Post time

Getting mail means someone is thinking of you. I don't mean bills or Pick 'n Pay adverts or the Rekord or letters from charities. I mean the occasional postcard, the letter from your grandmother, the birthday package that comes out of nowhere and makes you smile. In the age of emails and restrictions to 140 characters I like seeing someone's handwriting.

Today I got a postcard my mother sent a year and three months ago (check the date in the top left corner). I wonder what took it so long to get here.

1. 11. 2011

There's no saving anything

via Postsecret

Every Sunday I check Postsecret. And had it not been for this today, I wouldn't have known it was Father's Day. My dad lives on a different continent, and it is a euphemism if I say we don't have the best relationship. Perhaps this is my choice, perhaps it is my fault, but my father left me and has never really said why, so I don't know if it is something I can forgive him for.

I saw on TV that half of the children in South Africa grow up without a father. Half. How can that even be? How can every second dad abandon his child/children? I don't understand it, because I cannot understand how you can leave your child. Divorce, separate, that is fine; but the choice to not have contact, to not be involved in your flesh-and-blood's life, well, I don't know how one could choose oneself over one's child. Either accept that is is a responsibility for life or don't have children. Easy.

All these fatherless children must have some larger societal impact, besides all the chicks with daddy-issues being easier to pick up at bars I mean. Parents are supposed to guide you and give advice and instil a sense of morality, but if one is gone and the other has to work constantly, what is left? On the other hand, having a terrible dad who is present surely is not exactly character-building either. Perhaps father's are just more prone to fucking up their children's lives.

I am glad when I see people have great relationships with their fathers, possibly even a little jealous, but the parent I do have is more than I could have asked for.

Postcarding

Back of an old postcard I found at a fleamarket in Perpignan, France, 2010. 

I like writing postcards.
I like telling the recipient of the card that they are wonderful, that they are special, that they make life better by being in it. And then I leave the postcard unsigned. Since my handwriting is rather discernible and because not many people write postcards, I guess whomever receives the card knows it is from me, but I sort of want it to be a sign from the universe.

I want you to get the card in the mail, hidden in between bills and ads for Pick 'n Pay specials. I want you to stumble onto the piece of cardboard and start smiling. I want a piece of paper to make your day. In the end, I want you to feel happy, even if it is just for a minute, and then I want you to go and place the card on your fridge to remind you that someone cares.

If you own any apple device, a (devilish) blackberry or are running Android, you can now get the "A postcard a day from Gauteng"-app, mahala ( this means for free), on your device. It is an application that sends you a pretty image from around the province daily. You can also submit your own image to the site.

Although I prefer the handwritten cards, this is a nice initiative by the province. There is so much beauty all around us and often we do not realize how fortunate we are to live here, now.


.