Reflections on My First Week of Sending Letters

The first week of sending letters to different parts of the Philippines feels like stepping into a dream I didn’t know I had. It’s incredible to think that people—strangers at first—trusted me with something so personal: their words, their stories, their emotions. Knowing that they waited patiently for their letters to arrive fills me with a quiet kind of joy.

In our fast-paced world, waiting has lost its appeal. It’s become a thing we dread rather than savor. Yet, in the days when handwritten letters were the norm, waiting was an act of faith, of anticipation, of love. People would go weeks, even months, without knowing when their letter would arrive or if it had reached its destination. And when it finally did, it carried with it the weight of all those days spent wondering, hoping, imagining.

Today, a handwritten letter feels like a gift—an antidote to instant gratification. But how many of us are truly willing to wait? That’s the charm I’m rediscovering in this process. There’s something magical about knowing the recipient is imagining the words long before they read them.

This week, I’ve learned that letter-writing isn’t just about words on paper. It’s about trust, connection, and the kind of patience that slows time just enough for us to feel present. And as I seal each envelope, I can’t help but think that maybe I’m helping someone fall in love with waiting again.

Here’s to more letters, more trust, and more of the quiet joy that comes with the wait.