Scenes from A Bookshop
There is something quite beautiful about sitting in a cafe in the middle of Sydney. The clang of pots and pans, the multitude of conversations and the variety of people. Where I like to sit in the cafe overlooks the checkout and I get to watch as people shuffle down the line. Precious stacks of books in hand. An older lady has a children’s picture book and a gardening book in hand. A pink-haired lady with a pride lanyard has a stack of romance novels clutched tightly to her chest as she and her friend chatter away, looking at gifts and exchanging exclamations about books.
How deliciously cliche.
There is a man in a suit down there, hair expertly coiffed with his AirPods in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was wearing brown leather shoes. I wonder what kind of book he is going to read. An autobiography? History? or maybe sci-fi? who knows. How vast the range of humanity you see when you sit in a cafe hidden in a bookstore.
It has really become a new favourite thing of mine. Sitting in this cafe, a few hours before work. Reading, writing and people-watching while I slowly just drown myself in endless, endless cups of tea. Milk and sugar added of course. My grandmother would be so proud of my newfound tea obsession. I am slowly getting it right. The milk, sugar and tea ratio. I’ve also started to write more and more of these essays by hand in a notebook. There is just something nostalgic and poetic about words on a page, scribbled down in blue ink. trying to make your hand move as fast as your mind. There is just something about the chaos of an everything notebook that just makes me feel strangely organised. The kind of unhinged surprise of not knowing what toy wrote down two days ago.
Maybe I’ll write something about comparison today and then I’ll rant about social media tomorrow. But who knows what I could find hidden in the depths of my notebooks? A story I wrote when I was in a dark place, a memory. little anecdotes about the people you come across in a day. More essays. Maybe on Sunday I’ll write an ode to tea and coffee and chronicle all the drinks one can have during the day. Who knows where we could go from here? With pen and paper in hand, I feel invincible.
