Last night as I was finishing up sorting out all the clothes that I wanted to keep, the ones I didn’t want to keep and the winter wear that was going to go into the suitcase, I came across an open zip (in the suitcase) with letters from yonder years.
I made the mistake of pulling out a few of the peeping envelopes. I knew that I stored letters from old friends there, but I didn’t quite remember the contents of the letters. When I pulled out a few and started to read (bad idea, as it was now already 11pm and I had to wake up at 6am the next day to go to work) it was as though time stood still. I was transfixed. The atmosphere surrounding me paused as the greetings, consolations and warmth flowed out of these beautifully decorated cards and hand written letters.
It made me think.
Who writes notes to each other anymore. Who really writes to anyone these days?
I’m not in touch with 90% of the authors of those letters and cards but at that moment, their words and kind wishes moved me to remember what we must’ve been like back in high school. The same people have now changed considerably (as you would when you grow up) and possibly don’t remember what they wrote or their warm feelings towards me. But I have written evidence of the kind of friend I was and the kinds of friends I had.
It made me realise that high school immaturity and the love that is transcribed in squishy phraseology (easily termed insincere in my now cynical adulthood) are necessary for the future you’re destined to lead. An adult future marked at times by solace and struggle.
It was nice knowing that at some point in time, I had so many well wishers 🙂