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The original plan for Bukas Society’s "Beyond the Pearl" event felt full and steady in my mind. There was supposed to be a ticketed inner circle panel from 12 to 1 PM, then a free community AAPI market from 1:30 to 8 PM, with cleanup after. My call time was 10:30 AM so we could set up early, then pause while the panel happened, then settle in for a long day of vending.
Instead, the market really only lived from 1:30 to 2:30 PM.
When the organizers told us the city was shutting it down, there was this strange mix of panic and denial in the air. Customers were rushing to grab what they could before we had to leave. Vendors were shopping from each other while also trying to break down their own booths. It was hot, bodies were moving in every direction, and there was this buzzing feeling of "What is even happening right now?"
Later I heard this wasn’t the first time this had happened at that venue. City staff said it had already happened the week before and that this was like a second or third strike. It made the whole thing feel even more avoidable. All of us vendors had put in so much work to show up, and we were the ones paying the price for someone else not handling their permits and business insurance.
The Costs You Don’t See On The Event Flyer
From the outside, it might look like a cancelled or shortened event is just lost booth fees and a few hours of time. Inside my little corner of the market, it felt a lot heavier than that.
All week I had been embroidering almost every day to get ready. At the last Seafood City event, I had sold out of so much, which was beautiful and affirming, but it also meant this week was a scramble to rebuild inventory. I knew this event was my only in-person market in March, so it carried more weight than just another date on the calendar.
I had been there since 11 AM that morning. My boyfriend had already driven an hour to bring me, gone back home, my family also drove two hours to come support. The drive there and back took longer than the time they actually got to spend at the market. And in this economy, with gas the way it is, that is not small. As Filipinos, we know those kinds of sacrifices are real, even if they don’t show up in anyone’s recap.
I kept thinking about the food vendors too. For retail, I can still bring pieces to the next event or move them online. For people selling food, what happens to all of that preparation if there is no backup event? It felt especially unfair for the pop-up vendors who don’t have another regular spot to redirect everything to.
A Launch Cut Short And A Quiet Business Reality Check
This event was supposed to be the first official in-person launch for my LA Locals Tee design. The front says "Los Angeles" with half of the Filipino sun blending into it. The city holds the American side of my identity and the sun holds the Filipino side. There is a green version and a red one, and I had already tested the idea with an Oxnard design at a previous Seafood City event.
I imagined a full day of people discovering it, asking questions about the design, and seeing themselves in that mix of symbols. So I pivoted in my head. If I can’t launch it fully in person, then I will officially launch it online. I kept reminding myself that the shirts still exist, the story still exists, and there are still people out there who will connect with it.
This was also my only event for March. Compared to months like May for Asian Pacific American Month or October for Filipino American History Month, March is slower. That already makes each event feel higher stakes. Sitting in the quiet after, I found myself asking, "What are the other ways I can build revenue and stability for Kilig Ko so that one cancelled event or one messy venue situation doesn’t shake me this much?"
I am going into two years of vending this May. My very first event was the Long Beach Filipino Festival in May 2024. I noticed how often I still say yes to everything because I want to explore and experience as much as I can. Moments like this shutdown are making me pause and really look at how I am running things, where I need more efficiency, and where I need to be more selective.
Learning To Invite People Anyway
Underneath all the logistics, there is the part of me that still struggles with inviting people to my events. Sometimes I am shy to personally send the invite because I worry the experience might not be fun enough, or the heat will be too much, or it just will not feel worth it for them. Part of me still whispers, "Maybe I am not worth seeing." It felt like I had let people down, even though I knew, logically, it was not my fault.
In the end, I kept coming back to one simple reminder: it is not a bad life, it is just maybe a bad day. Business will always have ups and downs. There will always be things I cannot control, and there will also always be an upside somewhere, even if it takes a while to see it.
My next event is that same Long Beach Filipino Festival in May, the one where I vended for the very first time. It feels like a full-circle moment, and I am letting myself feel both the nerves and the hope. There will always be more chances to show up, more chances to invite people, more chances to let the work speak for itself.
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