On letters and their significance

Letters rock. Packages are amazing. One of my dearest Japanese friends, T, and I send each other little things every now and again. It started out with me asking him for his address to send him some Swedish candy, and after making me promise I wouldn't send him a letter bomb or anything ("If you send me bomb presents, I will sad. ^^" I mean, how is that not the cutest thing ever?), the best pen-pal relationship ever commenced.

Left: O, one of my best friends. Right: T, best package sender known to mankind.

Now, every two months or so, we send each other little care packages. Mine usually have a bit too long-winded letters in Japanese with a slightly shaky grammar, lots of doodles and some candy. His are like five manga books, heaps of my favourite Japanese candy and awesome stuff. But not always including letters.

See, this makes me a little disappointed (while feeling even more ashamed for feeling disappointed, seeing as the packages are always amazing) because it's not the stuff that matters, but the sentiment behind it. Now you can totally understand that there's quite a bit of sentiment behind a package filled to the brim with my favourite stuff, but that little extra message is the icing on the cake.

My birthday's in a week, and today I received this birthday present:

See what I mean?

...which is filled with chocolate, candies, cookies and special Japanese drinks. But you know what made me happiest? That silly card featuring me as Elizabeth from Gintama with the pink fluffy hair I had when I went to Japan. I love it. It was just a card (in the shape of a globe, which I thought was cute) wishing me a happy birthday and lots of cake, but it was just so great. It makes the feeling of being cared for all the greater to be able to hold something in your hand that someone put time and effort into to make you smile. I mean, I was happy he even remembered.

 It's funny how it's the stuff you think will impress people the least that probably ends up impressing them the most. When T writes his letters, he writes them in English (with a grammar that mirrors the shakiness of my Japanese grammar, but always endearing and never hard to understand) which I'm sure is really hard for someone without all that much confidence about his ability. That's why whenever anything written comes my way, I always treasure it. This time he'd included a small Japanese warning on the caramel candy in the yellow bag ("This will stick to your teeth, so be careful!"), and there's just something about a hastily written note in someone's handwriting that feels genuinely personal in this day and age where computers and cell phones stand for so much of any written communication between people. I'm not saying it's wrong or anything (T and I actually do pretty much all our communicating on Skype, so I'm in no position, nor do I really feel the need, to complain about modern technology ruining the way people interact), but receiving a package or letter just comes with this amazing feeling as a bonus.

Kicking it old-school has some pretty neat advantages.