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In the 1980s, we had home telephones. No mobiles, no laptops, no tablets. All we had was paper and a phone call after school, usually to my best friend.
I would write in my journal. I wrote letters to my sister, who wasn’t home for many years, and I would wait for her letters to arrive in the mailbox. Every month, I’d ask my mother, “Did we get a letter today?” Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
Then I’d return to my journal, writing and crying tears onto the page, until finally, my letter arrived.
In the 1980s, we had home telephones. No mobiles, no laptops, no tablets. All we had was paper and a phone call after school, usually to my best friend.
I would write in my journal. I wrote letters to my sister, who wasn’t home for many years, and I would wait for her letters to arrive in the mailbox. Every month, I’d ask my mother, “Did we get a letter today?” Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
Then I’d return to my journal, writing and crying tears onto the page, until finally, my letter arrived.