In the mail

This morning, I dropped by the post office to pick up a package. The parcel section is in the building annex on the side nearest Cathedral, right next to the turo-turo. It is a small room filled with packages of every imaginable size, organized in an arcane filing system understood only by a few. The lady in charge of the division is pleasant and easy to talk to. She remembers me from an earlier encounter, where I had to take home two boxes that had made a round trip to the Netherlands. A long-ish table conveniently obstructs the entrance, preventing over-eager callers from disturbing the stacks.

The package I received was from a family friend who lives in India. The contents were bound in a durable piece of cloth, its edges sewn and sealed with red wax:

Inside was a Christmas card and a bag of wonderful Assam tea:

In an era when nearly every correspondence is digital, it's refreshing to literally get something in the mail. I think, because e-mails and instant messages can be transferred so easily, the value of sending and receiving an actual letter is overlooked. Many must think snail mail is a dated practice and it probably is, but there is a rush from holding an object that traveled through considerable space and time to get to your corner of the world. This is where the idea "Someone far away is thinking of you" is most tangible. It's also exciting to find something in the mailbox addressed specifically to you. I do love surprises.