In praise of mail

Sent by Marie for my 22nd birthday

2025/03/20

Nothing feels more special than a handwritten letter. I open my mailbox after a long day and there awaits a gift: a postcard from my friend visiting Portugal, a birthday card from my best friend in Montreal, or a sweet letter from my grandma.

Texting is practical, but not very memorable. Personally, I resent my phone for making me available at all times. It’s exhausting, and tiring. But mail? I could collect them until they drowned me.

It is such a unique feeling to see a friend’s handwriting for the first time. You think, “This is exactly how they would write”, and, “This makes so much sense for them”. The curves, the dots, the lines, the messiness, the boldness, etc. Having your name carved out of their hand, to be addressed with such care and tenderness, feels like the final destination of love.

Sent by my grandma and aunt

Posting mail can be a hassle sometimes. Post Canada was on strike for what felt like forever, so a bunch of my snail mail got held back or lost in autumn. But there’s no wrong way to be a penpal. It’s the thought that counts, entirely, and the ability to own a piece of paper imbued with love and friendship feels like an oath, a promise. Letters are for a lifetime: how many boxes and tins I must have, full of memorabilia!

When I first moved to Japan, my grandma sent me letters from the countryside nearly every month. I have a hard time reading in Japanese, but her writing is so familiar that just the scribbles of her kanjis are enough for me. My friend Fanny sent me a drawing of a beetle once, just like when Marie sent me a watercolor drawing of us in Harajuku: these things, to me, could never be bought with money.

Eleonore always finds the cutest cards for every occasion. Twice have I received a card with a cat on it!

I like to leave my boyfriend notes and letters on the kitchen table before I go on a trip, as a reminder that I will always be there with him, and sometimes, I will find a reply on the very table when I return home. He has a few of my notes taped to the front door.

Sent by Fanny from Sweden

I printed postcards of my art two winters ago, to be sent during the holidays to my friends and family around the world. It was sweet writing to my older cousins that I really only speak to in person, and friends that live in countries I’ve never visited.

I like to use my typewriter to send letters. I’ve been told by many that my handwriting is illegible (it is, sincerely). Nothing is more romantic than sending off a lengthy letter to somebody you adore, somewhere far away, never being able to see your words again. It’s as if you are giving these words away, forever, as proof of love, as proof of friendship.

Tamara and I send each other emails in place of letters. I think it’s just as good. I refresh my email everyday, in hopes to see her reply.

I love mail. I love opening the envelope. I love flipping the postcard. I love correspondence.

It’s personal, it’s thoughtful, it’s saying, “I cannot see you, but I’m thinking of you and I miss you”.

I received a zine in the mail from a Russian photographer moving away to Georgia. I received a letter and a dime from my brother’s ex. I never received the art book I participated in. I don’t think Thea ever received my second letter. And I have sent many more letters with no replies. But it’s all part of the charm.

I still have birthday cards from elementary school, and I still kept the postcards my grandparents sent me from Lebanon before I could even read. I have received many postcards from a girl from Ireland whom I’ve never met, in 2008 (probably my mom’s friend’s daughter, need to reconnect). I still have my high school best friend’s postcard from her vacations in Bali and Italy. And I kept the letter and RAW rolling paper sent in a yellow envelope from a crush I had at 16.

Sent by my grandma

Letters are archives, they are moments in time written down and sent away. They become time capsules, or reminders that your best friend’s handwriting hasn’t changed since middle school.

I will always be glad to send and receive mail. It will always be one of my favorite things to do.

My heart is an envelope, and inside, there are many more envelopes, of all the people I have loved and love, and I believe there must be something written in each one.

This is my love letter to you all.

Patiently waiting for your reply,

Mimi