「 don't lick the envelope 」z&f.
The petite female sat in her office chair, her sylphlike shape hunched over the desk. Her dainty hands were at work, her ink pen jotting Cantonese characters on paper. She should have been practicing Korean as she just moved into the country. It was like a distress call—her homesickness harrowing her soul.
Dear Stranger, I don’t know who you are, and we have never met. But I am Faye—and although my presence had no existence in your life until this very moment, you will find this letter one day hiding in the strangest place and spare time to read these words. Please, tell me your inescurities… What do you see in this void ? Is it an endless abyss that I should subject myself to ? I am still bitter with my divorce, it ruined me. . I have not slept for three days and I’m running on caffeine. I am exploring the unknown, and it has brought me to you. I have cowered from my adverisities for far too long. I scavenged for food, shelter, and even seeked success. But I have begun to wonder—maybe this reality is telling me there is no other way for me to live. What is solace to you, stranger ? Do you find it in something or someone ?
Zitao wandered the streets of Seoul morose and agitated. Rain poured and soaked into his jacket, leaving it heavy on his broad shoulders. He cussed in French under his breath, casting his gaze on the concrete. He strode past an envelope that had not been properly dumped into the express mailbox. He snatched it out carefully and stared at the label. There was no stamp, except for a scribbled return address. Why would someone waste their time doing such a thing ? He thought to himself, tucking the envelope into his jacket and returning home. He read the letter that night after it dried, recognizing the Cantonese. With so many thoughts in his head, he responded.
You’re right, I do not know you. I can only assume you’re what you’ve claimed to be in this blotchy ink. I am the wrong person to discuss these matters, but I can relate to what you’ve said, without revealing my secrets. I am torn by my selfish subconscious and devilish desires. Everything I thought and knew about love was incinerated. I indulge in the insecurities of humans others. I never sleep, for if I wake up—I’m afraid somebody else might take my place. Then again, it is too late for that, because it happened, I watched it and even encouraged it. I’ve met someone who’s admitted to devoting to me—despite my attempt at shooing them off, this person has not abandoned my side. And I am afraid to think of the ‘what ifs’. I constantly question everything than I ever have before. And it’s left me in a state of paranoia. I never know what I’m in the mood for… Mayhem ? Never solace.
He folded the sheet of paper and sealed it into an envelope, this time including the return address and his own. He mailed it to the woman the very next day.
The letter she had writ had been impulsive at best, characters she had scrawled between repeat listen throughs of an EP hailed as number one in the country. She hadn’t been quite sure she agreed, but had failed to pay it any real mind as ink filled the paper. Her spontaneous venture faded from her memory, and work took up the majority of her time. Hangul filled her nights as she traced the characters beneath her fingers in bed, mouthing the sounds and searching her dictionary for the words. It was two days later, returning from a long day of transcribing guitar strings that she perused through her mail. She kept the coupons. She turned the envelope in her hands and felt a strange smile pull at her lips. The chinese characters were slightly raised on the paper and she drew over them with the pads of her fingers. In little to no time, she had already started on her reply.
This prompt reply comes as a surprise, but I’m delighted by the thought you’ve humoured me. Secrets are secret for a reason, aren’t they. I wouldn’t ask you to reveal private things to a stranger such as myself, but it’s easier sometimes, isn’t it. Telling the things you wouldn’t dare telling even your closest friend. Anonymity gives us a freedom few other things seem to— including love. My experience with the emotion is that it eventually incinerates everything in its path. It’s the ability to handle the burn and make something of the embers I’ve always had a problem with. That isn’t to say it’s the same for everyone. Your paranoia is justified. What’s life, love, if not what ifs. Buddhism tells us that relationships make a good mirror. If you’re lucky, you might just get a glimpse at exactly who you are. The prospect could be either horrifying or exhilarating, though I think more often than not self-discovery can be scary. Solace though.. mayhem makes for a better story. My divorce, the act in and of itself was the least chaotic thing about my life. It’s everything afterwards that makes me feel like such a mess. I can’t help but wonder whether it’s the calm before the storm or the storm before the calm.
She tucked her reply into an unused envelope and mailed the letter the next day before work. It felt surprisingly light in her hands as she slipped it through the slot. She was amused with herself.
