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Retracing My Steps

I've been spending the last few days cleaning up our new place. It's slowly becoming a compulsive behaviour because no matter how often I mop the floor, dust still seems to settle right back on it. And I'd mop again. Then I'd run my hand along the length of the floor. And mop again. And again.
I'm slowly becoming acclimatised to the new place and its surroundings. It's a mature estate, meaning the inhabitants are, amongst other things, mature. The Old Airport hawker center stands out as a colossal monument of classical hawker fare, authentic right down to the level of hygiene.
But today I ventured upstairs and found a lost piece of myself. On level two of the Old Airport hawker center a dying colony of old sole proprietorships can be found. Many stalls have since closed, but business goes on here the same way it has for decades. Well, <em>almost</em> the same way. The stall near the stairs sells the Playstation 2 for S$380. I thought it was quite a good deal, but had to pass due to the lack of employment.
The average age of shopkeepers here rivals that of most senior citizen homes, and business is slow. For most of the folks here, it seems that earning the big bucks is no longer the object; the business is their way of life. An old man with silver hair lies on the corner bench, fast asleep.
I would like so much to conduct a short photo-taking of the place and the people who run these shops. As one who grew up in the fledging housing community of Rochor Centre, today's journey brought back so many memories. I was tempted to buy the old plastic ultraman toys on sale just to preserve this part of my childhood.
The grimy, disheveled look of yesteryear may not be as efficient and streamlined as the clinically sanitary shopping malls of today, but they're home, both in a emotional and historical sense.

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