I don’t want to write some touchy-feely BS column. I’ve had wonderful opportunities at UMass, doing internships, working in ResLife, going to
Yes, it’s been a great four years ‘- yes we’ve made some great friendships. Facebook aside, though, how many of your friends are you actually going to keep in touch with after you graduate?
I’m only 22 and I’ve already gotten to the point where I see someone on my Facebook page and I think, ‘How do I know this person?’‘ (And for the record, I only friend people I actually know, so I must have spoken to this mystery ‘Megan’ at least once.)
That’s not to say Facebook isn’t a great way to keep in touch ‘- it’s especially useful when you’re trying to make dinner plans between seven people who all have hectic schedules.
But yesterday I got a letter from my Aunty Janine in my mailbox.‘ ‘Your mailbox is going to be so happy ‘- and hopefully you will too: REAL MAIL!’ it read.
More than the part wishing me luck with my job hunt and these last few weeks of my college career, I knew this was important.
What happened to real mail? Maybe it’s the English major in me, the same person who shuns the Kindle because it doesn’t have that book feel or smell, the same person who misses the days when there were library cards instead of printed receipts. (C’mon, those date stamps are fun.) Or maybe at 22 I’m already an old woman lamenting the good old days. I do like to knit, after all.
Yet there’s something about getting a letter ‘- instead of an e-mail or Facebook message ‘- that’s exciting. Mail, real mail, is memorable. You have to make an effort for real mail. Whether you write it out longhand, type it up and print it out ‘- or, like me, tap away on an old typewriter ‘- it has to be shoved in an envelope, sealed, addressed, stamped and dropped into a mailbox.
Maybe graduation will begin the era of letters in my life. True, college will be over and my friends won’t be living in the building next door or across the Bowl.‘ I won’t talk to them every day.
But you can’t write a good letter to someone if you talk to him everyday. There’s nothing new to tell.‘
I like to think that next year (I almost wrote semester. I won’t live by semester after May 23), when I’m jobless, depressed, living at my parent’s house and watching reruns of The Cosby Show, I’ll also be writing letters to the few good friends of mine who I know would take the time to write me back.
‘Yes, I’m still living at home,’ I’ll say.‘ And, ‘Well, if I die of swine flu at least I won’t have to worry about getting a job.’
With all the amazing things to do at UMass there’s no time left for letter writing. There have been too many readings, homework assignments and meetings. Being an unemployed bum will give me that time.
So while I’ll miss the ol’ alma mater, I’ll be glad to get mail from someone besides the Housing Assignments Office.
Michelle Fredette should not be contacted by e-mail. She prefers letters.
