Among Other Things

Can’t believe I’m realizing this just now. Or maybe I always knew it and just never really thought about it more.

This is coming from reaching into my tote bag and feeling around for my little coin purse that I crocheted, which was squished under my notebook carrier that I also…crocheted. And then I thought about how many other things I wondered if I could make before resorting to just looking for it in a store somewhere.

I distinctly remember thinking if I could make a shelf, create a new handle for a kettle that didn’t have one, a little bag to carry my essentials when a backpack is too much. I’ve made myself a box to carry my softbox bulb, diffuser screen, and remote, coasters for the cafe, an A3-sized semestral calendar that isn’t interrupted by breaks in between months so I can see everything week by week. My first instinct when I planned the 2018 ID exhibit was that I—not a committee or anyone else—could mount posters on foam board slats so we wouldn’t just be sticking tarp onto the walls. And I immediately went to National Bookstore and bought all their foam board.

After years of online classes and being able to teach Print & Pub again, I’m getting back into this old habit. I love making things myself, almost to a fault. It always isn’t necessary, I just…want to do things with my hands that doesn’t require looking at a screen all the time. Which kind of resulted in that sem calendar I did the other day.

I’m meeting Aze later to talk about Print & Pub since it’s going to be her first time teaching it. I feel bad that Ponci isn’t around anymore to teach it with me, because it was so fun being able to last year. We co-wrote content, and had the kids use our illustrations from the birding guide we did a few years ago for the Ateneo Wild. It was like a nice full circle moment for us.

I want to make more stuff.

Normally, I would write a long-ass entry about Very Strong Feelings, but it’s 7 minutes past midnight, and I do not have the mental nor emotional capacity to discuss it at length.

But what I do want to put out here is that emotional trauma should have a fucking expiration date. I hate having triggers, and I hate all the feelings that come with them. I hate that there is no justice for things like this, and that I just have to sit and deal.

Yeah, I’m about to rant about teaching again.

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I have this memory that sometimes pops up at odd times (now being one of them, as I sit downstairs with my coffee and checking my student’s submissions). It’s very vivid to me, and I’m still trying to figure out why.

I was in first grade. I was banned from borrowing books from the library for the rest of the year when I was told that I didn’t return a book that I had borrowed. What happened was I brought it back to the library when I was done reading it at home, and put it in one of the shelves. I didn’t return the book properly, but I did return it. I remember it very clearly.

I felt so wronged as a kid to be banned from borrowing books for that first instance of misunderstanding. I felt out of place since my classmates could borrow books on days we were brought to the library, and I could only read while I was there. I couldn’t take books home to enjoy before I went to sleep.

I’m pretty sure the librarians would have eventually noticed that the “missing book” was in one of the shelves as they made sure everything was sorted. But you know, I was still banned for my entire first grade life.

I was allowed to borrow books again after first grade, but I still felt a tiny bit cheated out of enjoying more books in the library for a year. It’s a good thing my parents loved buying us books. But I just sometimes feel that my school failed me by not giving me a chance to explain.

More than a year into the pandemic, and we’ve miraculously survived. But the bleeding is getting harder to stop. We can’t stem the tide. I’m fearing the worst for us, if I’ll be honest. Not sure if it’s because I’ve lost my incredible sense of optimism and fighting spirit, but it’s just really coming to terms with the fact that we just can’t keep up.

The bills are piling up, and there has been no assistance from the government despite promises since last year. We were just starting to do okay early this year with people and orders coming in, so we were gradually picking up our pace by trying to evolve once again. But lockdown happened and it basically cut us up anew. We couldn’t accept guests which I really feel is how we managed to survive. We don’t rely much on advertising, we’ve always gotten new customers through word of mouth. Whenever we did try going down the ad route, the gains from it were very short-lived and the costs ultimately outweighed them. We couldn’t risk losing any more money.

Maybe it’s time to let go. We knew the pandemic would eventually kill our small business, we just weren’t sure when or how quickly. We survived a year despite many, many other small businesses like us closing up shop. We did so much, but the hits kept on coming and they keep on coming.

I always felt very strongly about letting go and giving up the fight. But I don’t see what more I can do, what more I can add, what more I can change. It’s difficult to think about letting go. This was the place that introduced me to my closest friends, that helped me grow after so many of life’s hardships, that brought me back to life. This place was home.

I’m pretty sure a lot of people would think I’m being overly dramatic about a coffee shop. At the end of the day, it’s a business. Businesses live and die, especially during a recession. But there’s just so much about this place that I find it so heartbreaking to put it to rest. I know the most important thing is not the place itself. The friends I made, the experiences, the lessons, the memories. But these are all attached to this place which makes it feel like cutting off a part of myself.

The photo above was one I didn’t take. It was sent to me while I was in Japan with some friends, so I could make a regular post on Instagram (I had just been recently, officially hired as the social media manager). I’ve always loved seeing Nine Three like this. Filled with people, very likely people sitting in one corner talking to people way over in the other corner. I loved knowing who our regulars were and entertaining their questions or just talking about coffee in general.

Maybe in the future, we can find that again, if we do ultimately fold. And hopefully, the same life and energy can be breathed into it.

We’ve been in this hell hole of a pandemic for more than a year now, and it’s been so much more difficult to focus on…well, anything right now. It’s much more difficult bringing myself to be productive and for majority of this pandemic so far, I had convinced myself that I was fine and I wasn’t all that affected. But I guess it was a slow burn, because there have been days in the past month or so that I just. Couldn’t. Work. Like my brain wanted to do all these things—school work, personal projects, get some tasks done, but my body just. Didn’t want to.

If you’re out there reading this silly little blog of mine and you’ve been having a horrible time stuck at home and kicking yourself for not being productive…you are not alone, and it’s okay to not be productive all the time. We’re all going through this massive trauma, and we can’t force ourselves to be okay with it if we aren’t.

Hang in there, friends.