When I was ten, my family moved from Hong Kong to Toronto. This was before we all became addicted to the Internet, Geocities, and ICQ, and when hour-long long-distance phone calls were out of the question for ten-year-olds on opposite sides of the world. So snail mail was how I stayed in touch with my friends, Tania, Michelle, and Jess.

I wrote my best friend Jess nearly every day for a good year. Once a week I would stuff the various pieces of paper and knick-knacks into a big, fat envelope and mail it to Hong Kong. And every day I would check our mailbox — even if the flag was down, with even greater anticipation — to see if any similarly fat and exciting packages had arrived for me.

I still have a shoebox filled with letters from Jess.

We barely talk any more.

Maybe I’ll find out her address and write her a letter.