On Snail Mail

Like many of us have and continue to do, I discover new blogs from searches, links to my blog and other blogs I respect and like and through those who comment in an intelligent and thoughtful way to something I posted, particularly something that was created with heart behind it, like the post I did earlier this week about a Boston hot summer night.

A woman from the Phillipines takes notice, and within a quick click, I'm connected to her latest post, which was about snail mail. It reminded me of my own thoughts about this when I wrote about 'The Art of the Card' in December.

She misses snail mail and beautifully rewinds the clock for us.

She writes (and she appears to be pretty young), "it's been quite a while since I last received a mail, a snail mail I mean. Handwritten mail. Mailed through the post office. Stamped. Delivered by a mailman. I miss that kind of thing. Receiving a mail has always warmed me inside."

And again here:
"I remember how, after classes, I would wait at the gate of my uncle's house for the mailman. It was like waiting for midnight to come during Christmas when I was a little girl so I could see what Santa Claus had slipped into the stocking (or sock) I hung. I was always full of anticipation. It was the only connection I had with the people I love back in the province and with some friends and relatives abroad. The snail mails helped me survive homesickness and boredom. I seldom receive snail mails nowadays. If I do, they are not personal mails."

I wrote this exact sentiment in December also, "But emails lack personal touch unlike a handwritten, personal mail. Whenever I receive a handwritten personal mail, it feels like I am given a gift. There's something about it that excites me or even thrills me. It makes me smile knowing that the person who had sent the mail took time out to write and drop by the post office. I get overwhelmed by the sender's thoughtfulness."

Me too, me too.

Tag: snail mail