Now What? We Do It Again.
“The scary thing is: you’re on your own now. The good news is: you’re on your own now.”
On my phone is a video from my graduation in 2022. Taylor Swift stood on a podium in Yankee Stadium, not that far away from me, giving a speech about all the mistakes I’ll make and the wins to celebrate ahead. This was the woman who essentially raised me through music from childhood. My fingers were calloused from the guitar she inspired me to play, my brain wired to words before I even felt the feelings that inspired them. 3 years before, Taylor’s voice welcomed me to New York, and 3 years after, they comfort me as I branch beyond it.
The Pouring Pages LLC
Legally, that’s our name. The name of the bookstore I scribbled on restaurant napkins with a friend I during my brief stint as a teacher. I sat on couches of people I loved with real estate brochures scattered ahead of me with ink-stained hands from notes they gave me. They gave me dinner and opinions, and I remembered their names.
Titles and labels are so important. It’s a silly thing to say “The Pouring Pages” is a hobby or a project or even just a job. It’s my business. It’s my blood, sweat, and tears. It’s hours hunched over a laptop with a thousand emails calling for urgency for an idea I had for five seconds and one person said, “you could do that.”
And I believed them and turned the inch into 35.1 miles—which is the length I’ve traveled one-way today—fighting sleep on the train home 24 minutes after midnight.
The Pouring Pages is my bookstore. It’s my cornerstone. It’s my anchor. There were days when I was too heartbroken to walk from the bed to my couch with puffy eyes. There were days when I couldn’t even open my eyes because of a raging migraine and aching bones. I write emails with dislocated wrists, whisper business plans in my sleep, carry boxes when I wonder if I might pass out. It isn’t always healthy, but often it’s what I choose to do—not because I necessarily lack a choice, but because I must. When there are days when you can count on one hand the number of wins you have, you do everything you can for them. Even if it means you bleed a little.
I read “Welcome To The Hyunam-Dong Bookshop”, a slice-of-life fiction I’d never pick for myself but loved because it highlighted the why behind my bookstore. I read Abby Jimenez because of the women who dare to do their own thing and instead of being called intimidating, they are loved. I read because I love. I did this because I love.
The things you love will hurt you sometimes. It’s how they temper you.
The Work
I am an immigrant from all the way across the world. I came here to share stories and foster community. From acting to bookselling, it’s always been about giving the dreamers a soft place to land and find like-minded friends. People who could make them feel warm too. I started in October. It’s July now, and I just finished my first sold out event.
It takes time. It takes doing things you don’t wanna do. It takes reading books you don’t like, pitching yourself even when you’re shy, and taxes. The first thing I had to do was learn about taxes—I went to school for the arts, so I’m sure you can guess that wasn’t something I enjoyed.
I spent weeks agonizing over the logo and a color scheme so much I memorized hex codes. #EFECEC is the color of the website’s background. #352315 is the shade of brown our logo is in, and much of our text. I know my fonts by heart—Derivia, Sloop, Garamond, Roboto Condensed. I learned how to use Affinity Designer for every book list. Spreadsheets to track projects with conditional formatting. Docs to format letters, meeting notes, summaries, and even my blog posts. I learned Shopify. Meta Business Suite. The value of vectors.
Branding, administration, outreach, networking—not because I necessarily want to, but because if I want to succeed, I must.
And we just had our first sold out event. I made a sale and wore a dress held together by a literal paper clip because I couldn’t find a safety pin. And I’m going home, and I’ve never felt more at ease.
The Pride & Joy
I’m proud of me. I did the thing. I know I can, so now, I have to do what one of the most infuriating men I have ever had the chance of loving once-upon-a-time once said: “now just do it again.”
And instead of glaring like I once did, I have to square my shoulders, and just do.
And because I know history, I know my next event probably won’t be exactly the same. It wouldn’t be that easy—it never is. Tonight was just a taste of what it could be.
You can’t know the light if you aren’t familiar with the dark, and you can’t have success if you do not allow yourself to fall and figure it out. You get back up because the view from the climb pays off. You’ll do anything, as long as it pays off. Tonight it did.
So I just do it again. And I keep remembering the friends that remind me to sleep. I remember the people who’ve bought me coffees and meals. I remember the warm arms around me while I whisper uncertainty in the shadow of night. That’s the point—that’s why I started.
I remember that I’ve been molded for this now. I’ve had events at both ends of the spectrum. Both are important because they remind you why you’re doing it, and that you need space to grow.
And now we just do it again.
Next time, the dress will be my size. My dream a bit bigger. But tonight, I go to sleep, and I let my dream be my reality, and I work on doing it again tomorrow. Because it’ll happen again, over and over.
Sometimes the answer to “Now What?” is simple. Sometimes it’s four words.
We Do It Again.
