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.

Journey Back to the Needle: Crafting My First Hmong Corset

It’s been a long time since I’ve made something with my own hands. Life has been busy with work, family, kids, travel, and the everyday rush that leaves creativity sitting quietly in the corner, waiting patiently for me to return. For years, I’ve said “one day I’ll sew again.” Then, suddenly, without planning or perfection, that day finally came.

My first project back?
A Hmong-inspired corset.

There’s something poetic about that. A garment designed to shape the body, helping it stand tall and confident… inspired by a culture that has shaped me since the day I was born. As soon as I started choosing fabrics, playing with the lines, sketching ideas, and thinking about embroidery — I could feel something familiar returning. Not just the skill, but the sense of identity that comes with it.

Sewing Hmong elements into a modern piece feels like stitching heritage into the present. Corsets aren’t traditional Hmong garments, but the textiles, colours, patterns and handwork? Those carry memory. They carry my grandmother’s hands, my mother’s stories, and the colours I grew up seeing at New Year festivals, ceremonies, weddings, and family gatherings. Every thread carries something deeper than fashion.

But let’s be honest: the process isn’t glamorous. I’m fully prepared for uneven stitches, fabric that refuses to cooperate, measuring twice and still cutting wrong (😂), and at least one meltdown where I question why I ever thought this was a good idea. Yet even that feels meaningful — because returning to creativity means returning to imperfection.

I’m excited to share the wins, the mistakes, the experiments, the little breakthroughs, and all the messy parts in between. This journey isn’t about making a perfect corset; it’s about reconnecting with culture, creativity, and myself.

So here I am…
Back at the sewing machine.
Hands clumsy, heart full.
Crafting a Hmong corset — one stitch at a time.

When Life Nudges You to Look Up

Today has been a heavy day. The kind that slows the world down just enough for you to hear your own heartbeat and wonder what it all really means. We just found out that my last remaining grandparent  (my grandma on my mum’s side) has been diagnosed with cancer. It started with a scan for a simple rash, and suddenly we’re standing face-to-face with words none of us wanted to hear.

My grandma doesn’t want to know the full results. She’s decided, in the most “her” way possible, that she only wants to talk about happy things. Joy, light, stories. No numbers. No prognosis. No fear.

I admire that. I envy that. And I’m also trying to understand it.

Because at the same time, I’m sitting here having just resigned from a job that took more from me than I realised — time with my family, energy from my days, space from my heart. I thought stepping back would give me clarity, but instead it feels like life has placed a mirror in front of me and whispered: “Now look.”

And so I’m questioning life. Mortality. The fragility of it all. The choices we make by default. The moments we postpone because we assume there will be more. The way we drift through seasons until something — illness, loss, change — shakes us awake.

My grandma doesn’t want to know her timeline. And yet her decision has made me think deeply about mine.

If I have to leave something behind one day, years from now, I don’t want it to be titles, or impressive job descriptions, or a CV that looks good on paper. Those things won’t matter to the people who love me.

I want to leave foundations.
Stable ones.
Warm ones.
Ones my children can stand on when life shakes them.

I want to leave memories that make them feel safe. Values that help them stay kind. Stories that remind them where they come from. Choices that show them what truly mattered to me — family, love, time, presence.

Today reminded me how quickly life can change. How fragile our bodies are. How strong our hearts can be. And how little control we really have over the timeline of anything.

But we can control how we fill the days we’re given.

So tonight, I’m holding my family a little tighter. I’m thinking of my grandma and the strength in her softness. And I’m letting myself feel it all. The fear, the sadness, the clarity, the love.

Life is short.
But maybe that’s what makes it so unbelievably precious.

Getting organised. Turns out people use email and digital calendars outside of work too 🤯

I asked my friends how they stay organised in their personal life…
Turns out people actually use email and digital calendars outside of work too. 🤯

Meanwhile me, relying on vibes, memory, and the occasional sticky note: 👀😂

So I did the only sensible thing… took it 1-step further (as an overachiever 🤣), not only set up my calendars but bought myself a skylight too.

Welcome to the era of Personal Admin Helen ✨📅💁🏻‍♀️

When You Limit Yourself to 4 Packs a Day 😅 — Mega Symphonia Unwraps

There’s a special kind of self-control that comes with being a Pokémon card collector… and then there’s pretending to have self-control.

The Japanese Mega Symphonia set has been sitting there whispering our name all week — that glossy artwork, the texture, the shimmer that hits differently under sunlight. And honestly, who can resist the suspense of wondering what’s hiding behind that next tear of foil?