Last night you sent a fifteen-minute-long voice note to a darling friend, and by the end of it, you felt as though you’d spent some time in her actual physical presence. (In your mind you were at your favourite haunt, sharing a dish you only want to share with each other.) Another darling friend recently ended an email with, “Ah, I’ve spent over an hour writing this, and I’m so full of warm, gooey gooey feelings!” She knows you will reply at ease, there’s no hurry—writing to each other is almost luxurious! But what’s incredible is this feeling of having spent time with someone even as you work on entirely different timelines! The other day, while thinking of a friend who lives abroad, an old feeling you’d forgotten about resurfaced. Her grandparents moved into your street when you were in grade six, and you met your friend when she visited with her family. She is your age, and for the next six years, she visited every monsoon, and you went on long walks and talked forever and it was the best thing ever. And then every winter her grandmother knit a shrug or sweater for her, and each time, she invited you over to try it on. She wanted to see if it would fit your friend and how it would look on her. It was such an odd feeling. You never really coveted the clothes per se—just a twinge of longing for someone to knit a thing for you. Now that you think of it, isn’t that just like writing a letter or sending a long voice note? Aren’t all of these ways of spending time with beloved people?
#8
#8
#8
Last night you sent a fifteen-minute-long voice note to a darling friend, and by the end of it, you felt as though you’d spent some time in her actual physical presence. (In your mind you were at your favourite haunt, sharing a dish you only want to share with each other.) Another darling friend recently ended an email with, “Ah, I’ve spent over an hour writing this, and I’m so full of warm, gooey gooey feelings!” She knows you will reply at ease, there’s no hurry—writing to each other is almost luxurious! But what’s incredible is this feeling of having spent time with someone even as you work on entirely different timelines! The other day, while thinking of a friend who lives abroad, an old feeling you’d forgotten about resurfaced. Her grandparents moved into your street when you were in grade six, and you met your friend when she visited with her family. She is your age, and for the next six years, she visited every monsoon, and you went on long walks and talked forever and it was the best thing ever. And then every winter her grandmother knit a shrug or sweater for her, and each time, she invited you over to try it on. She wanted to see if it would fit your friend and how it would look on her. It was such an odd feeling. You never really coveted the clothes per se—just a twinge of longing for someone to knit a thing for you. Now that you think of it, isn’t that just like writing a letter or sending a long voice note? Aren’t all of these ways of spending time with beloved people?