entry no. 11: flipping the page [utrecht adventures pt. i]

—bookstores in a new city, words about finding a new "home," whatever & wherever it may be.

dear reader,

i had almost surprised myself today. as my aimless august regretfully comes to an end¹—just as all things, beautiful or sour, eventually do—i had almost made it through my visits to three separate bookstores without caving to my own wishes and buying a book. both my reading and spending habits as of late have become my detriment as i am spit out into the wilderness of proper adulthood, so i have been tempering myself as best i can to read, to actually finish a book, before even venturing in the direction of a book-selling establishment, but today, i just couldn’t help myself.

i woke up late (something that happens often on days immediately following therapy sessions), i got out of bed late (we all know the danger and the sanctity of my bed by now), and i rushed myself out of the house in fear that if i did not leave then, i would end up spending the entire day inside, doing even less of the things i had intended for myself than if i had gone out to flirt with the outside world even just for a few minutes.

the main task of the day was to see if i could buy a bike. having finally exchanged some leftover christmas u.s. dollars to euro the day before, i thought i might be ready to push myself into the “last step” of a dutch induction (in-dutch-ion?): cycling everywhere, scowling at tourists that eclipse the bike lane, and even going so far as letting people sidesaddle (because that is the most comfortable position to be on the back of someone’s bike by far), but alas. bike buying just wasn’t in the cards for me today. the storefront of cheap bikes—aptly named, and endorsed by my brother—was engulfed in a mass of students new to the city, and my anxiety wanted nothing to do with them. lucky for me, though? a bookstore i had visited only once before was just around the corner and calling my name at breakneck speed.

reader, i have made sure in the past that my love for reading and bookstores is no secret and today i am finally able to show it off in full swing. there has not been a single day of my life that passes where i do not think about all the unread words that are housed in a book-selling facility, some of which i bear an interest to read, and some of which i know are neither thematically nor grammatically suited for me (it’s only natural). i was extremely lucky to have found home in amsterdam’s branch of the American Book Center with its cozy atmosphere and passionate employees over the course of the past year, but as life moves on, circumstances continue to change, and now that i’m in a new city—the very historical city of Utrecht (which is only a thirty-minute train ride away from amsterdam, i say, to make myself feel a little better about the move)—i am in need of a new bookstore to constantly peruse.

and just like that, the day’s objective swiftly shifts from acquiring a bike for quicker cultural assimilation to finding and establishing a new safe space. this letter to you, reader—evident in its title, for those literate enough to care—is a culmination of today’s findings.

bookstore no. 1: boekhandel bijleveld

janskerkof 7, 3512 bk utrecht

from my perspective, the janskerkof is an under-explored little gem of an area considering that my point of reference is further south in the city center. prior to moving cities in late july, the most i had seen of this area in particular was out of the window of a bus always on the way to the university college utrecht campus on my “monthly” visits to jan (joining the majority of my experience with utrecht as a whole). the bijleveld came highly recommended by everyone—speaking here mostly of my father and his friends from university, years ago, who studied here in utrecht alongside him—and rightly so, because the second i walk through their doors, i feel wonderfully welcome.

nestled within the walls of today’s first bookstore are books about so many subjects it makes my head spin. there are clothbound classics (we all know the ones), explorative dutch literature, non-fiction, essays, mythology, children’s, young adult, contemporary, musings on music—if you’re looking for something a little more on the obscure side but widely appreciated by voracious readers, i’m sure they have it in stock. the bijleveld is on the smaller side of the few dutch bookstores i have been able to visit so far but it’s not a bad thing at all, given that it promotes a very cozy and intimate environment. i leaf through a couple of classics, but as much as i’ve wanted to get into some woolf or re-read orwell’s shooting an elephant, i don’t seem to have the all-consuming desire to buy a book today. this is uniquely fantastic, especially for me. i can almost hear my bank account give a loud sigh of relief.

so i don’t spend long in the boekhandel bijleveld, but it is here that the thought of being surrounded by words brought together specifically by people with creative and/or academic intent strikes me so suddenly, and i leave the store in awe. a young man around my age smiles at me as he walks through the door and i feel no hesitation towards returning it: i just love seeing the excitement and adoration on other booklovers’ faces when they walk into somewhere they’re about to discover is very special. it gets me thinking about our own stories and how far we have each come to get to this point in our lives where excitement is sparked by others’ words, but the thought quickly dissipates as my legs carry on my—now very aim-ful—wandering around town.

book(s) bought here (a running total, not on this day in particular):

• land sickness by nikolaj schultz

bookstore no. 2: broese

oudegracht 112-b, 3511 aw utrecht

the closest other bookstore equivalent i can compare the day’s next stop, broese, to is probably barnes & noble (or borders, pre-shutdown) in the states, or some of the reasonably smaller branches of fully booked in the philippines. located in a more centralised and commercial area of utrecht’s city center, broese not only sells books but expands its selection to music (cd’s, cassette tapes, and vinyl records), stationery items, children’s games, and so much more that i haven’t yet explored. the more commercial vibe is definitely prevalent the second you walk into the store, but it’s not negatively noticeable: all it does is point out how extensive its collection is.

today, i take the escalator directly up to the third floor and peruse the english fiction section until my strong will breaks and i get the itchy buy-a-book feeling (which i don’t end up doing here, thank the universe). from ottessa moshfegh’s eileen—whose floppy page glory feels absolutely delightful in my hands—to ursula le guin’s earthsea trilogy, i am positively overwhelmed with choices. it feels great to be surrounded once again by words words words, regardless of whether i will get around to reading them all.

a few minutes later, when the perusing gets too much, i end up carrying out my second favorite bookstore activity of people-watching until my eyes get fuzzy and my nose tingles enough to steer me in the direction of home. there are a lot of couples out today, holding hands and cozying up to each other in front of the greek mythology retellings (almost every bookstore i come across nowadays inevitably has a section) and my heart twinges slightly—i can’t help but wonder when it will be my turn to indulge in such a passionate activity of mine with another person who may or may not enjoy it too². not even the beautiful “vintage” typewriters on display can get me out of this funny little feeling; with my head still in the clouds, my feet carry me away, onto the street, towards the domplein, closest to home.

book(s) bought here:

• the selected poems by emily dickinson, published by rock point

• a witch’s guide to fake dating a demon by sarah hawley

• a dowry of blood by s.t. gibson

bookstore no. 3: boekhandel steven sterk

servetstraat 3, 3512 jg utrecht

this entire letter would not have been written without my visit to steven sterk though it is chronologically last on the visiting agenda of today. the first time i visited this bookstore, i hadn’t even known i would move to utrecht—i was just passing by after having lunch with jan to long-awaited milestone of submitting my thesis. its position next to the domtoren—a landmark of great importance to not just the city, but to my father’s personal history—makes it convenient to those passing by, regardless of their tourist or local existences.

steven sterk is an independent bookstore that boasts a bilingual (at minimum) catalog ranging from historical writings and contemporary essays, to mythological retellings and children’s books. what first enticed me were the racks of postcards positioned in its entrance—we shall discuss my love for letter writing more at length in another letter—but what got me to stay was the magic of discovering new titles that i’d never heard of before. this is the true magic of bookstore roaming: being drawn to a book from its title or its cover, flipping it back and forth to read the blurb and putting it down after a curt nod, and moving on to the next object of fascination. i am thankful to be living in an age of production, where everyone has a right to say what they need to, and i as a loyal consumer am able to process their words, even if only a select few might be better suited for me.

it is in this bookstore—my precious self-control nearing the pinnacle of my pride—that two things proceed to happen: i turn my head away from the bargain bin of ten euro books, slowly easing my knees for the journey upwards from the crouched position i had taken, when i notice a title buried close to the floor. white spines: confessions of a book collector, it reads, and i am immediately compelled to not only pick it up, but buy it, even before i have had a chance to peek inside and make sure it’s something i want. i owe it to the rising number of books i have bought myself since moving to this country two years ago, now sitting in my house’s attic in boxes in anticipation of the moment i finally build my bookcase and display them in all their glory. i owe it to the outspoken part of me that makes it known that i love books, and i buy far too many of them—i owe it to my own writing, which i have been procrastinating on when i do not favour the shorter, more spontaneous letters. finding this book makes a story, asserting something within me that there is always something to write about; this moment gives me a chance.

my ears then prick up at a conversation that has just begun at the shop’s counter. it appears that an older woman, a tourist, is thanking the lady at the till for her work in the shop, for being such a welcoming presence to those just passing by. the more the tourist woman speaks the more i am reminded of a future version of myself that i slightly fear. she takes up so much space in the store with her words and un-urgent time, oblivious to the cautious looks of other customers wanting to pay and the apprehensive glances from other employees and i worry that this is who i am going to turn into—talking too much, sharing too much passion (that doesn’t go unnoticed, but invites strange perceptions that i will not be privy to), holding up the lives of others. something sparks within me at this strange woman’s existence and i feel the need to immediately be proactive in some way, taking control of my life so as to not fall deeper into the depths of future despair.

the last three minutes in steven sterk happen almost too quickly: a fast glance across the shelves in case another fateful discovery wanted to make itself clear, followed by brief smiles exchanged at the till while being asked if i wanted to gift wrap my book, and there i am on my way back home again. another day of existing within my chosen sphere of passion; another day surrounded by words that i can only hope will inspire me to keep putting my own out into the world.

book(s) bought here:

• bibliolepsy by gina apostol (a coincidental find considering another one of apostol’s books, insurrecto, was a major player of my thesis)

• blueberries: essays concerning understanding by ellena savage

• into the wild by john krakauer (as much as i publicly denounce chris mccandless’ actions i will forever have a soft spot for this book being the one to introduce me to krakauer’s work)

• white spines: confessions of a book collector by nicholas royle

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as always, dear reader—

thank so much you for reading. i often feel as though i don’t thank you enough for your dedication to make it through to the end of my letters (especially longer ones like these), but i want you to know that i am constantly thinking of how grateful i am to have such beautiful and dedicated readers like you to keep me inspired. i hope you’re enjoying your sunday—as i write this we are finally getting a little break from the october rain.

until next time!

zula alexandra 💌

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p.s: a little life update — i am now an employed adult, and proud to announce that i’ve taken up a part-time job as a server at a japanese restaurant near my house in order to pay the bills while i figure out these next steps of my life (at least temporarily). as of this letter it has been almost two months at this job and i am feeling the crushing weight of capitalism at its worst—and i haven’t even seen the worst of the worst of it yet!—but it’s some of the most grueling inspiration i can find and you all have no idea how hard i am trying to romanticize the fuck out of it in order to keep going. or maybe you do, and i’ve just joined the very sinister community of grown-ups, which i absolutely hate.

hopefully this first-job-after-covid-and-grad-school exhaustion will end soon so i can affix myself to a regular writing schedule and not send out letters so sporadically, but i can’t promise anything. reader—just know that i’m always thinking of some genius idea even as i’m pouring out beers on tap or seating customers to the teppanyaki table, i suppose, and sit tight for my next word. à la prochaine!

1. for the sake of honesty i have to admit that i started writing this letter on the 30th of august, basking in the delusion that i would be able to have everything written and edited out for the first week of september, but alas! life strikes again. october it will just have to be.

2. reader, that statements such as this one are a staple of my writing nowadays—there seems to me nothing more romantic than the isolation of one’s mid-twenties and the loneliness that comes from being single (until of course, the actual romanticism of being in love, which will come soon, i hope).