For the first time in years, I wasn’t particularly excited about the Manila International Book Fair.
Which felt weird, because I’ve been going to MIBF every year since 2016, except during the pandemic when, well, there was obviously no book fair to go to. Over the years, the fair had become something of an annual tradition for me. There were years when I went with a list of books I wanted to buy and somehow came home with more books than I could reasonably justify. There were also years when I had authors I absolutely had to see, signings I had to attend, and booths I wanted to visit.
I even had a book signing of my own in 2024.
So when August came around and MIBF was getting closer, I found myself asking, do I even want to go this year?
“Bakit parang nakakatamad yung MIBF this year?” I said to Kim. At first, I tried to find a practical reason for it. First, I was decluttering my books. Also, I had a limited budget. Plus I didn’t really have any new releases I was particularly excited about. More importantly, I didn’t have a major release of my own this year, nor was there a book signing I was looking forward to from the authors I usually go crazy for. MIBF had always given me something to look forward to, and this year, I couldn’t quite figure out what that was supposed to be.
I also haven’t been writing much. Last year, I released Mga Tula Na Hindi Ko Sana Isusulat, and the year before that, I released Marahuyo and Karayama. Back then, I was freelancing, so I had more time to write. Now I have a full-time job, two office days a week, a commute, and all the other little things that come with having an actual adult schedule. I tried writing a poem every day at one point and lasted seven days. Fiction has been even worse. I haven’t really written any.
I’ve been trying to make peace with the idea that output doesn’t always have to mean producing a book. Lately, I’ve actually been enjoying blogging more – writing about books, places, little observations, and everyday life. It’s still writing, but without the pressure of having to turn it into something big. I like that kind of output. It’s creative enough to keep that part of me alive, but it doesn’t ask too much from me. Still, there was a part of me that felt sad about not having a proper book to bring to MIBF this year.
But then there was Spillovers.
It wasn’t even supposed to be this big thing. Kim kept reminding me about our zines, and if she hadn’t been so persistent about getting everything organized, I honestly have no idea if I would have pushed through with it. I went through my old poetry vault, pulled out poems that were already there, and put them together into a little zine. It wasn’t a new poetry collection or a major release. It was simply something I could bring to MIBF.
So I went.
The first thing that greeted us was exactly what I expected: people. A LOT of people. MIBF crowds are nothing new to me. After going for this many years, I already know what I’m signing up for when I walk into the fair. There will be people everywhere, bags everywhere, books everywhere, and at some point my feet will probably start questioning my life choices.
Our first stop was the St. Pauls booth. I immediately looked for their photobooth corner, only to discover that it wasn’t there this year. I don’t know if “dry” is the right word to describe the booth, but that’s the word that came to mind. Compared to what I remembered, it felt like something was missing.
We also didn’t get to roam the entire fair as much as we usually do, so I can’t exactly declare that MIBF itself was less exciting. I wasn’t even sure yet whether the fair had changed or I had. What I did know was that I didn’t have anyone I was particularly looking forward to seeing this year.
Usually, the fangirling is half the fun for me. If Ron Canimo had a new book, I’d happily stand in line to have it signed. Ronnie Baticulon would also make the list, and of course there’s Chuckberry Pascual. And then there’s Ricky Lee, who apparently doesn’t even need to have a scheduled signing for me to lose my composure.
Because we happened to see him.
And yes, we screamed.
So, okay. Apparently, that part of me hasn’t changed.
We wandered around some more, looking at booths and browsing books without the usual sense of urgency. There was no must-buy list this time, and I wasn’t really trying to hunt down anything in particular. I had given myself a ₱1,000 budget anyway, partly because I was trying to be more intentional about buying books and partly because I have apparently decided that my existing unread pile needs to be treated as a personal library rather than an emergency.
Naturally, I spent ₱1,400.
But looking at what I brought home, I actually don’t feel too bad about it. The books each had their own reasons for coming home with me. I bought Ctrl + Alt + Del by Raf Borromeo, a compilation of short stories that I had worked on as an editor and I genuinely enjoyed the stories while working on them, so buying a copy felt like supporting an author whose work I had already spent quite a bit of time with.
Then there was Blaise C. Gacoscos’ Kites in the Night, which was a much simpler decision. I liked the cover. Sometimes, apparently, I am still that person.
I also bought Sanaysay from Alagwa, the same booth where Spillovers was being consigned. And then there was The Serenas, a mermaid fiction by Yeyet Soriano, a friend and fellow writer whose work I really admire.
Kim and I eventually went to eat at a nearby DAKS Siomai stall, which felt like the most normal thing to do after a day of books, crowds, and unexpectedly running into people from different parts of my writing life. We had already been talking about how this year’s MIBF felt different even before we arrived. Back in August, I told her that MIBF this year was nakakatamad. Now that we were actually there, I still couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
But maybe I didn’t have to.
Because later, I found myself looking at Spillovers again.
The funny thing is, the zine still didn’t feel entirely real to me. I hadn’t spent months writing it. I didn’t sit down with the intention of producing a new collection. I had simply gone through an old poetry vault, picked out poems that already existed, and put them together because Kim kept reminding me that we needed to get the zines done. The whole process felt almost administrative: find the poems, arrange them, get the zine ready, done.
So when I finally saw Spillovers at MIBF, I didn’t have that overwhelming I made a book! feeling I might have expected. It was just there, sitting among all these other books.
Then someone picked it up. And then they bought it.
We took pictures, and for some reason, that was the moment it finally registered. Wait. Teka. Someone just held my poems. Someone actually bought them. There I was, standing at MIBF again, with something I had written sitting in someone else’s hands.
Damn. This is author me again somehow.
I didn’t suddenly feel like I needed to write a 75,000-word novel in two months. I didn’t go home with a five-year publishing plan. But something had shifted. There was a little spark there – the kind that makes you look at the things you’ve been putting off and wonder if maybe you’re ready to pick them up again.
And I think that’s what made me glad I went.
This year’s MIBF wasn’t the most exciting one I’ve ever attended. I didn’t have the same anticipation I had in previous years, and I still don’t know if that was because the fair had changed, or because my life had changed, or because I simply arrived at MIBF in a different season of my life. But I showed up anyway. And sometimes, that’s enough.
On the way home, I thought about the version of me who almost didn’t go. The one who had spent weeks wondering what she would even do at MIBF this year, the one who thought maybe there was no point in going without a major release or a signing to look forward to.
And I wanted to tell her:
Girl, remember when tinatamad ka sa SG trip but you still went? Tinatamad ka sa Palawan but you still went. Girl, same energy.
Just go.
Because sometimes, the version of me who doesn’t want to go isn’t necessarily the version who knows what I’m going to find when I get there. And I’m glad I still showed up.