The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

As a kid, Sundays had a special thrill for me—they were “flea market days.” We’d head out, rain or shine, to explore rows of stalls filled with people’s unwanted bits and bobs. It was more than just a market; it was a treasure hunt. You never knew what you’d come across, and the whole atmosphere buzzed with the excitement of possibility. To some, it was junk. To me, it was a treasure trove waiting to be unearthed.

Now, in Islam, we’re taught not to keep things we just stumble upon because they likely have an owner. It’s our duty to find that person or hand it into an authority. But in this case, it was different—I was buying these items fair and square, items that had stories of their own, passed down through time.

What I searched for most were books. I’d dig through piles, looking for those rare gems marked at 20p or a whole pound. Finding a good one was like striking gold, and I’d carry it around proudly, knowing I’d scored a bargain. And it wasn’t just books that caught my eye; old things, nostalgic bits of tech that might not even work anymore, always drew me in. Walkmans, cassette tapes, and even those chunky, clunky electronics—these were relics from another era, ones that brought back memories of growing up.

Sometimes, I’d stumble on old cartoons that seemed like long-lost friends from my childhood—classics like Thundercats or Bravestarr. Rewatching them brought on a strange mix of comfort and amusement, a reminder of a simpler time. They weren’t just cartoons; they were tiny windows into a world that’s moved on but lives on in memories.

So, while my answer may not be exactly what the question intended, it’s my answer. I’ve found some of my coolest “keeps” in places like that flea market, even if they’re not shiny or modern. They remind me of where I come from, of weekends spent searching for treasure and the thrill of discovering something small but precious.