"How Starbucks Saved My Life" May Save My Life

Read "How Starbucks Saved My Life" by Michael Gates Gill recently. It was about a man in his fifties (himself basically) who had it all but suddenly lost it all. From a creator director at J. Walter Thompson Advertising, to a Starbucks employee who had to scrub the toilets and serve the people in front of his cash register where he once stood in his branded suit. Real story. Inspirational, maybe. But it did make me stop and think about my own life.

"I was over sixty when I stopped one late, silent night in the city on the way home from my new job, looked up at the stars, and paused in the rush of life to touch my heart. Only then did I discover how happy I was.

I had grown up in such a cacophonous culture - family and friends full of high-sounding expectations, thousands of noisy ads encouraging a belief in external measures of success - that I never learned to listen to my own heart."

It questions me, when was the last time I asked myself - what makes me happy, and whether I am happy. I realized that I have been trying to live up to others' expectations of myself, instead of to my own expectations. I think all things happen for a reason, and there's no room for regrets in decisions being made in the past but going forward, how would I want to lead my life?

"I discovered so late in life that trusting your own heart is our greatest - and only - path to real happiness. It was only through trusting my heart as my guide that I discovered this. I believe everyone is given a unique path to happiness that is special for each person - we just have to listen to our hearts."

I know, a little repetitive, but I reckon that Michael was merely trying to reinforce that real happiness comes from within yourself. Happy with what you're doing in your life, happy at your job, happy the way you're living your life, happy that you are with your loved ones - basically being at peace with yourself. And that was not to be confused with those short bursts of happiness which you derive from external material purchases.

And then I thought - actually, it takes courage for one to relinquish all the expectations which were laden on him and then to pursue his happiness. Either that, or he had nothing else to lose anyway... but we all wait, thinking happiness may just be around the corner while telling ourselves that we would get used to the miserable lives that we're leading now. And then when we get older, we stop dreaming, we stop hoping for happiness, lose that glimmer and just got so caught up and used to the miserable lives that we're stuck in that rut for the rest of our lives. And we retire, wondering what was that about in the last 40 years. That's depressing me as I type that out. But... that burst of courage I need, may just be what that could steer my life into something so worthwhile.

RIP, MJ

I was really sad when I learnt the news that our King of Pop was already dead at the age of 50. When celebrities of your times start to drop dead, it is one indication that you're getting old.

But other than that, I was upset that being the sensation he was, I never had the chance to being part of it. I was envious of my colleague who managed to catch his concert when he was in Singapore eons back. She marvelled, a tad sadly, that he was a brilliant performer and that it might have been the best concert she ever gone to. And just like anyone else was, shocked of his sudden demise. Died just when he decided to return to the entertainment world. His iconic tantalizing dance moves, his songs and those injected high-pitched "oohs" will be missed.

We talked a bit of his life, which was... a little sad and crazy for the last few years. Commenting on the paintings, his house, whatever he sold off when he was in dire financial straits and how their values most likely would rocket sky-high now, with his departure.

Isn't it sad, that it's human nature to only regret and cherish whatever/whoever that has already been lost?

My Lost Pride

Looking at these sketches which I effortlessly did up many years back, I wonder if I am actually missing out something in my life now. Yes, I am doubtful that the me-now, can draw up something like these below.

The Animals' Heads: My first sketches in my first sketchbook - flipped through encyclopedias to pick pictures and try sketching them.

Cher's Vacant Look: Something about Cher scared me then. I think Cher reminded me of Roald Dahl's 'Witches'.

The Eye: Not Cher's missing eye(s), nor anyone I knew. Neither is it mine (mine's beadier). Think I picked this one up from PacNet's CD cover.


Lauren Hill: Loved "Killing Me Softly".



Anorexic Creature: The In-thing was Magic Cards, more than 10 years' back. Was intrigued with this particular one, because of the crouch, the taut and strained fingers and its overall muscle anatomy. Though the people who had seen this sketch of mine would cringe and go "Eee, what is that?"


Creature's Skull: Not the same creature per se, but from the deck of Magic Cards too. I think I am rather morbid. Again, a sketch which made people cringe like they ate some over-preserved sour prune and exclaimed, "You are sick and morbid."


My Hero: You were, and still are!


My Fat Hand: Quite self-explanatory. Though I like to think that my fat hands have slimmed down quite a bit since secondary school.


Home Sweet Home: On the contrary of what most guesses are (i.e. a Christmas Card), I was actually inspired by the cover of a Horror story by Stephen King. Can't remember the title. Sketched this in between classes I think.

The Fat Aunt: Of... Homer Simpson?

The Hippie Guitarist: Guess what, he's right out from a Burger King advertisement phamplet. I know, the guitar's a little too short and kiddy.

The Morning Rush: Jumped out from Burger King's advertisement phamplet too. See the same expression on everyone every weekday morning.

Durians @ Pulau Ubin o'er the Weekend

The Big Step

Jo and I enrolled ourselves into a dressmaking class!!!

And... we get to design our own blouses!

Quirky Saturday

Sudden downpour on a Saturday Morning @ the Market while having Brunch + Poking around the CC for Sewing Classes (Got it!) + Hunting high and low for a Black Petticoat for my Black Vintage Dress (it's practically an extinct commodity - the petticoat I mean. More vintage than vintage.) + Spying a Black Cat sitting patiently at the wet market's fish aisle + Whistling at the Parrot and it shrieking back + Heartwrenching time as I witness 2 dirty baby rabbits in a filthy smelly rusty cage + MJ + Frog's Legs Porridge in Chinatown for Dinner + Dessert @ Wei Siang Yuan and Dad just has to have a bowl of almond "糊" (for his future MJ games) + An Old Pushy Gangster who thinks he still has 'it' and wants to fight

Talking about Evolution of Gender Roles...

'Pregnant Man' Gives Birth To Another Baby

The 35-year-old said at the time: "I think that people will be shocked because no-one's ever heard of a man giving birth before.

"I guess it's a shocking concept, but in this day and age that's possible. And it's happening now."

But... ultimately did it not boil down to a womb and a sperm? And that the womb is biologically his and the sperm wasn't? So what if he looks like a man but functions the role as a woman to populate the world? So technically speaking do you still call him "a man giving birth"?

O.M.G.........

..."we're back again."

A very embarrassing topic which got SR, SQ and myself doubling up in laughter in our last get-together.

It was meant to be a touch-&-go topic, thanking inwardly that handphone technology wasn’t that advanced then to capture our potential-blackmail-dance-performance-in-years-to-come. Our copied lame dance moves from the above video (Shoulder shrugs? Horrors.), and lamer get-ups with a bandaged right hand. That memory - Pushing back tables and chairs after classes - rehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing. We enjoyed it.

And then SQ put this video up on her blog, and there I was, guffawing by myself in the middle of the night. Slightly 10 over years ago, and hm, not so much in fashion anymore.

Led me to reminiscing (though reminiscing does not seem to be the right word in this aspect because I can't find embarrassment in the definition of reminisce. Haha!). Thought about how Jo and I spent on tonnes of celebrity/thrash magazines, as long as BSB was on the cover, even though they may have only taken up 1/30 of a page in the entire magazine. We actually guiltily counted the number of magazines and multiplied them by their costs in later years - that money could have taken us ¼ way to America. And then throwing those magazines out when we finally grew out of it. Mum definitely raised her eyebrows, but she couldn’t tell BSB from Spice Girls. Remembering Jo’s MTV fantasies. Remembering me cooing about KF’s thick eyebrows which took ¾ portion of his face and the stifled scream when KF poured bottled water over his head after some workout in some MTV (what was the HECK with me). Recounting me poring over the magazines with SQ and SR in school and talking about BSB as if they were the boys next class. And then, the present me shuddered as if I needed to pee 3 hours ago.

Raging hormones did all that?

Am I Glad that I'm a Girl?

Found the below on a blog. Interesting. Sets you thinking on how gender roles have evolved and merged quite a fair bit. So... in the end, does a boy and a girl still need each other other than mere copulation if not for the "functional" roles?

By: Whitney Darrow Jr., a Satirist