Ephemera

I have always been drawn to antique shops and stores selling old things. I love to browse but I do not buy. The idea of using the things of someone I do not know creeps me out. The only exception I make for my rule is buying second-hand books. I suppose a more pragmatic reason for my refusal to use second-hand things is my fear of being accused of fencing or being in the possession of stolen goods.

I found myself inside a second-hand store recently while I was waiting for someone in one of Makati's less glamorous commercial areas. The crystal chandeliers and Moroccan lamps that covered the shop's ceiling looked too pretty to be sold in that shop. I was drawn inside to take a closer look. I found more intriguing items.

A glass stand held jewelry made of silver and semi-precious stones. They looked good enough to be featured in fashion magazine spreads for the bohemian or vintage look. There were huge cocktail rings that are in vogue now and cameo pieces for those who want to be seen as romantic and old-fashioned.

I found old desks and Chinese lacquered furniture. Lamp stands in various states of disrepair stood forlornly, as if they were waiting for someone to take them home, or throw them away. Someone must have disposed of his or her jar collection because the shop was filled with those, too.

What struck me most was the basket of old photographs and assorted documents that were for sale for one hundred fifty pesos each. I found a black and white picture of a glamorous woman posing like a model with a dedication at the back. "Dear Conchita, forgive me for I am human and full of errors," it read. I wondered who she was and what she did to Conchita. She did not sign her name. There was no space anymore because she wrote all kinds of entreaties in English, Spanish and French at the back of the picture.

I also found receipts from the 1950's, class pictures of a Catholic high school class from the 1930's, and a report card of a high school student in 1920. His grades were not that great and the principal who signed the card had a foreign-sounding name.

I felt a little sad after I perused these very personal items. Someone must have treasured them and kept them carefully for them to be preserved this long. I can only speculate as to what the circumstances were that led to the items ending up as merchandise in a second-hand store. Maybe the owner died and his/her heirs sold off all his/her things. Maybe someone stole the owner's memory chest and disposed of its contents. Maybe he/she left them at baggage counter and forgot to claim them.

I keep a lot of stuff with plans to make a scrapbook or a collage. I have movie and concert tickets, boarding passes, my son's old quizzes and school assignments, and pressed petals of flowers given to me years ago. I also have a lot of photographs, some in albums, some in unmarked envelopes waiting to be rediscovered. From grade school to college, my friends and I exchanged pictures with dedications. I kept their pictures in an album, which someone borrowed and forgot to return. I just hope that our pictures do not end up in a second-hand store. Then again, maybe that isn't such a bad idea. The person who finds them would probably get a laugh reading the silly things we wrote to each other and wonder what kind of people we were.

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