Today, I found myself unexpectedly happy,

the kind that arrives quietly but settles in all the same.

I was sitting there, surrounded by paper bags and half-open boxes, receipts tucked somewhere between them, someone else’s wishlist still resting in my hand. And for a moment, I just looked at it all, realizing how strange it was that none of it belonged to me, and yet, it felt like it did.

I’ve always loved malls. The way they smell, a mix of polished floors, new fabric, and faint perfume in the air. The quiet hum of people moving from one store to another, the soft rustle of paper bags brushing against each other. There’s something about it that feels almost comforting. Familiar, in a way that doesn’t need explaining.

And then there’s that small, undeniable satisfaction, the pause before tapping your card, the subtle thrill when the payment goes through, the weight of a paper bag in your hand as you walk away, as if carrying proof of a moment you chose for yourself.

I used to think that was the best part. Buying something. Owning it. Bringing it home.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted. It started casually, almost accidentally, back in Malaysia. A message here, another there. “If you see this, can you grab it for me?” “Can you help me find that? I’ve been looking everywhere.” At first, it felt like a favor, something small, something easy. But then I found myself walking through stores differently. Not looking for what I wanted, but what someone else had been hoping for. Holding their wishlist instead of mine, searching shelves a little more carefully, picking things up and imagining their reaction before even reaching the cashier.

And somehow, it became even better. The same thrill of shopping was still there, the same quiet excitement, the same satisfaction of walking out with full hands. Except now, it wasn’t just about the things. It was about the people waiting for them. About being part of that small moment of happiness that would arrive later, somewhere else, in someone else’s hands.

And the irony of it all is that I forgot to buy anything for myself.

Somewhere between their lists and my own tired feet, my plans slipped quietly out of my mind. By the time I returned to the hotel, surrounded by all those bags, I realized not a single thing in there belonged to me, and yet, I felt full.

Because now, I still get the smell of the mall, the feeling of walking out with paper bags in both hands, the quiet thrill of a purchase going through. But this time, I’m not spending. I’m earning. And somehow, that makes it even sweeter.

Maybe happiness is like that sometimes. Not loud, not extravagant, just a quiet kind of satisfaction, found in the rhythm of something you didn’t expect to love, in carrying what isn’t yours and still feeling like it is. So now, whenever another message comes in, another list, another "can you find this?”, I don’t hesitate. 

I smile, and I think,

let’s fill another cart with happy!

March 3, 2025.