Dear You

It’s already been 8 minutes since I have started searching for it and I’m pretty sure I checked every single drawer I have. I even asked my mom, but her, “This is my house, I know where everything is.” attitude couldn’t help me this time. Well of course, because what I’m looking for is not hers, it’s mine. It has to be in my room. Too creepy if she’d known. With my tied hair and rolled up sleeves, I mutter to myself over and over.

“I have a clean and organized room. I can do this. It has got to be somewhere.”

I get off to my second scavenger hunt, rummaging through the shelves once again. Every tick of the clock encourages me to think giving up is a better choice, but it’s always those times when lost items finally appear out of nowhere. I kneel down to where I put away all of my paper related stationary. My arms reach out between two intimidating folders, they look as if they are trying to hide something from me.

I pull my letter pad out from the packed space. I bought this a year ago but found no chance to use it, not even once. So today I will dedicate my first letter in years to my loving special best friend, for her birthday.

I’ve always been that one friend who takes her besties’ birthdays too seriously. Trust me, I even have my three birthday celebration texting rules:

1. Start typing at 11:30
2. Type long enough for them to need to scroll down
3. Send at 0:00 sharp (afterwards ask if I was the first among all her friends)

I know I can just text her like always. But, why so suddenly on paper? I answer back to my question inside my head. Just because. Just because I felt like it. Absolutely reasonable.

I sit on my chair, staring at my blank paper, I start without thinking:

Dear my best friend,

Happy Birthday!!

My pen stops. Now what? With only 6 words, my mind has run out of ideas on what to write. It’s a letter, I need to be more calm and neat and… But how? I never talk to her in formal language asking how’s the weather in her place or if her dogs are doing well. I can’t just be like “Oh girl do you remember that time when…” Why is it so difficult on paper?

Maybe I should have texted her like every other year.

I throw myself onto my bed, thinking about the bothering scribbles on my mind.

Luckily, I’m smart enough to know the rules: whenever I’m stuck on something, think in their shoes, look from their perspectives. Being loyal to myself, I try reminding myself the sensation when receiving a letter.

The letters, sometimes taped on my present wrappings, or shyly given by hand. The gratitude I feel towards the time and effort it should have taken for them, I treasure the love and care conveyed through the handwritten words. I carefully place them in my box where I keep all the letters safe and sound, so I can read them when I need that friendly comfort. That soothing warmth filled inside, never just a piece of paper.

Now I’m all set.

I get up to my feet, sit down and face my almost blank sheet of paper again. This time, my pen is unstoppable.