When was the last time you wrote anything by hand, or the last time you read a handwritten letter?
AT A GLANCE
The slow, thoughtful cadence of letters and the anticipation of hearing a loved one’s voice after a long queue at a telephone company brought with it a unique kind of warmth and connection—one that many feel nostalgic for today.
By Jacqueline Lucero
In a world increasingly dominated by instant communication, letter writing, phone calls, and even telegrams have drifted into obscurity. Yet, for Filipinos who grew up before the internet and mobile phones, these forms of communication were not just practical. They were woven into the fabric of everyday life. The slow, thoughtful cadence of letters and the anticipation of hearing a loved one’s voice after a long queue at a telephone company brought with it a unique kind of warmth and connection—one that many feel nostalgic for today.
Reflecting on those times brings back vivid memories of the many ways families kept in touch across provinces and islands. In rural areas or distant provinces, where the Philippines’ extensive island geography could make in-person visits rare, families would often rely on letters to share news of family events, personal stories, or milestones. The process of writing a letter was both ritualistic and heartfelt, as many would carefully pen down details of their daily lives and seal them with love, knowing their words would take days, sometimes weeks, to reach the recipient. These letters, often signed with careful flourishes or a thumbprint for added sentiment, became treasures, cherished, and read repeatedly. Receiving one meant holding in your hands the weight of someone’s thoughts and affections, a feeling unmatched by digital screens.
Beyond letters, phone calls represented a deeply emotional connection for Filipinos. With the reach of telephone lines still limited at the time, those who wanted to place a long-distance call would have to go to the nearest branch of the telephone company, where they’d wait in line to book an international or provincial call. Many recall the process of waiting for the line to connect, standing anxiously by the receiver in case the call dropped, and savoring the brief moments of conversation as if they were an invaluable luxury. The echoes of laughter and warmth, or the sound of a loved one’s voice, even if crackling over the line, were enough to lift spirits and bring families closer, even from a distance.
Telegram services, though now almost forgotten, also played an essential role in Filipino communication. These short, urgent messages delivered news quickly, often carrying messages of celebration, urgency, or life updates. The brevity required in a telegram added a sense of gravity to every word chosen, making it a powerful way to send love or share important news when other methods might take too long.
These forms of communication created a foundation of patience, anticipation, and deep appreciation. People would wait days, sometimes weeks, for responses, fostering a level of mindfulness that has since been eroded by instant communication. Letters, telegrams, and carefully scheduled calls gave Filipinos the opportunity to pause and reflect, creating bonds that transcended miles and time.
The act of waiting became almost ritualistic in the Philippines, with entire families gathering around for scheduled phone calls, eagerly anticipating the voices of loved ones from afar. Telegrams and letters became carriers of heartfelt emotion, handling both joyful and sorrowful news. When someone received a telegram, it was as if time paused. Each word weighed heavily with meaning, often bringing news that was celebrated or mourned collectively by families and communities alike. There was a unique depth to these modes of communication, something that grew with the time invested and was cherished as a form of continuity in relationships across distances.
For a young woman named Clara, the discovery of a stack of her grandmother’s letters sparked a desire to revive this lost tradition. Inspired by the vulnerability and sincerity in her grandmother’s words, Clara began to reach out to people by letter, reliving the experience of slow, intentional communication. Her project expanded as she found herself writing to people from different walks of life—an artist, a teacher, an elderly neighbor, a young mother—all sharing stories, worries, and dreams in a way that felt deeply personal and lasting. Each letter exchanged became a window into another’s life, far removed from the fleeting nature of social media interactions. These exchanges showed her and others that beyond text messages and emojis, there remained a timeless desire for genuine human connection.
Rediscovering these forms of communication reminds us that, while technology connects us in seconds, it also often leaves us longing for something more substantial. As we reach out through handwritten letters, patiently placed calls, or shared words on a page, we connect with people in a way that feels both intentional and profound. This revival of letter writing and deliberate communication serves as a quiet rebellion against the ephemeral nature of today’s digital age, reminding us that sometimes the best connections are those we take the time to nurture and hold close.
In an age when it’s easy to lose touch amid the fast pace of life, perhaps it’s time we rediscovered the art of heartfelt correspondence.
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