I’ve always loved getting mail.

When I was a teenager, I wrote constantly to my penpals, and received letters almost every day. For me – someone who loves to read and write – there was no greater joy than the anticipation that came from holding a promisingly thick, handwritten envelope in my hands. I savoured the moment of opening it and pulling out the folded sheets of paper, always settling myself down in a quiet space to read what my friend had to say. Then I’d rush home after school to happily spend the whole evening in my room writing back.

These days, mail doesn’t come so often. I get a little bit of the same pleasure when I see a friend’s name in my email inbox, but it will never be equal to the satisfaction of holding a letter in my hands. I treasure moments like today’s, when a handwritten envelope arrives.

It just makes me happy.

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