After
the regular Tuesday night pub quiz in Forest Hill, I decided to hand deliver a
letter to a friend of mine who isn’t well. A Get Well Soon card.
Walking
the ascent up a South East London path I peered through suburban windows and
was stared down by a well-fed tom cat. And you think, we shoot off e-mails,
hundreds of them daily, and text people, and if you can be bothered make a
phone call or two, but how rare is it to be a physical messenger?
Carrying
a message in-hand to a person, even if you don’t meet them in person; such as simply
popping it through their letter-box still feels more intimate. And you get to
see where the letter goes and what space that person inhabits. It’s a gesture. But
as actions speak louder than words, and like parents who can rest assured only when
they’ve seen the house their offspring move in to, it felt good to post that
letter through the flap. It felt like actually caring.
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