My mother repeated one Cantonese idiom throughout my life: 'you want beauty, you don’t want life' | Michelle Law

In news that will delight my enemies, I believe there’s a chance I’ll die young and by accidental means. To clarify, I’m currently in excellent health (sorry to my enemies), but I’m sensing a spectacular midlife crisis on the horizon that could spell the end.

Maybe it’ll be an overdose in a seedy nightclub. Maybe I’ll drink myself into oblivion. Maybe I’ll get kicked in the head during an orgy. Whatever it is, it’ll be the result of a botched attempt at compensating for a lifetime of being the world’s most risk averse, law-abiding scaredy cat who is terrified of physical danger.

Let me explain. I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. I’ve never been drunk. (I drink, but never enough that I’ve ever vomited, passed out, or needed a designated driver.) I don’t have tattoos. I don’t like jaywalking and when I do try it, I feel nervous about it. In other words, I’m boring, and often fear the worst. If being cool means having an air of nonchalance, I am firmly “chalant”.

Sometimes I look at people who make risky decisions and feel a deep sense of envy. But when that envy materialises, so too does the voice of my mother and the Cantonese idiom she has repeated throughout my life: 要靚唔要命 jiu leng m jiu ming. Translated literally, it means: ‘[you] want beauty, [you] don’t want life’. It’s the kind of judgmental observation you make about someone who has clearly prioritised their appearance over their physical wellbeing.

See that person walking barefoot and blistered after a big night, with their high heels in hand? 要靚唔要命 jiu leng m jiu ming.

See that person riding their bike without a helmet because it’ll mess up their hair? 要靚唔要命 jiu leng m jiu ming.

See how that person can’t wipe their arse properly because of their acrylic nails? 要靚唔要命 jiu leng m jiu ming.

Beyond its literal meaning, the idiom also speaks more broadly to the misguidedness of “looking cool” rather than being practical, which is viewed more favourably in Chinese culture because we’re obsessed with longevity. It’s why, from a young age, my mother praised me for never leaving the house without a jacket and always tying my shoelaces in double knots. “So sensible,” she would say.

Michelle Law and her mother Jenny Phang in 1991. Photograph: Michelle Law

But from my teens to mid-20s, I became defiant. Suddenly, I needed to be cool. I needed to be beautiful. Who cared about being healthy?

I slathered makeup over pimply and inflamed skin. I squeezed myself into tube tops and miniskirts in the height of winter. I demanded my orthodontic braces be removed earlier for my school formal photos. I got my nails done at salons even after the tools gave me a fungal infection or two. My mother was horrified that I’d bought into the allure of being “trendy” and “sexy”, which in hindsight was impossible because as a teenager my go-to hairstyle was a low ponytail with a middle part so severe I resembled a founding father.

By the time I reached my late 20s, during which my health and weight fluctuated, my priorities shifted again. Suddenly I was swapping out aesthetic looks for any wardrobe basics that came with pockets and didn’t require ironing. Over time, I began dressing like a repressed Asian housewife: all flowing trousers, oversized cotton shirts, and sun-safe bucket hats.

I’ve recently become a mother with no time to care about how I’m perceived. These days, I’ve swapped out makeup for sunscreen. I’ve swapped out a purse for a hideous and enormous nappy bag. I’ve swapped out jewellery and other accessories for a cross-body phone case, which is the equivalent of one of those eyewear retainers popularised by pensioners. I don’t even wear pants any more; instead, I wear leggings because of the amount of incidental exercise involved with caring for a baby.

It’s inevitable that my son will be the bearer of my generational, idiom-based trauma. Despite the fact he’s been given suitcase-loads of extremely adorable clothes – the kinds of threads worn by curated, influencer babies on Instagram – I’ve fished out all of the soft, stretchy and breathable onesies that won’t irritate his eczema. He’s a baby. All he needs is to be safe, loved and comfortable. Until … I suppose … he reaches an age where that’s no longer enough, and I’ll have to remind him: 要靚唔要命 jiu leng m jiu ming.

• Michelle Law is an Australian writer and author of the book Sh*t Asian Mothers Say