Thursday, 19 September 2013

The Next Episode - Part 1

It is 3 am and I should be sleeping. But I have to learn up songs for a wedding this Sunday and find my keys so that I can let the rest of my bandmates know in order for them to be ready for this Saturday's practice. I also have to set a new setlist for my other bandmates for another show next Friday and I was supposed to be done with it hours ago but I was hungry so I fixed myself a little snack of dinner rolls and chocolate and banana spread with some chamomile vanilla tea. And the reason why I should go to bed earlier is because I have to collect Miss Saffron, my yellow M50 from the 'music workshop' and why am I still up is because I am busy typing this.

I couldn't do everything that I am supposed to do because I am a little bit heartbroken.


Not that kind of heartbroken lah but also that kind of heartbroken lah.

Confused much?

Sorry. Let's try this instead :

"I resigned from Artisan earlier yesterday."
Over my favorite kopitiam lunch of dry pork noodles 
and teh C. 
Via whatsapp. 
How grand.

As I was typing the reasons why I had to resign from Artisan to my supervisor, I could feel my heart hurt. There was that big swelling from my chest and I could feel pins and needles poking through my ribs. Somehow I could feel my little heart cried a little. Because this is officially goodbye. Not to coffee but to a place that I call was an escape from being a musician sometimes...a tranquil place where it was my own Shaolin temple...for me to meditate and practice my kungfu skills...for me to practice my people skills...for me to join my barista comrades where we 'battle' together during peak hours of coffee war zone with them irrational, angry customers...and endless dishwashing...and cluelessness of what to have for lunch breaks...

I am moving on with another new chapter in my life and the decision to resign deemed necessary. And at the moment I am finding it hard to cope with the new changes. There is so much to do yet so little time and more often than not, not enough money to do so. I wasted a lot of money unnecessarily on bad decisions and lacked the discipline to fulfill the things that I should be doing. Gahhhhhhh. 
Woe is me. Lesson learnt. So much to learn. Always always.

Okay. So I am very sad about my resignation and I have until the end of September to make coffee at the Artisan BVII. I will miss all of my colleagues and the smell of the awesome coffee and the taste of the freshly baked pecan pie. I will miss walking (actually, running while panicking is more like it) to work and wearing my barista uniform with its witty caption at the back of the faded black polo tee. And since this is slowly coming out of my system, I should be able to resume back to my original task of the day. 

I am now officially a Novice Barista. 
I passed my exams on the 15th of August 2013.
I also like telling stories with pictures. 
Hence my active Instagram account.

My first day of training at the Artisan Roast TTDI, Aug 2012.

My very first latte art attempt on a red latte.
 (Question of the century : What's a red latte?)

I am very good at creating 'different' latte art patterns.
Halloween themed latte art is my specialty.

I think I can safely say that I am still the fastest dishwasher at Artisan BVII (and maybe for all three Artisan outlets) but this title came with a price. After the first 2 weeks of intense dishwashing at the newly opened Artisan BVII, my hands were starting to die.

You can call it what you see it. 

Initial attempt at the rosetta.

I have very kind friends who visit me at the cafe and drink my lousy coffee. That was my first attempt at a tulip latte art.

Who knew dishwashing could lead to this???

I found myself getting foot massages at least once fortnightly because I wasn't used to standing for 8 hours straight on my feet for 6 days a week. And body massages once a month. My back hurts really bad now. 

This was me on the first day that Artisan BVII opened. My boss took a photo of me because he was so impressed with my dishwashing speed and skills.

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