The yays and the nays
Yes, it’s one of those posts — humble-bragging what went well and an attempt at seeing the silver lining for what didn’t go that well.
I’m hoping when I look back at this in a year’s time, we’ll all be in a healthier place.
Many things were planned out for this year.
A paper presentation at the Umbra Institute Biennale Food Studies Conference in Perugia, Italy. The paper would have been a deeper dive into my six-page riff of microaggressions in food writing as seen in ‘A pulp’s fiction — a fruit misunderstood’ in Plates, Vol.2: Durian.
Then, there was the international writers residency at Can Serrat in which I was offered a sponsorship and a place for their Summer 2020 intake just outside of Barcelona, Spain.
But here’s to celebrate the yays as well as the nays of 2020. I’m inhaling all of it in. Here we go. Blowing the trumpet for myself, and so that perhaps one day I will look back at this dispatch with hindsight saying, ‘See, I told you it’ll be fine.’
The many yays:
+ The gift of space
In between lockdowns, I applied for an arts residency at Rimbun Dahan. An established space, praised by the artists and visitors that have walked through its native tree-line pathways, I honestly could only hope for the best. I’m still processing my time here. But for those who have subscribed to the Plates newsletter (a.k.a digital postcard) since the get-go, you’ll know that this is the place of forest-fairy dreams; a space where it’s safe to create and be.
+ Launching the digital postcard/podcast on Substack
This was created in the second (or was it the third?) extension of the second partial lockdown here at the arts residency, which again, a project I most likely would not have undertaken had I not been invited into this conducive and nurturing space.
Though not polished, I wanted to ship an episode consistently every other week, with newsletters or digital postcards filling in the alternating weeks. Because I knew if I edited it to death, there would be no such thing as ‘perfect’.
+ The gift of impact and belief
Angel investors and donors. You know who you are. From the bottom of this editing cave, thank you for your belief and unwavering support during these times.
The few but reverberating nays:
– The ones who don’t walk the talk
One international stockist officially went AWOL with an unpaid invoice and inventory. I typically don’t ever do international consignments unless the store has a fab track record as clued in by the other independent magazine titles. In the past two years, right smack in the middle of lockdown, I’ve successfully chased a Malaysia-based stockist in the past (with karma eventually shuttering on them) for a laughable amount and wrestled stock for return after another Kuala Lumpur-based brand held my stock hostage over the Christmas and New Year period of 2019/2020.
I’ve been “nice” in the past.
I’ve given people the benefit of the doubt.
But now, I’ll be adopting Roger Love’s “No a**hole” rule. And in the words of Seth Godin, “Choose your customers, choose your future”.
The upside:
These moments are seasonal reminders to always trust my instinct. And hereon, with the Internet as my witness, I will mindfully choose to run with the genuine ones.
The movers.
The shakers.
he ones who walk the talk.
To the real ones, hello, and welcome.
In short, I would like to thank this Yogjakarta-based bookstore for the US$300 business lesson. For those who are on the other side (retail) and find it difficult to get other artists to trust you with their stock on consignment, you can thank businesses like that one, who claimed to support independent zine makers but never actually ever paid up (not to me at least) and for playing their role in creating trust issues in a creative ecosystem that should really be supporting, not short-changing, each other.
There, I’ve said it.
I believe in karma.
If that bookstore had any moral conscience, they definitely would know what $300 can do for a small independent business like Plates (think 4×4 ground transportation into rural areas for story gathering trips; supplies in kind to villagers who might’ve fostered us during a trip; cash flow to commission writers, photographers and illustrators; cash flow for packaging material; cash flow for printer deposit; internet data [man, the number Gigabytes I’ve burned through this quarter alone sitting in on Zoom conferences and journalism workshops]; and many, many more) and pay up before their 365-day overdue mark.
But I’m not holding my breath 🙂
(And I know this isn’t the most positive of the lot, but I’m telling it as it is [profanities conveniently filtered] but in a way, this is my process as a solopreneur to work through the muck while reminding myself of the good stuff amidst the distraction. And if anything, I am disappointed in the founder of this Yogjakarta-based bookstore, who I met in person at an arts fair in Kuala Lumpur last year. It’s not always about the money. The betrayal hurts more when its another creative or someone in the industry.
– Getting my arts grant application rejected for the second year running
Well. *laughs*cries*laughs*
Honestly. It has been a even tougher year for the arts. Part of me was really hopeful. After all, one organisation took the gamble and invested in me last year when I only had Vol.1: Rice to show for.
But I do feel the burden must’ve weighed tenfold on the panel this year with so many variations in the arts seeking for that bit of funding. To those to applied and didn’t get it, I hope you will continue with your practice and bring your gifts into this world and to a climate that might not be ready for you yet.
I’ll be here — with you.
The upside:
Here’s me scrapping the barrel with reminders that ‘rejection is redirection’. And that perhaps they were not ready or meant to be part of the tribe — and that’s okay. Each rejection reinforces my will to continue to search elsewhere for the early adopters and the believers. Because I know this food culture publication isn’t for everyone. It’s for someone.
– Getting my expression of interest submission declined for membership funding
Pretty self-explanatory. (I’m also pretty sure there were many, many other rejections this year–all conveniently stowed away.)
The upside:
So, I’m back to doing what I do best, and have done since starting Plates: I’m DIY-ing it.
And one less grant application means one less deadline and two to three weeks of time gained to focus on the magazine.
The yays, which I almost forgot about because March – August felt like a lifetime ago
+ Piecing together a magazine in lockdown
Vol.3: Water felt so long ago. The storygathering process took place in Sabah, Borneo from February to March. I arrived in Kuala Lumpur a week before lockdown, and before I realised how serious things were. (Honestly, being on the East side, I really felt disconnected from national daily news.) And I thought I would be able to recharge, backup my photos, get a new set of clothes and head back out to Sarawak for another story with visits in place.
Well, we all know how that panned out for everyone.
Thankfully, I had already been speaking to the contributors as early as 2019, who each specialised in their own topics of interest, so there was parachuting required. Under everyone’s varying circumstances, from having to work/live/teach/care at home. We all just worked around each others’ schedules with empathy.
Were deadlines missed? Sure.
Were they fatal? Absolutely not.
In the end, when things eased up temporarily — just long enough to get the colour proofs for review — planning out logistics and the usual, the second crack in the plot happened:
The sudden suspension of the national postal services. I’ve ranted about the somewhat curious consequences on Instagram Stories (e.g. their private courier sister company was still running, but they weren’t due Covid claims — but if that was the case, wouldn’t all shipments from here be grounded, especially from the same parent company?).
In the end, I learned another lesson, which was to just bite the bullet and take matters into my own hands — without waiting any longer for the system to decide to get its act together.
I ended up footing the courier bill (issued by a different company that was significantly cheaper than that of the national post’s sister company [again, suss]). It meant that all pre-orders for Vol.3 were sent out at a loss. Not a massive one, thankfully — but a loss nonetheless. But I knew, and because I could afford to call the shots, I wanted the loyal readers who have been pre-ordering Plates since the get-go to have something to read while in lockdown. (I do almost everything end-to-end, so I recognise the names that came through during the pre-orders.) There was absolutely no point in holding stock while I was already moving towards Vol.4: Seeds. Even though the stories in Plates are meant to be evergreen, I felt that those stories could no longer wait as the world was changing rapidly.
A lot has been left unsaid. But this is it from me here in the Dispatches section this year.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for every purchase that you’ve made — be in on the web store or in-store with a truly trusted partner. Thank you to those who have reached out with generosity, empathy and curiosity.
I look forward to seeing you all again next year.
Take care.
Here’s to a happy, inspiring — and healthier — New Year.
