When I was young, I used to accompany my Wan (grandmother) to the market. We lived in a predominantly Chinese community, thus the first thing we would notice at the market is the Chinese prayer altar and the smell of incense intermixed with the smells of fresh appam made to order by the Indian auntie. Certain times of the year, there will be a Chinese opera stage blocking the entrance to the market, and the whole place will be abuzz with Cantonese and Hokkien dialects, of actors running around in costume with their faces half made up, and runner...
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