Return To Sender
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(Markham, Ontario, August 2005)
Everyday I visit this 6"x6" inch pigeonhole with the 4 digits of our apartment neatly typed and taped above the small transparent hole with a glass peek-a-boo.
Routinely going down the main lobby just before noon, I prepare the small key in an upright position, ready to twist and fetch envelops, packages, in different colors, or a magazine subscription or something, anything from the Philippines. But today, it was totally different. To my dismay there was nothing in that small box. Damn, not even a promo envelop from that bank in the corner asking you to take their credit card and transfer all your balances to them for only 3.5% interest p.a. Great deal right? But that wasnt there at all. Not even coupons from Rogers for free DVD rental for the next 3 months, or that health club down the road that promises body mass improvement in 30 days, which I certainly need right now.
But more importantly aside from bills, or these pesky promo mails, there were no envelops with those great looking stamps, which upon receipt we peel off and give to our Nang Jule for her stamp collection or cards in purple Hallmark colors, which psychologically not only look good, but smell good too. And yes, how I miss receiving postcards from exotic places, knowing that the dedication inscribed has been read by a dozen other people before you.
Just the same, the anticipation of receiving mail in that 6"x6" easily beats any chain letter email or a text message.
Tomorrow and everyday thereafter, just before noon, I'll be down there, checking, and hoping to receive mail from loved ones, and friends, from people who care to write longhand or just plainly send something hard for keeps.
Will your card sent our way find itself in that box soon?