Dearest Teresa,
I wish I could send you a real letter, properly written, stamped, and posted. A red postbox is right at my street corner. Whenever I look out of my living room window, it is always there, in its own solitude. These days I sometimes imagine a big medical mask covering the postbox's mouth, to amuse myself for two seconds.
People no longer write letters, which makes letter writing, and this initiative, precious. I once wrote a lot of letters to my parents, my grandfather, friends, and boyfriends. I used to be responsible for my class's letterbox in the university, for my classmates quickly realised that I was the one receiving most of the letters. My dream job used to be the postman in a small town, delivering letters on a bike. As you might be able to tell, I've been 'poisoned' quite badly by the charming Italian film Il Postino. Yet, my dream was shattered by my Japanese friend Sugako, who somehow ended up working for the US postal service in Georgia. Her job involves driving long miles and delivering business mail to people living in the middle of nowhere. It is a tough job, nothing romantic about it. Sugako just sent me a message telling me that she works as normal everyday for mail has to go no matter what.
I miss our lunch and coffee in London. It feels as if decades ago. Please take good care, and hope to see you again when this is all over.
Much love,
Li