DOING my own groceries might sound boring to some. It’s not the most glamorous thing to romanticize, no aesthetic baskets overflowing with lettuce, no breezy tote bags with crusty bread peeking out. But in my own quiet way, it’s become a ritual. A habit that grounds me. It makes me feel like I’m figuring things out, even just a little.
Because for me, groceries aren’t just about food. They’re about choosing what kind of life I want to live.
The Palengke Diaries: Romanticizing the Routine
I used to think “adulting” was just about landing a job or paying bills. Turns out, it’s also about knowing the right time to buy tomatoes before they spoil too fast, or learning how to store veggies so they actually last more than three days in the fridge. It’s these tiny things, deciding what to eat for the week, figuring out what fits in my budget, resisting the overpriced snacks, that quietly mark the passage into adulthood.
I’ve learned to embrace both the open chaos of the palengke and the cold, fluorescent calm of grocery aisles. I like the rhythm of it. The dance between weighing what I need and what I can afford. Sometimes, I’m in the mood for meal planning: I build a week’s worth of meals in my head as I walk through rows of sitaw and kangkong. Other days, I wing it, picking the freshest produce and figuring it out later. Both are valid. Both are me, trying.
And that’s the thing: doing my own groceries has become less of a chore and more of a ritual. One where I don’t just feed myself, I take care of myself.
Because care doesn’t always look like luxury. Most of the time, it’s choosing plain rice over instant noodles. Drinking water instead of stirring powdered juice. Slicing vegetables instead of ordering out again. It’s making the hard choice to cook when I’m tired, not because I have to prove anything, but because I know my body will thank me for it later.
Health Doesn’t Have to Be Expensive
One of the biggest things I’ve had to learn? That health and budgeting can go hand in hand. There’s a misconception that eating well means spending more, but I’ve proven to myself that it’s possible to do both, if I’m mindful.
For starters, I stick to what’s in season. Cabbage, sayote, kangkong – they’re cheap, packed with nutrients, and easy to cook. I avoid branded snacks unless they’re on sale, and I’ve started making my own healthy “treats”: garlic tofu with rice, or simple smoothies made from bananas.
When I buy, I think long-term. Will this ingredient stretch across multiple meals? Can I cook it two or three ways? I batch cook when I can, portion meals, and store leftovers for lazy days. I also rely on simple but nourishing staples: eggs, tofu, sardines, kangkong. My meals may be humble, but they’re intentional.
And still, I reward myself. That’s important too. A small bar of dark chocolate. A box of yogurt if it’s on sale. A new type of cereal I’ve never tried. These aren’t splurges, they’re acknowledgments. A way of saying, “You’re doing good. Keep going.”
This way of living – tipid but healthy – has taught me more than just how to grocery shop. It’s taught me about balance. About honoring both my goals and my present needs. It’s taught me that food is never just food. It’s care. It’s a choice. It’s a power.
The Tiny Acts That Matter
We talk a lot about romanticizing life, especially in our generation. And honestly? I get it. Life’s hard. The world is noisy. Sometimes, the only thing we can control is how we move through the ordinary. So I’ve learned to romanticize my grocery runs, not in a performative way, but in the sense of finding meaning in the small.
There’s comfort in routine: checking the fridge before leaving, reviewing a list in my head, grabbing my reusable bags. I even have this little ritual of comparing brands for five minutes longer than I need to, like I’m on a game show trying to save every peso.
These tiny, beautiful rituals have become my version of self-love. No one sees them. No one applauds them. But they matter.
Because at the end of the day, when I sit down to eat something I made, something I chose, budgeted for, and cooked, I feel grounded. I feel like I’m doing okay. And that’s more than enough for now.
