Journal Entry: The Art Of Shopping

October 31st

Shopping, I’ve realised, is never just about buying things. It’s about moods, memories, and the subtle ways we try to bring comfort or excitement into our lives. Today, I went shopping for what I told myself were “necessities”: groceries, a few household items, and maybe a sweater for the colder days ahead. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. It was about getting out, moving through the noise of people and lights, and feeling, for a few hours, like part of the world again.

The day started grey, with clouds hanging low and the air damp with that pre-winter chill. I wrapped myself in my old coat and took the bus downtown. As soon as I stepped off, the city greeted me with its usual orchestra, car horns, laughter from café tables, and the distant wail of a siren. I headed straight for the shopping district, my hands tucked into my pockets, my list folded neatly inside.

The first stop was a small local market. The scent of baked bread hit me the moment I walked in. Warm, sweet, and almost nostalgic. It reminded me of when I was a child and my grandmother would take me to the bakery every Saturday morning. I picked up a loaf of sourdough and a few apples that still had bits of leaf stuck to their stems. There’s something satisfying about choosing food by hand, about feeling its weight and freshness instead of clicking a button online. The cashier smiled when I handed her my bag, and for a fleeting second, I felt that small, rare kind of human connection that only happens in simple places.

Next, I wandered into a clothing store. The bright lights and soft music created that strange sense of comfort that modern retail has mastered. I wasn’t planning to buy anything extravagant, but just maybe a sweater or two. But as I walked through the racks, my eyes kept landing on things I didn’t need but wanted anyway: a navy scarf that looked like something out of a movie, a pair of boots that promised adventures I’d probably never take. I tried on a cream-coloured sweater, soft as a cloud, and caught my reflection in the mirror. For a moment, I saw someone who looked peaceful and content, like they had their life neatly folded and in order. Maybe that’s what shopping gives us sometimes, not just new things, but a new reflection of who we wish we could be.

After that, I stopped at a café inside the mall. I sat by the window with a cup of coffee and watched people pass by. Families with strollers, teenagers laughing over their phones, couples arguing quietly over which shoes to buy — all moving in this steady, colourful rhythm. There’s a kind of beauty in it, the everyday dance of people searching for something, sometimes a product, sometimes a feeling. Shopping centres in Essex are strange modern temples, in a way. We walk in hoping to fill an emptiness, and we leave carrying bags full of small answers.

Before heading home, I made one last impulsive stop at a bookshop. I told myself I’d only browse, but of course, that’s never how it ends. The smell of paper and ink, the quiet hum of pages turning ... it’s irresistible. I ended up buying a novel I’d never heard of, just because the first sentence pulled me in. “Some days,” it read, “the world feels like a store you can’t quite afford.” I laughed quietly when I read that, feeling oddly understood by a stranger I hadn’t even met.

By the time I got home, the sky had darkened completely. I unpacked my bags which consisted of bread, apples, a jumper and a book, and felt that small, satisfying sense of accomplishment that comes from a day well spent. My wallet was lighter, sure, but my mind felt a little fuller. Maybe shopping isn’t just about consumption after all. Maybe it’s about connection to the world, to other people, and to the versions of ourselves we keep discovering in store windows and checkout lines.

It’s funny how a simple day of shopping can turn into a story, a reflection, a little reminder that life happens in the in-between moments between the shelves, the coffee breaks, and the quiet bus rides home.