I must confess that I am easily excited by many things, but none so much as receiving lengthy, thoughtful emails from old friends and teachers. Perhaps it’s because of this ongoing reign of solitude, or this influx of real-world experience (ironically, I’ve found that the “real world” is somehow lonelier than life in school, simply because it’s harder to find middle ground and connect with others based on shared experience—in school, you already have the benefit of discussing classes, student life, etc.—though casual conversation by no means alleviates the struggle of feeling alone).
Anyway, I opened my inbox this evening and was greeted by the sweetest couple of paragraphs from a beloved high school teacher. Our communication is limited to a modest handful of time per year, and it’s mostly through email since we live on opposite ends of the country now.
I mean, isn’t it lovely to think that a friend would take the time to compose something with you in mind? Isn’t it lovely to listen to a voice that you have mostly in memory, mumbling nice words and asking how you are?
It does make me a bit heavyhearted, though, because I begin to miss the real voices and faces. But I can’t deny that it is lovely, regardless of the medium of communication, to know that people don’t always forget—if they remember, that must be a sign of something good in this world.