Saturday, 9 July 2011
I love writing mail. Real mail, written by me with a fountain-pen, on a piece of paper. I've written letters to my loved ones from Australia, Guatamala, Mexico, Indonesia and Rwanda. But I also love writing letters when im at home. The quiet of my kitchen-table and me organizing my thoughts by writing. Years ago I would write my sister during her travels in India and Nepal. I would send the letters post-restante to the bigger post-offices and she would pick them up at arrival. Ofcourse she wrote me back about her adventures, the people she met, the mountains she climbed. Somewhere in a box I still have all of those letters and I hope she still has mine. We live far away from eachother so once in a while we still write eachother, but we have skype and e-mail these days, and busy lives.
These week I received a very nice postcard from a very dear friend. The stamp! And the postmark! That's why I love mail. And because of the handwriting, and because you can stick them to a wall, or read it again in 15 years time.