The bag I photographed is one I picked up from a favourite café in Montreal, but it’s now serving me daily in Lisbon, Portugal. Lisbon is a city of steep hills, narrow streets, and endless stairs, and since I don’t have a car here, everything I bring home must be carried by hand. My tote bag has become essential for this reason, and I usually tuck an extra rolled-up bag inside in case I stumble across something unexpected at the market or on my walks.
Inside, the objects I carry reflect both my immediate environment and longer threads of who I am. A hand fan, tissues, sunscreen, and lip gloss speak to the warm climate and the reality that many spaces (including my apartment) don’t have air conditioning. Headphones and grippy socks accompany me on long walks and to pilates classes, a habit that grounds me wherever I am. A small gym towel rounds out this ritual of movement, health, and routine.
Some items tell deeper stories. My Nespresso travel cup is over twelve years old and has been with me across a dozen countries. Its endurance feels symbolic of how I value quality and sustainability. It has traveled the world with me. Similarly, I carry a glass water bottle, not only for practical hydration but also as a small everyday act of avoiding plastic waste. My keys are marked by a ceramic charm that reads “Sept 20,” a quiet commemoration of the anniversary of my first date with my husband, which we celebrate next week after 18 years together. Finally, a Canada flag pin sits among my things, a marker of home and identity that I carry even while far away.
Looking at these objects through the lens of “text technologies,” I notice how many of them act as ways of reading and writing my own life: my phone (not pictured, but represented by its case) mediates almost all of my communication; headphones connect me to podcasts and music, friends and family; the cup, the water bottle, and the tote all carry stories of sustainability; and even the charm and the flag are symbolic “texts,” communicating relationships, memory, and belonging.
The narrative of this collection is perhaps quieter and more personal than the one I project outwardly in public. Outwardly, I may be a visitor in Lisbon, a student, or just another person climbing the hills with a bag of groceries. But privately, these objects show someone who values routines, relationships, and sustainability, and who sees her bag as a small archive of both the immediate and the enduring.
If I imagine this same bag 15 or 25 years ago, it would likely have held fewer digital tools (no smartphone or wireless headphones), but still a water bottle, keys, and a few essentials, suggesting that even as technologies shift, certain needs remain constant. An archaeologist looking at this bag centuries from now might puzzle over the fan and the charm, but they would likely see evidence of a mobile, health-conscious, environmentally aware individual whose belongings reflect both personal ties and global mobility.