Stepping into Bygone Days: The 'Past and Present' of Hong Kong's Sundry Shops

(The vintage shop 'select 18', located in Sheung Wan, has a very small storefront that you might easily miss, but inside it's a hidden gem.)

'I like Anita Mui, but I already have all these ones!'

Speaking in broken Cantonese, I chatted with the foreign girl in the shop (who looked like a Russian 'gwai mui'—not a derogatory term, but a word heard in Hong Kong dramas, used here as a term of endearment).

Her enthusiastic response pulled me back to 1980s Hong Kong—an era I was never born in.

This was my first time in Hong Kong, alone. Hunting for my favorite records was a must-do task. The glorious era has passed, but old vinyl records, bearing the heavy marks of time, entered my world. Vinyl records, whose diameter could cover half my body, will never truly fade. The 'voice' condensed in the turntable is always more enchanting than the transmissions of digital technology, because of time and emotion.

(The century-old tram: if life's path could also follow established tracks like a tram, it wouldn't be so bad—plain but reassuring.)

Walking alone on narrow lanes, trams brushing past, I chose to go on foot from Sai Ying Pun to Sheung Wan, all uphill—if life were all uphill, easily rising without obstacles, how perfect would that be? But nine out of ten things in life are unsatisfactory. Even finding a small shop in an unfamiliar place wasn't smooth. After circling around, the shop was there where the lights were dim. Moving through the cramped space—perhaps it was a holiday—there were quite a few people passing by. There was a middle-aged local uncle carefully selecting items, and tourists like me—two young girls posing for photos, choosing scenes and angles.

I went straight to the 'vinyl area'. Several rows of open wooden boxes carried old musical colors. Some of the records I liked I already owned, some were too expensive, but after flipping through I managed to find a few favorites.

Seeing that I had chosen Alan Tam's 'Little Heart is Afraid', the girl recommended Alan Tam's 1984 concert, saying 'many songs'. It was a set of two discs, not expensive, a great deal. I had seen concerts of both Jacky Cheung and Alan Tam (principal Tam) in the same year back then. Alan Tam, then over 60, was already considered 'past his prime'—sparse empty seats awaited us in the top balcony to move closer, while Jacky Cheung's show was packed, which felt desolate. The era of the Alan-Leslie rivalry had long passed—one liked Alan, the other liked Leslie, and college roommates could fight over it.

(Even objects that have long been in decline still have a small group of loyal fans seeking and collecting them, just like an ordinary person in others' eyes, at home they are the only one for their loved ones.)

I never thought I could communicate smoothly with my broken Cantonese. During the past few days, I had encountered some Hong Kong-style arrogant service, but in this small shop it felt like meeting a kindred spirit. Everything went smoothly, and I happily returned with a full load.

The shop was packed full of old items from the 70s, 80s, and 90s: magazines, photos, alarm clocks, license plates, cassette tapes...

What interested me were the old photos of Fung Bo-bo, where she appeared cross-dressing as 'Yang Zongbao' in a production—when young, she had already cross-dressed as the chivalrous youth Little White Dragon. At that time, 'Huang Yaoshi' Kenneth Tsang was still a dashing young man in his prime. There were also photos of Connie Chan, Josephine Siao... the shadows of the Seven Princesses of Shaw Brothers. The youngest was Fung Bo-bo, the eldest sister Fung So-bo (Fung Bo-bo's half-sister) had been playing aunties and grandmothers in Hong Kong dramas since the 90s. Time reversed—the grandmother was actually the 'Great Princess'!

In this small space, I lingered for half an hour...

(Familiar and unfamiliar things all converged here. 'Lai Yuen' was once a legend too...)

'Sister, could you take a picture for me?' These words surged in my throat several times but I never said them. The records were wrapped tightly in a black plastic bag. In October 2023—my idol's birthday month—I carried Alan Tam's 1984 concert records, along with the records of my idol's idol, Yamaguchi Momoe, totaling three and a half (a set of vinyl usually has two discs, but Momoe's set had one disc with songs only on one side, the other side had a 3D image and couldn't be played; I thought both discs had two sides of songs, but I was missing a quarter, so buying four I only got three).

(My harvest: great value for money. The feeling of paying sixty percent of the price and being a hundred percent satisfied.)

Old times, bygone years, are nothing but a sweet deception. The good old days can never return. But in those old days, only the 'old' is real; the 'good' is a filter added by memories or imagination, painting that time into a priceless, irreplaceable masterpiece.

Leaning in, hello 1980.

Turning away, goodbye 2023!

(Record of my 2023 National Day holiday trip to Hong Kong: 'Searching for the vintage shop'.)