The ‘What’s in Your Bag?’ task got me thinking about how my everyday items reflect who I am and how I move through the world. The things I carry aren’t just useful—they tell a story about my habits, how I spend time in the places I inhabit, and also different parts of my identity.
My bag contains a paperback book, a Nintendo Switch, a wallet, communication cards, colored pens, an iPhone, a yearly planner, K-beauty moisturizer, a lanyard with a fidget ring, a carry-all bag, and tissues/garbage. Each item tells a story of my routines, my modes of self-expression, and the ways I engage with both digital and analog forms of literacy.
The paperback book speaks to my affinity for palpable, physical reading experiences, while my Nintendo Switch represents my connection to digital storytelling and play. My communication cards serve as a structured, intentional way to navigate conversations, reinforcing the idea that language is not just spoken or written but also mediated through designed tools. The coloured pens and yearly planner underscore my preference for visual organization and the tangible act of planning—text technologies that help me structure my days beyond the screen.
My iPhone is the quintessential text technology, a device that enables constant connection through calls, messages, social media, and digital notes. It transforms how I engage with language, blurring boundaries between formal and informal communication. The presence of a lanyard with a fidget ring highlights a sensory dimension of communication—my engagement with the physical world as a form of self-regulation and cognitive processing.
Thinking about the historical trajectory of my bag, 15 or 25 years ago, the contents would have been markedly different. Instead of an iPhone, I might have carried a notepad and a basic mobile phone or none at all. My planner would be the same without digital complements (I’m a pen-and-paper type of gal), and my entertainment device might have been more books or a CD/mp3 player rather than a Nintendo Switch. The evolution of my bag clearly reflects broader shifts in how society interacts with text, media, and tools of communication over time.
If an archeologist were to examine my bag centuries from now, they might see it as a snapshot of a transitional period—one where analog and digital literacies coexist. They might interpret my communication cards as an indicator of social adaptation, my planner as a relic of a time when scheduling was both digital and physical, and my Nintendo Switch as evidence of a cultural era where leisure and escape were deeply tied to portable technology.
Ultimately, my bag is a microcosm of my engagement with text technologies—how I write, read, play, plan, and connect in a world where literacy extends far beyond the printed word.