The market before the crowd arrives

Before nine the market belongs to vendors and the hose. The floor is wet and the sound is metal on metal — stalls opening, buckets sliding, aunties negotiating in voices that carry. I buy what I can carry uphill. The uphill part is non-negotiable in Bukit Panjang unless you love lifts more than I do.

Segar Market at this hour smells like detergent and ginger. The fluorescent lights are half on — some stalls still sleeping under their canvas — and the fish section is being rebuilt for the day with ice and newspaper. I know which vendor will slip me an extra spring onion if I arrive before the queue forms.

My list is always shorter on paper than in my head. Eggs, kai lan, something for soup, coffee powder if the tin is low. I walk the aisles in the same loop: vegetables first, then dry goods, then the stall where the uncle remembers I do not take plastic bags if I can help it.

The hose is the real clock. When the floor shines and the drains gurgle, the market is open whether or not the sign says so. Tourists rarely see this version. It belongs to residents, delivery men, and the aunties who treat haggling as morning prayer.

Carrying bags uphill is how you learn what you actually needed. The heavy bag is regret; the light bag means you forgot something and will walk down again before noon. I have done both. The second trip is humbling and good for the legs.

By the time I reach the lift lobby the market noise has faded into birds and air-con condensate. The vegetables go straight into the sink. The note gets written while my hands are still smelling of chye sim. That is the whole ritual — buy, carry, wash, remember.