Last January, Mabel Banfield-Nwachi received a letter that stood out from the usual bills and statements. The envelope was heavier than typical post, postmarked Paris, and addressed in her own messy handwriting. She had completely forgotten writing it during a trip to Paris the year before, when she visited a letter-writing cafe. The cafe's concept was simple: write a letter, usually to yourself, and they would send it a year later. Alongside trying escargots for the first time, she wrote a letter filled with questions about her near future, addressed to her home in London.
A Time Capsule of Thoughts
Receiving the letter felt strangely comforting. Though it was from herself, she felt removed from the person who wrote it. "It was like opening a time capsule of my thoughts and feelings that photos from that time, or even journal entries, hadn't quite captured."
This experience prompted her to start writing to other people. Initially, it was a monthly letter to her mum in London, updating her on life in Madrid. She included tickets or receipts from museums and galleries, or proof of finding the ripest avocado for 40p. Although they spoke weekly by phone, the letters gave her space to say things she wouldn't otherwise, like how slowly people walk in Madrid, and to reflect.
A Ritual to Treasure
After a few months, she was writing at least once a week, sending letters to her sister, a friend from home, or her little cousins. Not everyone wrote back, but sending them felt cathartic. "It became a ritual I grew to treasure, and one that quietly added up."
The feel of pen on paper and the taste of the gummed envelope flap couldn't be replicated by FaceTime or a family WhatsApp group. The urge to be constantly in touch lessened because she found herself saying more in letters than she could in person. Much of the joy came from anticipating a reply. She loved the weight of a letter and her name in someone else's handwriting, often delaying opening it to savour the moment. Reading slowly, she noticed small details like a pen running out or a crossed-out word.
Slowing Down in a Fast-Paced World
Letters demand a different pace. Messages are written quickly, sent in a hurry, and forgotten. A letter requires slowing down and thinking about what you're reading and saying. She hasn't stopped messaging or sworn off her phone, but it feels less urgent. She has muted some group chats, archived others, and no longer feels sinking guilt if she forgets to reply immediately. She has also slowed down in other ways, thinking more before replying and choosing words more carefully.
This routine has given her something stable to return to, wherever she lives. This January, she sent another letter to herself, back to her childhood home in London. She wonders if she will still recognise the person who wrote it.
