A walk down memory lane…to the post office with handwritten letters

(Updated) – Do you know this line: “What happened to romance? Sappy, soppy longhand love letters…”? If you have seen the film, Beastly (2011), a quiet modern-day rendition of one of my classic fairy tales, Beauty and the Beast, then you would have heard this line said about twice.

And it’s really something to think about: What happened to romance AND handwritten love letters?

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Maybe the best question should be: Where have all the men who would choose to brave the intricacies of grammar and the battlefield of composition writing gone? The next best question would probably be: Where are the women who demand (deftly, that is) these letters be given to them without the dictates of holiday spirits?

Better yet, looking at the big picture, why is our constantly evolving culture failing to support a certain system, including a post office, that is deemed capable of feeding the thrills and joys of a seemingly huge population of romantics who are most likely wishing at the back of their minds for handwritten letters?

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The dream of a feel-good love story

I welcome beautiful dreams, those that make me smile when I awake, those that leave a heart-pinching feeling of intoxication, those that cannot be forgotten. I welcome the stories in dreams, those that make me want, the moment I open my eyes, to grab the pen and scratch down the dream-words I’m chasing in my head to form enough literary picture to satisfy the writer in me.

I don’t care much for the meanings of dreams. When I dreamed of myself climbing endless staircases but never reaching the light or the door at the top, I learned it meant I would experience failures and successes in life. But then, what is life without a bit of failure and a bit of success?

When I dreamed of myself climbing the wide stairway of my old high school campus and falling off when the stairs suddenly shifted, I was told it meant it I would experience severe failure or tragedy. Should I be extra careful? As life goes, failure is part of it, like a spoke of a wheel. The gravity of a tragedy or a failure will determine my strength and resiliency as a person.

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I care more, though, for the story of a dream. It was that kind of dramatic love story you see on television dramas or read on Harlequin’s sweet romance books, a composition of sweet and sour incidents from start to end. Yes, it ended satisfactorily that I woke up smiling and feeling giddy. And yes, it ended satisfactorily such that it made me want to write about it here.

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