I grew up when tet messaging and e-mail were in their nascent stage and immediately gained traction. It took less than two years for everyone to jump on the technology wave and purchase the latest cellphone or computer and connect to the internet. It wasn’t long before my family and I were stacking cellphone boxes in the garage.
Sending snail mail, on the other hand, faded almost in an instant. Except for the monthly bills, I have probably received one or two letters via snail mail in my whole life.
The first one I got almost two decades ago, and while its content escapes me now, I recall the joy that jolted through my body as I tore open the firm white envelope and took out the neatly folded bond paper. I felt my eyes smile as they ran through the scribbles that seemed to dance as I read on.
But while I did get the chance to receive a letter, I wasn’t fortunate enough to go through the ritual of sending one via snail mail. Perhaps the closest thing I got to replicating the feeling was when every time my cousins from the province bid farewell after spending the summer here in Manila.
A few days before they were to leave, my cousins and I exchanged letters. We thanked each other for a wonderful summer, listed our favorite memories together, and wished each other luck on the coming school year. We didn’t necessarily write our letters on neat bond paper and slid them into letter envelopes. Loose sheets, the last page of a notebook, or even chocolate-stained tissue paper did the trick. As long as we got our message across, everything was fine.
I recall writing my letter to them on scented stationery—the kind that came in packs. I tediously drafted the letter in my journal then transferred the final copy using my favorite sign pen. Whenever I made an error (no matter how small) I got immensely frustrated and rewrote everything. But when I finally finished the letter error-free, I jumped for joy while waving it in the air.
On the other hand, I remember that when I received their letter, I ran to the farthest corner of my room and read it over and over again, all the while imagining my cousin’s facial expressions as she was writing it. Whenever she said something funny, I recalled her effervescent smile. And when she expressed how much she’d miss me, I looked for the smudged spots on the paper that were once occupied by fresh tears.
Back in the province, my cousins didn’t have a land-line telephone. We had to wait almost a year to see each other again. And during the long wait, all I had for memories were their letters which I slipped between the thin sheets of my journal. Almost every night until we saw each other again, I read the letters over and over and over again. It came to a point that the paper became so crumpled that instead of slipping it between the pages of my journal, I had to slip it between the pages of the thickest book in the house to straighten it out.
When summer came by again, my cousins and I were together from dusk until dawn, exchanging stories, playing the latest video games, experimenting on recipes in the kitchen, and playing pranks on each other from time to time. Because we didn’t see each other for months, we immediately noticed changes in each other’s countenance. They were older than me so I made fun of the zits on their forehead. Once I grew older, however, they teased me about my deep voice and laughed endlessly whenever it cracked. It was one of the finest times in my life.
But my cousins have their own lives now. Some of them have their own families. We chat online but their letters are still with me, neatly sheltered in cellphone boxes. I’ve lost some but I’m pretty sure that they’re just lying around, either in my old journals or the thickest book in the house.
For the past few years, telephone and electric bills have been the only “letters” I receive via snail mail. Instead of opening the phone bill right away, like the way I did when I received my first letter, I have to calm myself and prepare for the astronomical charges I’ve incurred. The fonts are all pretty but soon turn into inanimate and boring etchings as everything just leaves a gaping hole in my pockets and heaving chest.
But just last year around Christmastime, I got a letter via snail mail—my second after the first I received almost two decades ago. It was a simple holiday greeting from a close friend. While I did expect the letter because she asked for my address a few weeks prior, the emotion that I felt when I held it, opened the flap, and then the greeting card, carefully, was a feeling that will never be replicated. It seemed that my childhood was flashing before my eyes.
I recalled everything: from basking in the morning sun playing hide and seek with friends, waiting for the ice cream man to pass our front gate in the afternoon, and climbing the kamias tree with my sister en route to the rooftop to gaze at the midnight stars.
But that’s all in the past now. Technology indeed has moved at a blinding speed and brought life along with it. At times I wonder how my parents and older relatives lived when they only had telephone lines and telegrams to communicate. Now I understand why their eyes sparkle whenever they see an old friend then.
But it is definitely easier now. Missing someone is never too hard on the heart anymore. But while life is much smoother compared to two or three decades ago, a part of me wants to go back even though it’s impossible. So whenever I get tired of chasing after life, I go to the old cellphone boxes or the thickest book in the house to read the letters I received via snail mail, to reminisce.
Virgil S. Villanueva, 26, is pursuing a career in film.