Running on the road in the 1980s

Twenty years ago, the standard image of a boy was one who wore a pair of white sneakers, blue cloth pants, and a satin-like, soft polyester shirt on his elbows. With a crew cut, he would stand by the street, embodying the quintessential "cool guy," a figure that today’s trendy youth could not replicate. Meanwhile, the girls in their blossoming youth were naturally not immune to loneliness; they wore long dresses adorned with red and blue floral patterns, carefully pleated at the edges. The most fashionable among them donned white dresses made of polyester, and to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions, they layered them with slips. As they walked, the hems of their dresses fluttered, resembling a cloud amidst the hustle and bustle, exuding grace and poise. Polyester at that time was a symbol of a refined lifestyle; we often wandered the streets in it, our hearts filled with anticipation. That pure longing, when recalled now, truly deserves to be recited: the polyester on our bodies conversed with the street scenes along the way, while the morning breeze filled our white shirts. The affectionate girls would only smile at us from a distance, and the anticipation that everyone had brewed for half the night ultimately came to nothing.

Finally, let us reminisce about the most fashionable mode of transportation at that time—bicycles. They often raced through narrow alleys, ringing their bells with a cheerful ding-dong. Young people transformed their chipped and worn-out bikes into something unrecognizable, both vintage and modern, performing tricks in open spaces, stirring the hearts of the neighbors. The best bicycles were undoubtedly the "Phoenix" and "Forever" brands, which adults used to carry their children, greeting them in the morning and bidding them farewell in the evening, as light and shadow moved through the alleys behind them. At that time, imported cars were a rare sight on the streets, and having a few bicycles at home was a matter of pride. We would jokingly refer to our rides as "BMW" or "Cadillac," riding them through the old streets with the wind at our backs. The most picturesque scene was a handsome young man riding a bicycle with a young lady, singing as they traversed the streets, truly envied by many neighbors. Those swaying bicycles could be considered the essence of the 1980s; they were the only things that could preserve the monument of time. Now, as we pause and look back, those memories are all covered in the remnants of time and books, and with just a gentle turn, they disperse with the wind.

Recalling the attire of that time, it was indeed a cycle of rise and fall, with each generation succeeding the last. In comparison, the food in the early 1980s was much simpler. During winter, we primarily consumed the large cabbages we had stored ourselves, and every household would pickle some snow vegetables and mustard greens. The following Qingming Festival, we would cook them in the pickling broth, dry them, and they would last us for quite a while. However, eating like this for too long would make us resemble African refugees, so we had no choice but to queue up to buy vegetables. According to regulations, each person was allotted half a kilogram of peanut oil per month, supplied by ration tickets. Pork liver and sausage were still considered rare items; if one wanted to buy them, they had to rely on acquaintances at the supply and marketing cooperative to get them through the back door. The queues were truly crowded; you stepped on my foot, I bumped your shoulder, and the bustling crowd was filled with shouts of anticipation. On rainy days, it was even worse, with torrents of rain mixed with mud pouring down from the dark, corrugated roofs, leaving our collars and pant legs speckled with mildew. Countless hands clutched small scraps of tickets, shouting and bargaining, and as the crowd grew, the attitude of the sales staff naturally worsened. Many little ones huddled in their mothers' arms were frightened to tears by the fierce aunties at the state-run butcher shop. Later on, greenhouses began to provide vegetables in winter, and the meat and vegetable ration tickets were abolished, with the older generation frequently exclaiming how good socialism was.

Let us talk about the "housing" in the 1980s. At that time, the common people did not live in affluence; their bellies were not full, and they dared not meddle in anything. The residents' shantytowns were a continuous expanse, and standing at a high point to look down was truly a spectacular sight. Every nook and cranny of the city was filled with dilapidated brick houses, the sounds of quarrels from one household, the muffled laughter from another, and the cooing of gray pigeons passing overhead, creating a scene bustling with activity. The brick houses were also haphazardly constructed, precarious and ready to collapse at any moment. Inside the houses, the most fashionable features were the cement floors and whitewashed walls, simple and practical, with rough gravel that, when lightly scraped, would send dust cascading down. After the gray plaster on the white walls peeled off, the hidden gray spots would emerge densely, resembling the wrinkles on an elderly person's forehead, evoking a sense of melancholy. However, since every household's entrance was like this, there was naturally no room for resentment; the freshly stirred feelings of sorrow were all quelled within these coarse structures.

The details of the lives of ordinary people in the 1980s—Dikeliang fabric, queuing to buy vegetables, cement floors with whitewashed walls, bicycles