As the end of finals week drew closer, I decided to finally face the scattered papers and misplaced items that had slowly buried my desk over the past few weeks. 

I sorted through everything from month-old calc tests to polaroids dating back to elementary school and organized them into the many shelves and cabinets that line my study space. It was then that I came across a stack of cards and letters, tucked away in the back of my bottom drawer. 

I pulled them out and began to read them one by one: birthday wishes to my 7-year-old self in the form of crooked letters with the “I” in my name dotted by lopsided hearts, silly doodles referencing inside jokes and secrets, letters addressed to my future self full of intense interrogations and prediction after prediction, and goodbye letters from people I’d met during programs, camps, and trips. Each and every card and letter captures anticipations for future reunions and best wishes expressed through recollections of our times together. 

As the world transitions into a more digital society, I have found the growth of my letter collection nearing a jarring standstill. Most of my handwritten correspondence has ended, and I’m left to wonder if there’s any way to prevent its extinction. Though it may be more convenient to type and send such messages through text, so much of the sentiment and meaning dissipates when the words and notes take the shape of a bland, robotic sans-serif typeface on light-up slabs of metal. 

The craft of handwriting letters offers tangible keepsakes full of sincerity and love which cannot be replicated in the disposable abyss that is the digital world. 

In an article regarding the importance of handwritten letters, Scott Jared at UNC Chapel Hill interviewed a fellow student and said, “Letters allowed Rodrigues to ‘tell someone anything you wanted to’ and express her feelings in ways that transcended time. ‘Maybe I can’t tell you I love you in this minute, but in a letter, it doesn’t matter.’” 

Like all the people who had written me letters in the past, I have spent countless nights blasting music into my Airpods while twirling my 0.38 black ink Muji pen between my fingers, attempting to translate my thoughts into words heartfelt and sincere enough to dedicate to the most special people in my life. Words never seemed to be able to fully encompass the feelings I wanted to convey, but still, I pondered for hours on end, scouring my mind to find the perfect words to ink onto small, six-by-four sheets of paper. 

Although the same words could be typed out over text, the little doodles and eraser marks that decorate handwritten letters serve as individual art pieces that tell the story of an author’s writing process. These details that cannot be fabricated over text are the very elements that hold the meaning and emotion that never make it to recipients of digital messages. 

Sending and receiving handwritten letters is an experience like no other. You never know what easter eggs you’ll come across, whether it be indented marks of erased words or emotions that appear in the form of dried-up tear stains on paper. 

Every letter in my stack carried traces of my youth, nostalgia, and the individuality of each author through the handwriting scribbled on the papers. From one year to the next, the same people may present me with heartfelt cards and letters, but their growth, personality, and habits are captured as time carries on. 

The array of different handwritings I keep in my drawer remain a reminder of those who have accompanied me through the ups and downs of my life. Such letters are precious, irreplaceable pieces of memory that I will guard and cherish forever. 

The joy of rediscovering handwritten notes and manuscripts is nearly impossible in a bottomless pit such as the internet. With the physical reminiscence captured in handwritten letters, encountering these memorabilia transports me down memory lane through waves of nostalgia like little time machines. 

Perhaps the art of composing letters on paper is ceding with the rise of the digital world, but my writer’s callus and jar of empty pen cartridges that sits upon my desk will always remain my personal trophies of the untold late-night hours in which I poured my heart and soul out through the ink of my beloved muji pens.