I immediately felt the difference upon coming home from the airport. The clutter was not in its usual place anymore, although that blue, puffy jacket was still hanging near the banister of my attic staircase (funny how in an instant I began referring to "our" attic as "my" attic). I went to the kitchen to help myself with a glass of OJ and stared at the leftover cookies on the dining table. I pitied them cookies, knowing that they would probably sit there for three more weeks rather than being appreciated for less than a day if the circumstance weren't so different. I went back to bed again hoping to just sleep through the somber experience, but stacking two pillows did not help at all. I then figured that perhaps it would help to recall my first few weeks here in Syracuse, when the best way of assuaging bouts of the blues was to rely on Blogger, Skype and the US postal service.
The realization came: It's back to letter writing, at least in the next six months.
Sometimes I wonder if we're taking this "letter writing" theme in our relationship too seriously. That our love for the postal system has inevitably created a world for us to constantly act the roles of a long distance couple. Nah, I seriously doubt it. I don't believe in The Secret crap anyway. Letter writing is always here to stay in our relationship, even if it's just a week of being apart. It's not a dismal reminder of our sad state, but a proof of our endurance to cope with dramatic changes in our relationship. Ten years from now we would proudly say to our kids, "We wrote a hundred letters when your dad entered the academic convent." One of those letters would say:
"Thanks for visiting, Yas. Now I know how it would be like when you unpack your suitcase for good in August. Love -- Marbs"