A Romance to Write Home About

Please tell me that your mind wanders to strange places sometimes...So, it is completely normal to be taking a pre-Thanksgiving feast walk around my parent's neighborhood and have my mind wander from the song on my ipod to an aussie-brit roommate I had 10 years ago while spending three months in Austria, right? Normal or not, that is what happened. I got to thinking about Jenny and her pretty epic romance.

Jenny was a wonderful person. She had this wiry, curly hair that only added to her exuberant personality. There was a peace about her that was infectious and I just really enjoyed her. A few weeks after moving in together she told the other roommates and I about her man from India. Jenny was working in England and met an Indian student. After a few weeks of getting to know each other, the decided to not skirt around the issue any longer and confess their true feelings. The problem was they only had a few weeks left together. His student visa was up and he was returning to India and Jenny was to come to Austria to be with the rest of us. They said their teary goodbyes at the airport, not knowing when they would see each other again. Plane tickets are expensive, especially for students, and visa regulations are difficult and time consuming to maneuver. 

So their solution to all this was to write letters to each other. Every few days we'd see Jenny perched on her bed either reading a letter from India or writing to her man. Every month or so I would see her huddled in the pay phone booth next door with her calling cards and occasionally someone would yell from the other house that she had a call (these were the glorious pre-everyone has a cellphone attached to their head days). But it was pretty much just the letters. I think it is pretty cool that I know someone who wrote out words on a page, folded it, stamped it, sent it, and managed to fall head over heels in love.

As I was taking my turn around the neighborhood on Thanksgiving, this little story got me thinking about a few things. I started trying to remember the last time I actually wrote something of real substance out on paper. There is the occasional thank you note or birthday card, but I couldn't remember the last time I wrote out something important to another person. There is just something intimate about giving your own handwriting to someone, I think. Over the weekend I had a good talk with a friend who is going through a really challenging time in her life. I wanted to send her some encouragement, so I emailed her. It struck me that my email probably had the same appearance as her next email that told her her bank statement was now available online or something trivial like that.

I also started to think about people I know well and not so well. It seems to me that falling in love has become rather complicated for folks. Lists of suitable qualities are made either in your head or on paper and countless "do you think he/she likes me" conversations are had, followed by a play-by-play analysis of dates and conversations on those dates. Careful plans for rings, wedding ceremonies, honeymoons, and homes are made out before anyone is even engaged. Lots of analysis, lots of planning.

When Jenny said goodbye to her Indian man (so I keep saying that because, stupid me, can't remember "Indian man's" name...oh well) at the airport that day neither of them knew when they would see each other again or if immigration law would allow them to live in the same place. They just cared for each other and decided to write to each other. A complicated situation became simple in their affection for the other. They didn't plan. They couldn't really. They just fell in love. I am a planner, I get the love of all things planning, but where is the romance in planning out every detail of your relationship with someone? Letters are romantic, planning is not really romantic (although I will admit, necessary at times).

I'm sure you are wondering what happened to little Miss Jenny and her Indian man. After we left Austria she worked for awhile to scrap together enough money to go to India. Her guy showed her his home, his work, and she met all his family before she headed back to Melbourne, Australia. After months of immigration paper work and waiting he was given a visa in Australia. He moved and they married. Last I heard they were living in Melbourne enjoying the fact that they could now both say and write words to each other whenever they darn well pleased.