On my 16th birthday, I received several letters from friends and family. Letters, cards, and notes are my favorite form of gift-giving because many people underestimate the beauty of picking up a pen and a piece of paper. It is a gift that can be so simple to create but is expressed extraordinarily. The concept of the writer thinking about you for enough time to fill up a piece of binder paper, and still having to cram a few points in at the end, is what warms my heart. Seeing everyone’s different art style in every card makes it truly one-of-a-kind. The love that these letters hold has such a beautiful meaning in my heart, and I have never thrown a single one away. I have them stored in a shoebox from a few years ago, and every once in a while, I rediscover them. It’s so pure it makes me happy. It’s so pure it makes me cry.
The letter I received on my birthday this year, which bloomed a new area of my heart, was written by my 10-year-old sister. She is so little, yet so wise with her words. I’m watching her get older, and I can see it in her handwriting and in every one of her erasure marks. She wrote, showing her love for me and expressing how grateful she is to be my best friend. At the very end, it is signed by her and my little brother, who is five years old and can only spell his name. Sometimes I feel like I am not doing enough for them, and maybe I should try harder. Maybe it was the challenges I faced, the weight of my own experiences growing up being the oldest, but regardless, I want to constantly have them know they are capable, valued, and that they are extremely loved by their older sister. The card my sister wrote me, and my brother signed, bloomed flowers in an area of my heart I had yet to discover, allowing me to accept that I am enough for them.
When I read the rest of my birthday cards, I realized I had met a personal goal in my life: to surround myself with loving, generous people. I love the people whom I call my friends. One of the letters in particular thanked me for helping them grow closer to God. Which is a compliment I’d never thought I’d hear if I told my old self. That one really hit me because, honestly, I never thought I’d be in a position to guide anyone spiritually. But I am now, and it was a powerful reminder of how far I’ve come.
As I put my letters away in my cardboard shoe box, I can’t help but reread some from previous years, from holidays, to birthdays, to just because letters. And I sit there and cry. As I hold these letters, a wave of emotion washes over me, bringing me tears. It’s a realization of how much I’ve meant to the people who took the time to write these words. In those moments, I feel like an incredibly special person, and that feeling blossoms into a happiness that’s hard to describe.
Although time has passed, and I may not talk to the people who wrote me the card at the moment, it reminds me of a silent grace that is held in these cards. The love is pressed into the paper either by pen or pencil, or whatever colorful gel pen was used. It turns me to a focal point of how precious moments of my life were. There was this one letter from my elementary best friend, who wrote it in cursive and was filled with drawings, which reminds me of the time we bonded over drawing together and learning new styles of cursive.
It’s amazing how time changes things, but the meaning in these letters only deepens. Even if you don’t talk to the person anymore, or if things get complicated between you, there’s a beauty in that connection showcased on paper. Writing a letter yourself or receiving one holds such a profound meaning. It’s a memory to be cherished forever.
These letters are more than just words on paper, they’re anchors to my past, proof of love, and guides for my future. They inspire me to continue these meaningful connections, ensuring that the simple yet unique act of writing continues to touch lives, just as it has mine. It’s a beautiful reminder of what I have, which is being surrounded by love.
