Also known as: Post-Letters Out Loud thoughts
I heard about Letters Out Loud while I was stalking reading author Marla Miniano‘s twitter account because I was anxious to get her new book. I blame it on this pep talk she wrote for the NaNoWriMo Philippines, which resonated so much with me that it was almost funny. So I heard about the event, this curious “let’s read letters we wrote out loud” event, and thought, Hey, maybe I should go.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, at first, until I asked some friends to go with me. I thought it was interesting, if not a little sentimental. I try not to be too sentimental nowadays for some personal reasons, but I told myself that this might be a fun event, and and it’s free, so I’m not really losing anything by going. Time to embrace my inner romantic, I told myself.
The funny thing was, I totally forgot how much letters meant to me this year. I honestly thought that I was just allowing myself to be romantic/sentimental by going to this, and then it hit me how some letters have changed my life recently. When I remembered that, I knew I would go — there is no way I would miss this event now.
I like letters. When I was a kid, I would write letters to almost everyone — my parents (from I love you’s to I’m sorry’s), my brother (which I think he never really read, haha), to friends, and to someone named “Diary” in the privacy of my own room. I would write letters to friends about random things. I loved the letter-writing activities we had, I loved snail mail, I loved making pen pals. There was a time when my high school friends and I would write to each other every single day, and mornings were made for distributing letters to everyone. My elementary school best friend moved to the US when we were in high school, and I would spend hours writing letters to her, detailing everything that happened in my day. I would wait eagerly for her reply, reading and rereading several times until I get her next one. I made time for retreat letters when we reached junior year in high school, making sure I wrote substantial letters to the people who matter to me, and good enough letters for those who I am not necessarily close with. I love receiving and reading letters to me and I kept them all in a box in my room, a reminder of the good things and the bad things all preserved in pieces of paper and messy handwriting.