20-Year Shopkeeper

In the age of online shopping and next-day delivery,  a different rhythm of commerce persists in a cozy shop. Colorful paintings, pigments, and brushes, stacking over each other on the wooden shelves; the slight cozy vibe blends through the twenty years passed by, in which Mei and her husband have owned this store, a treasure trove.

She looked around this place, “Every single day, for the past twenty years, from nine to nine, we are always here.” The regular routine seems to be carved within their schedule. “The real start of work is when we step onto the subway. Well, it is not only me who has to wake up so early for work, unfortunately.”

“When the time comes to eight at night, I always look forward to going back home.” She giggled, “But it is not alone, running this place is a busy task: customers, revenue and imports. Considering all different tasks at the same time, this makes our day pretty full.”

This persistence is about more than commerce. All around them, other painting material stores have closed one by one. For Mei and her husband, keeping their doors open is an act of passion and loyalty—to art, and to the community that has grown with them.

“It’s about supplying high-quality, professional materials for real artists,” Mei explains. The truest reward lives in the stories of her old customers. “I have one guest,” she shares, her voice warming. “She asked her dad to bring her here on his bicycle when she was in middle school. Now, she drives her own son here to buy pigments.” This silent passing of the palette, from one generation to the next, is the legacy they’ve cultivated.

The shop bell chimes, interrupting the reverie. A foreign family enters, children in tow. “We are picking pigments for college students, and these are the lists,” the father says, holding out a sheet. Mei nods, opens her translation app, and her face brightens with understanding. “Mei wen ti,” she declares—‘No problem’—her smile is confident and welcoming.

Checking different codes of boxes, with only a few minutes, she managed to find the whole list of pigments. She grabbed a plastic bag, clicked it slowly on the screen to load the payment. “It is inevitable for a business to have days of roaring trade and days with only a few customers. We have gotten used to all of this, because tomorrow is always going to be better than today, even if we only earn a few more cents.”

This simple philosophy anchors her, “In the adult world, there is no night shift or day shift, only making a living,” she gazed,“The way I see others hasn’t really changed. Everyone’s experience is different; we are all born unique. There’s no need to force everyone into the same standard.”

 She often shares this wisdom, especially with the hesitant. Noticing a young customer’s reticence, she might say gently, “I see you’re not too confident in communicating with foreigners.” Then, her tone was firm with encouragement: “Don’t be afraid. Take the initiative to talk to people, and no one will blame you for your confidence.” Her advice extends beyond the shop walls, into life itself. “Run this shop well, make tomorrow better than today, and the day after better than tomorrow. Even two dollars more tomorrow is good. I love this place.”

“In society, everyone’s journey is different, even within the same family. To like something is just that—it doesn’t have to lead to some grand future. It’s about experiencing life. You don’t need to be afraid.” She concludes with a quiet conviction that has guided her for twenty years: “Nothing else is that important. Keep moving forward. Be brave.”

In her cluttered, color-drenched kingdom, Mei is more than a shopkeeper. Encouraging artists to pursue their dreams, the young to step forward towards strangers, Mei is a curator of legacy and a quiet philosopher mixing resilience and hope into day’s palette. Though her business account may not be the richest, her real account is measured in generations of artists served and in the brave, beautiful truth that tomorrow’ color can always be mixed a little brighter than today’s.