Stories from The Moon / Cuentos de la Luna

When was the last time you received a letter? What is the best letter you’ve received? I enjoy sending letters to the people I love. Letters are like photographs of a person’s words. Or maybe it’s more like a video that you get to replay and replay as many times as you want to read. In elementary school, we would set up mailboxes on Valentine’s Day. Everyone decorated a cardboard box with their name and colorful pieces of paper or stickers. That day, everyone was encouraged to send letters to everyone in class. At the end of the school day, I remember the anticipation of driving home and finally opening the mailbox and reading all the little messages you’d received. Sometimes, you’d get small pieces of candy too. 

I’m thirty-two now, and whenever I open my mailbox and find a letter from a friend, I get the same happy feeling. It’s also about curiosity. You want to know what’s inside that letter. Today I’m writing a letter to a friend who lives in the French part of Switzerland. I don’t see her often because she’s very busy with work and life, but whenever I see her, we laugh so much, and time goes by too quickly. The last time I saw her was at a birthday party. We tried to catch up, babbling, asking and answering questions. It wasn’t enough time. She told us that she’d be swamped the whole month of November. I think we’ll see her until December, but that’s too long of a wait. 

This letter will bridge the distance between my city and hers. Between everything she’s going through right now and everything I wish I could tell her over a cup of coffee in person. When I was in boarding school, my mom and my best friend, back then, used to send me letters through DHL. Whenever I received a letter, it was the best feeling. It was a process. First, I’d hear my name on the speakers asking me to go to the principal’s office. Whatever I was doing, whether in class, eating lunch, or walking in the gardens, that message would get to me, and I would rush to the principal’s office. Then, she’d hand me a yellow and red envelope and tell me to enjoy it. I would go to my room, telling everyone in my way that I’d gotten mail. My friends and other girls I didn’t know well would smile back at me. Letters were celebrated universally. It didn’t matter if it were your letters or someone else. The joy was shared. 

This Spring, my partner and I went to Japan. I had a wonderful time there. He was very patient when I hopped inside the stationary shop after stationary shop. Everything was so cute! I remember he asked me if I’d even have time to use it all. I wish I had bought more because I’m already running low on letter supplies. I like how small the designs are. How intricate and detailed the drawings are. How every little detail is essential. I like the different paper textures. Some feel soft, like rice paper, and others like eggshells. They are grainy but still soft enough to write on. 

My grandpa writes letters to me at least twice a month. He writes them, and then my mom takes a photo and sends it to me. In the beginning, years ago, when I moved here, it would have been difficult to decipher his handwriting, but now I can do it seamlessly. In his last letter, he wrote down the wrong date–1994, and that’s how I got a glimpse into his mind. 

My grandpa has always been a very healthy man. Or he was until he fell off a stair trying to fix something on the fence that separates his house from the neighbors. I don’t remember what he was trying to fix, but his foot slipped coming down, and he fell backward, hitting his head. In Grandpa fashion, he refused to go to the hospital, but luckily, my aunt took him, and he was alright but never as healthy as before or as quick. I’ve heard of this. Sometimes, old age hits you like that, from one moment to the next.

Before the incident with the ladder, my grandpa, aged 80, would talk, walk, remember, and eat like a healthy 50-something man. After the incident, his speech slowed, and his hands grew dark spots, like the spots bananas get from sitting on the kitchen counter. His eyes looked down more often. He would tell you stories he’d already told you before. My grandpa has never been a happy man. My family and I think that he’s actually glad that he’s getting older, that his body is decaying. 

Ever since I can remember, my grandpa has been sad. Now that I’m older, I know he’s depressed, not sad. I understand him. I think this is why he writes letters to me. Because even when I’ve been away since I was little, I am the only grandchild who has understood his sadness. My mom says he played with me when I was a kid. I don’t remember this, but he didn’t play with my other cousins. I remember getting special treatment from him, though. No one was allowed to eat the blackberries from his garden except me. In his letters, he always keeps me updated on those blackberries. “Right now, they are green.” “Now they’re growing, but the birds got many on the top.” “The berries are ready for you.” This is how my grandpa keeps track of our time away from each other. 

I remember he’s always been a slow eater like myself. He’d ask me to sit beside him at family lunches or dinners. He’d say, “You and I, slow eaters, need to keep together.” When the family ate the main course, we’d still eat our soup. After every dinner, he’d ask for his “chocolate,” naturally, when I was little, I’d say I wanted one too. The thing is, his so-called chocolate is an herbal mix that helps with his digestion. I took a sip of it once, and it was bitter. When I was that age, I used to think that that kept my grandpa sad, drinking that bitter mix every night. 

I don’t think my grandpa will ever be happy, but I think now, at age 97, he’s found peace. He enjoys tending his garden, feeding the birds after his lunch daily, and spying on the people walking by his house from his living room window. He keeps track of what dogs walk on which days in a notebook. He even got binoculars to make sure he got the breed right. I appreciate these details in his letters. I always look at dogs when I’m outside. I always want to know what breed they are, and if I don’t know, I’ll either ask the person with them or google it. 

I chose to send my friend a letter with a design of a bear in a pharmacy. I like all the little bottles and the labels on them. It reminds me of the Apotheke I walk by daily, with its tiny little bottles perfectly arranged on the window display. Walking past it, I feel like I live on Dragon Alley. I’ve been inside a couple of times to buy sunscreen. 

I like the stamps in Switzerland. There are so many designs to choose from. I appreciate that they take letters seriously, and that they arrive timely. A couple of months back, I saw a small truck with a logo that said “Postcard Society Switzerland,” and I’ve been meaning to contact them. I wonder if I can become a member. Maybe they have secret stationary shops throughout the country. In case you’re curious too, I will leave a link on the description box to this society. 

In my blog, I want to share my life stories with you and encourage you to be creative. When was the last time you wrote a letter? If you’re watching this, I think it’s time. Sometimes people ask me, “But, what do I say? I have nothing to say.” It doesn’t have to be grand. You can send a short recipe to a friend of a dish you’ve tried recently, or just a brief message of a memory of the two of you together that makes you laugh or smile. Think of the message you’re sending as a bookmark on your friendship to remember the most memorable bits. It could also be a simpler message, like, “this happened and I thought of you. Sending you hugs.” 

The important part is to remind the person that you’re thinking of them. It’s also a nice touch to add a little something in the letter, if your postal service allows it. I usually send a closed tea bag along with the letter so my friends can enjoy a cup of tea while reading my letter. I think it creates a moment to sit and catch up even when we can’t be in the same room. 

Thank you for listening and let me know if you got to write a letter.