From your bedroom, from your living room couch, from the desk in your office, from a bedside table in a hotel room wherever you travel, I want you to write me letters.
Handwrite them so I can visualize your wrist curving with each letter the pen traces. So I may see your thumb print smeared accidentally in the ink, blurring several words, still vaguely legible.
Or type them so you can quickly recount your experiences before moving onto your next adventure. Let the feel of your fingers tapping the keyboard become therapeutic. Let the sound of the keys clicking in and out become a familiar melody, changing in rhythm and pace depending on the content of your letter.
Write me letters that tell me where you are. What you are feeling. What you are thinking. What you have learned. Tell me you miss me, I wouldn’t mind that. Do not devalue any detail, I want to know it all. Never underestimate my interest in you.
Write me letters out of boredom, out of love, out of frustration, out of excitement. Whatever you are feeling, get it down in words.
Write me letters because they mean more to me than texts. Letters may be on par with a nice, long phone call, but texts pale in comparison to letters. Even phone calls can’t be reread, and texts can’t be folded up and saved in the drawer of my desk. Texts are for letting the group chat know you’re running a few minutes late and you’re tying your shoes at the same time that you’re typing with only your thumb to your phone. Letters are for when you have some down time to yourself, to breathe and reflect. Texts are rushed technology. Letters are personal artefacts.
Write me letters when you are far away and when you are nearby. Whether you are across town or across the ocean, take the time to write down how you are feeling and what have been doing. These thoughts and images may seem clear now, but they’ll remain sharper and less fleeting if you solidify them on paper, virtual or physical.
Take your time between letters, if you must. I am not asking for eloquence or requesting impeccable penmanship. Use incomplete sentences. Ramble from one thought to the next. Use arrows to connect thoughts you’d previously seen as unrelated. Misspell words in your endeavour to write down your thoughts before they lose shape, before they become distorted and clouded by the next impatient, incoming thought that is pushing its way to the front of your mind, begging to be heard.
Share your letters with me so I may share these moments and thoughts with you. Expand my knowledge, broaden my ideas. Nothing is insignificant, I crave every detail ranging from the people you’ve met to simply the lunch you ate.
Make me laugh. Tell me stories. Write to me about how your dog jumped in the pool today and splashed your unsuspecting mum. Let me know that you thought you learned how to make lasagne, only to set off every smoke alarm within a fifty-foot radius. Make me think. Write to me about a book you finished that is making you question if there is some force guiding us through life, and if so, where are we all headed? Don’t immediately assume your ideas are ludicrous, I’ll let you know what I think when I write back. Better to build on thoughts than to shoot them down before they’ve had the chance to be heard.
Because if you write to me, I promise to write you back.
Do not write to me because you feel obligated to do so. Write for yourself and because you want to, but I ask that you allow me to be a part of the process. And the process in discussion here is not simply the action of you writing a letter. It is you maturing and discovering new ideas and beliefs, seeing sights you’d only ever seen before on Google Images, and getting the job that finally pertains to the degree everyone said you were a fool for choosing in such a poor economy.
If you send me letters, expect a response with my own opinions, stories, ideas, and retellings of travels. But first, it would be nice to know who to make this first letter out to. And I can only hope that you will be as interested in me as I am sure I will be with you.