve been training him on almost all the stations, and now, more than half of them? He’s surpassed
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On Constellations

To the stars that shine brightly at night. I have this image in my mind now—whenever I meet someone new, or even when I think about someone from my past. I picture myself, standing alone, looking up at the night sky, a sky full of stars. Each star? It’s a person. A moment. A memory. These stars—they represent the people I’ve met before, the relationships I’m holding onto now, and even those I haven’t met yet—the ones still waiting, out there, ready to fill the empty spac
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On Dating Part 2

To boats worth rocking.  I’ve been thinking a lot about my dating profile lately. Paul and Jordan have been helping me with it too—half-joking, half-serious—but I think there’s some truth in what they’ve suggested, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll actually use it. We started with my roots. My parents are from the southern part of Vietnam, far from the city, near the border. My dad’s from Cà Mau, my mum’s from Bạc Liêu—and that, apparently, makes me a country boy. It’s funny, because I’ve ne
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On Destinations Part 3

To those who search the world all over, only to return home to find it. Recently, there’s been this guy at work that I’ve been crushing on—Paul. He’s 43, Vietnamese, about chin-height on me, and has one of those smiles that actually reaches his eyes. He’s an exceptionally good worker, and I often find myself feeling safe around him, like everything’s going to be alright. One time, when we were working together, our hands touched, just for a second, and I felt this tingle running throug
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On Dating

To new adventures. I’m ready to date again. It’s been three weeks since the breakup, and I know what you’re thinking—isn’t that too soon? And the answer, like most things in life, is it depends. I’ve spent the past few weeks doing what I do best—thinking, thinking. About past relationships, not just the last one, but all the ones before that. About the present, where I stand now, who I’m becoming. About the future, where I want to be. But this time, I have a secret weapon.
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productivity

On Pessimism

To plans that never work out. I’ve become a pessimist. It happened in the same way that Hazel Grace Lancaster felt about sleep in The Fault in Our Stars, slowly, and then all at once. But I wasn’t always like this—at least, not that I remember. There was a time when I was an optimist, when I believed in good things, in bright futures, in paths paved by the best intentions. If you read enough self-help books growing up, you start to think that way too. It’s not
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On Hugging

To those hugging muscles that need flexing at all times. It is Friday, and it is nighttime. I am sitting in the car with my best friend, Minh. We are talking about life, relationships, how, in a few months, he will be attending the wedding of a friend, how there is a chance that he will see his ex there. Her name is Akari—married, kids and all. I ask him how he will react, seeing her there, and he answers with indifference. Acknowledge her presence, but that is as far as he would go.
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On Safe Spaces

To environments where we can become ourselves. I’ve been thinking a lot about spaces lately—how to create them, shape them, make them feel safe. I want people to feel more at ease around me, to be more themselves, to let their guard down, to speak without fear of judgment. I’ve been practicing two techniques, both of which I picked up along the way. The first, from a trainer at my massage class. He suggests slowing down my speech—very slowly, deliberately—and that by doing so, the clie
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Writing

On Best Moments

To the little things that make life special. I came across a line somewhere—perhaps in a movie, perhaps in a book—and it mentioned something about finding the best moments in something, perhaps in a movie, perhaps in a book. And I’ve been doing that ever since. The great thing about this is that the best moments are different for everyone. A single moment, a single scene, a single line—it can strike one person deeply, yet pass unnoticed by another. And that, I think, is the beauty
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Past

On Transient

To the moments that pass us by. I am at work, speaking to Paul, one of our new operators here at Michelin. He is an exceptionally good worker—perhaps the best thing that has happened to the factory since I started here, seven years ago. He asks me, why am I still here, in this factory, one that pays below the Australian average income, with the degree and background that I possess? He asks if I ever felt that I wasted my degree in Food Technology, the one I acquired over a decade ago.
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On Bridges

To the planks that others lay along the way. I’ve been contemplating my role in the dynamic with Sean and Phong. Phong, drawn to the physical, evident in the way he enjoys my massages, the kisses, the closeness. Sean, pulled more to the cuddling, to the conversations, to the endless flow of thoughts that we share. And I’ve wondered. I’ve wondered if I am a bridge, a connection between the two of them. I am the bridge Phong crosses, through touch, through intimacy, to fin
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On Loneliness Part 2

To the shadows that make the light shine more bright. I am in bed, restless. Someone walks into my room, without a knock, without a word, and lays beside me. He feels familiar, and I try to ignore him, but he won’t go away. Tonight, I am not alone. Tonight, loneliness is with me. I’ve been trying to outrun him for weeks now, filling my schedule with meet-ups, with chores, with noise. But that can only last so long. Sooner or later, in the quiet moments of the night, he will c
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On the pursuit of Happiness Part 2

To chance encounters. I am at Sean and Phong’s apartment, sitting around the living table, each of us in our own chair. Small chats, questions, smiles, to get to know each other. There are half a dozen peace lilies on the floor next to the window, their leaves wavering with the wind from the balcony. On the table, a puddle of condensation is forming around the bottom of our mango smoothie cup.  The conversation turns towards massage now. Why I did it, what I wish to accomplish. Phong m
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On the pursuit of Happiness

To mementos that we collect along the way. I am parked outside of Sean and Phong’s apartment. I was confident on the drive here, in my resolve, in my decision to come. But now, now I am nervous for some reason. A part of me wants to chicken out, to turn the key, to drive back home, to where it’s safe, to where it’s quiet. But I’ve been looking forward to seeing them all week, so I muster the strength, send Sean a text: I’m here. I think I am nervous because I don’t know how we’ll conne
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On Massage Part 2

To lonely nights. I am at Pipemakers, feeling particularly horny tonight. The car park is full, which is always promising, and I spot a rather muscular guy in a white t-shirt and shorts, walking to his car. We make eye contact, he circles back to the shed, and I make my way there too. There's quite a lot of guys here tonight. I make a quick lap around, survey the area. My mind wanders to this time last week, to Sean and Phong, to their faces, their warmth, and a pang of longing hits me
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Past

On Letting Go

To those that we leave behind. I am in my massage class. Outside, the rain is pouring, loud, relentless, and we stop, just for a moment, to listen. Melbourne has been sweltering for days now, the kind of heat that clings to your skin, the kind that makes you grab for a cone of ice cream, so the rain feels, for once, like a gift. There are five of us today, just five, and Gulchin is teaching us about releasing tight spots. We go into pairs, like always. One on the table, the other
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On Criticism

To Growth   I am lying in bed, thinking about my previous two relationships, and I’ve noticed a pattern—something they both said to me countless times. I didn’t really think too much about it until now. They told me I criticized them too much. And the worst part is, I didn’t even know I was doing it. Not until I reflected on it later. Looking back, I can think of a few examples: on the way they cut their food, or the way they drove, or how they approached talking to
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Writing

On Simplicity

For those small words that get lost in the crowd. There’s this game I used to play called Poetry for the Neanderthal. It goes like this: You’re given a word. Using only single syllables, and working with a partner, you try to describe the clue until they guess it. It’s harder than it sounds, but like anything in life, practice makes the world go round, or something like that.   Let me give you an example: apple. It’s a fruit. Red. Makes crunch when bite.   Simp
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On Directions Part 2

To familiar routes that shape our lives. Today is a class night, so I get in my car, pull up directions to the school.   I’ve driven there over a dozen times now, the route etched into my mind, but today, the maps show me something new.   A different way.   It promises to be faster, so I decide, why not, let’s try it.   It takes me down small streets, the kind lined with traffic lights, the kind that creep along at 4
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On Everything Part 2

To the knots in my mind that have yet to be untangled. On Massage Part 2 I am at my sister’s house, and she is lying on the massage table, on her stomach. The fan buzzes softly in the corner, upstairs, one of her kids cries, but none of it matters. This is her one hour of personal time, her chance to escape. I notice my movements today are rigid, stiff, and my mind flashes back to one of my trainers, reminding me, move like water, shift your body like waves at the beach, the ebb and fl
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On Teachers

To those who love to teach. Today was the Provide First Aid course. It’s 33 degrees Celsius outside, the sun blazing brilliantly, but we’re tucked away in a classroom with the air conditioning humming softly. Our teacher, Peter, is lovely. His teaching style is unique, and I find myself wanting to borrow a page—or two—from his book to raise the standard of teaching in my own life. I don’t teach biology or history or legal studies. I suppose, though, that we’re all teachers in one way o
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On Massage

To the pleasure of touch I am currently studying for a Certificate IV in massage therapy. The course is ten months, part-time, which I juggle alongside my full-time job as a machine operator for Michelin tyres. My primary goal in taking this course was to give my current and future partners great massages because no one can decline a free massage, the fastest way to a person’s heart is through physical touch, and I needed something new to fill my free time. For years, my
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