I came from a generation where you have pen pals (not cyber friends); keeping in touch means writing letters (on papers) to each other (not Twitting, Face-booking nor blogging) especially those who did not live nearby; and love letters were delivered by postmen.<\/p>\n
I was going through a box of letters yesterday after the girls have gone to bed. They were from penpals, friends, and of course from boy friends pledging their undying love (but ironically, all got hitched before I did). Then there’s the many letters from me to Daddy and the few notes Daddy (who never professed his undying love, and who’s not someone who likes to ‘write’ his thoughts) sent to me (together with the grocery supplies from Malaysia) when we were apart for 1 year in different continents. <\/p>\n
Paper turned yellow, ink smudges, the various hand writings of thoughts and events on paper. That was the generation I came from.<\/p>\n
I was romancing this thought. <\/p>\n
One day, the girls will go through my things, and they will find this box of letters (just like in Cape No. 7<\/a>) and they will understand what I was like in the younger days; who were the friends I had, and whom I’d loved before. <\/p>\n And I wonder, for those who came from a generation where SMS, MSN, emails, twitters, facebook, blogs were the mediums to stay in touch, how will the kids find out of their past, of the loss love? They go through the parents’ portable hard disks? Thumb drives? <\/p>\n How unromantic..<\/p>\n