27/01/2026
oh what a day. Looking back to the past 5 years, running a bookshop has not been easy, but the semi-magical encounters that happen make me want to continue forever.
Sometimes, it happens like this: one day you come in with a new friend, you're learning more about each other. Discussion unfolds smoothly and naturally goes deep to dark waters with still-vivid scars, but there is a cocoon of trust and care and if feels safe to go there. Then another friend of yours (the one you have in common with your new friend) comes in with her friend, and you all find out you went to the same school. Your beautiful book becomes the tangible memory of this tangible reunion.
I try to make sense of what the bookshop is.
It's not just about books (and w**es!)--it's about these encounters. Some people come and go. Some people, for some reason, initiate a discussion or accept to catch the rope. We follow threads and soon find more common interests or journeys.
Let's thread an aquapelagic metaphor. The bookshop as a harbour. But this one is a small, shy, hidden, often closed harbour, in an archipelago of glitters. And you, you are on your boat, vessel, and decide to moor here. Chance? Safe haven? Not many people decide to stop here, but you do. Tighten the rope at the bollard and come in. Take time, check in, smell, listen, sit. And sometimes: unload--stories, feelings, thoughts--there is space here for them, ears to listen, hearts to resonate, minds to process. It lingers, even after you've left.
Sometimes, many ropes meet at the mooring post. Then, it becomes collective. And more often than not, when it's time to leave, I watch on the horizon boats heading in the same direction. Warm and confident feeling. It fuels my own fire to keep welcoming you at the quay, despite more typhoons, floodings, erosions to come... tbc!
Thank you for coming in, for your trust and your warm words 💙🌊
.maybe