Rather than visiting a brand-new shopping mall, going to an old market hidden in an old alley on the weekend is more like an emotional test full of surprises. There are no exquisite displays here, but it is piled high with traces of time, which enables two people to quietly understand each other’s past and preferences through searching and sharing.
Set off on a sunny and gentle morning and inform the other person to wear comfortable shoes – the paths in the old goods market are mostly uneven stone pavements, and it takes a long walk to visit all the stalls. As soon as you enter the market, you are immediately attracted by the dazzling array of stalls: peeling iron toys, yellowed old photos, scratched black vinyl records, and enamel cups with retro patterns. You pick up an iron frog from the 20th century, wind it up and place it in your palm. The frog jumps and lands at the other person’s feet, making them laugh. “I had one when I was a child, but I lost it after moving.”
Walk slowly along the stalls and stop when you come across a stall with old cameras. The owner enthusiastically introduces the models. You turn to ask him, “Can you use a film camera? I’ve always wanted to give it a try, but I’m always afraid I won’t take good pictures.” The owner picks up a silver camera and examines it. “My dad used to have one like this. When I was a child, I saw him take family photos.” He then shows you how to focus the camera, accidentally touching your hand with his finger. Both of you freeze for a moment, then smile and look away.
When reaching the middle stall, I found a stack of old postcards. You took out one with the street view of the old town, pointed at the buildings on it and said, “I visited this place last week. The same type of street lamps are still there.” The other person picked out a picture of a cat, “Look at this cat’s expression. It’s exactly the same as my master’s when he is angry.” They quickly bought both of them and put them into each other’s pockets, exchanging them. “From now on, when you see this postcard, you will remember that we visited the second-hand goods market together today.”
As it was getting close to noon, I found a traditional noodle restaurant in the corner of the market and sat down. I ordered two bowls of the signature Yangchun noodles and ate them with the freshly bought old Beijing sugar-coated fruits. I took a bite of the sugar-coated fruit and said, “The acidity is just right. It’s not as sweet as the ones sold outside.” The other person picked up a chopstick of noodles and said, “The soup base of this noodles is very similar to the one my grandma makes. I used to beg her to make it when I was little.” In the fragrant aroma of the hot noodles, we talked about the snacks we had as children, the playmates we had in our childhood, and those little things hidden in time. At this moment, they all became the bonds that brought us closer.
Before leaving, we picked out a small old desk lamp together – the metal pole had oxidation marks, and the glass lampshade had fine patterns. You carried the lamp and said, “It’s just perfect as a decoration on the desk.” The other person smiled and added, “Next time, we can go and buy a new lamp cover to change its appearance.” There was no deliberate promise, but in the words of “next time together”, there was a hidden expectation of wanting to meet again.
The beauty of an antique market date is not in acquiring something extremely valuable, but in the process of searching for fragments of time, seeing the true appearance of the other person – the cuteness of laughing at the tin frog, chatting about the tenderness in one’s childhood memories, and the seriousness when choosing small items. These tiny moments are like pieces of a puzzle, gradually piecing together each other’s outlines, allowing the fluttering of emotions to quietly sprout and grow in the scent of time.