At my first book launch, I sat beside the much-adored Beatrice Pobre. Booksta darling. Five-star magnet. She sold literally five times the books I did.
Most people would die of envy. But me? I just sat there, a little detached. Watching. In awe. But not hurting.
Instead, I found myself wondering: How did she pull this off? What heartaches did she survive to get here? She must be so strong. So resilient. She looks like someone who works incredibly hard.
And behind those thoughts, quietly but clearly: I got this far too. I’m launching my book. Hooray for me. I lost my author virginity!
Beatrice and I were at the same PaperKat booth table, at the same event. But we come from different realities. We’re running different races, even if the finish line looks similar from a distance.
A few days later, when the dust settled, I messaged her:
“Congratulations! You did so well. I’m proud of you. Bilib na bilib ako sa’yo, rockstar!”
And true to her generous spirit, she didn’t gatekeep. She helped me set up my book on Amazon (it’s now live internationally—thanks to her!). She shared her strategy: research Bookstagram reviewers, send free copies, cross your fingers, and hope the algorithm is kind.
I tried. I really did.
But let’s be honest: I didn’t even know how to use Instagram until I hired a part-time assistant two weeks before the launch. I still use a dumbphone. And I’ve always felt seen by the fact that Yuval Noah Harari—who writes so thoughtfully about tech and the future—doesn’t own a smartphone either.
I only get photographed when I’m with my daughter. She took all my launch pics and forwarded them to my assistant, who took care of the posts.
Even now, I’m still fumbling through Meta Business Planner (or whatever it’s called). Social media strategy just doesn’t come naturally to me—it feels like wearing shoes that don’t quite fit.
And so, like an essay slowly finding its shape, the truth began to reveal itself: Beatrice’s strategy might not be mine.
I’m still deeply grateful. I cheer for Beatrice and all the Booksta queens—I really do. I even had a whole list of people I planned to DM, hoping they’d take a chance on my work.
But after a generous critique from Karla Gaudier (who truly saw my writing), I started to realize: I’m not built for this.
But maybe that’s okay. Because I am okay—with my Gen X brain and my hardcore, semi-analog approach to life.
I write personal essays. Quiet things. Sometimes dry. About ordinary people with ordinary, sometimes boring lives. These are not memeable because a lot of them are brutally honest but mundane realizations. My writing doesn’t always entertain first—it aims to inform, to normalize, to affirm.
There’s a kind of restraint in it. And that restraint is my way of respecting the reader, the subject, and the material.
It’s like losing your virginity and realizing afterward: I don’t quite like the boyfriend. He says I’m too quiet, a little prudish, not his type.
Well then—maybe I need someone different.
Maybe I’m meant for a tall geek who prefers the Discovery Channel over Netflix.
Netflix guy is hot, but he’s not my type either.
(When I have free time, I mostly watch real-life documentaries 📺).
The featured image on this blog was AI-generated by me using free tools, namely ChatGPT, Canva, and Leonardo AI. I use these images to support my written content creatively and cost-effectively.
