As I type this, I hear the clacking of the keyboard and feel the automatic motions of my fingers hitting the required keys.
In the back of my mind, I wonder when these actions became so natural.
The clickety clack of even the softest of boards leaves behind a quiet distinction when compared to the dialing of a telephone or button-pounding of video game controllers.
My first year of university, I sat in the middle row with a note pad, pencil and a row of coloured pens and highlighters.
Looking around the room, I was surrounded by sleek new laptops with bright blue screens and tapping fingers.
Over the course of four years, I soon joined the masses of laptop carriers and my pen soon took to the sideline.
My neat, precise writing turned to chicken scratch and it wasn’t long before I reclaimed my favoured blue ballpoint pen.
Technology produces opportunities for quick communication but sometimes snail mail offers a delightful surprise – whether it is a small souvenir or an unsuspecting care package.
I have several friends across the country that I pen letters to quite often.
Writing a letter, for one, gives me ample opportunity to get away from the glowing screen, and for another, it helps exercise my carpal tunnel-stricken wrist and fingers.
For me, there is something satisfactory about receiving a written letter in the mailbox that won’t end up in the recycle bin or isn’t a bill.
It’s penned in flashy colours, on artistic papers and sometimes even scented, but it’s that personal touch of thoughtful words and knowing that whoever wrote the letter took some time out of their day to sit down and put words to paper.
Sometimes a chuckle is gained from a quickly penned postcard from the middle of nowhere, while others draw deep sighs and a quirk of the lips.
Yes, email is quick, easy and cheap, but as much as I enjoy receiving mail, I also like to write out a few letters myself.
