Notes

Dear Miss Wonton,

Welcome. I hope my words will find you better.
How are you feeling today? I wonder if the "rebellion" on your stomach has already been appeased or if its capricious and inconvenient wrath still falls on your bashful figure. Anyhow, aiming at your recovery, I took the liberty to elaborate something for you escorted by my sincere wishes that you get well soon, if this has not happened yet. If so, if you are already fully recovered or on the way to recovery, I would like you to know that this news would please me as much as if it were my own recovery, because I belong to the group of people who perseveringly care about the welfare of all living beings.
I would like to say thank you for trusting me with your friendship. If I had to use just one word to describe that haven for the bibliophile and coffeephile souls where we met, that word would be: serendipitous. I am truly grateful to the Moirai for having woven such a pleasant event on their looms, because it was undoubtedly a blissful occasion to be able to enjoy the company of such kind people in whose heart lies the same love for literature and coffee (or any other hot drink). This certainly was a refreshment for the spirit. Not only because we can all share the same appreciation for something, but because together we build an environment where the conversation was able to present itself in a fluid, unpretentious way, being nourished organically well. Where the respect and empathy reign and differences unite in place of strengthening existing social walls built a long time ago by people who forgot that, Life and Death, just like in a game of chess whose pieces (regardless of their differences) end up kept in the same box after the game, does not elect favorites. On my journey through this vast world, I have witnessed the decline of the human soul, or rather, its slow evolution, dressed in regression more times than I would like to admit. People spreading hate speech for free. But my gaze always seeks (and always will) in the midst of this decline its opposite, like the flower that blooms in the crack of a sidewalk. As Herman Hesse wrote in his book 'Narcissus and Goldmund', “Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell.” I pick the flowers that grow on this planet that welcomes and nourishes us. Speaking of flowers, in the dark times, which flowers (metaphorical or literal flowers) console your heart?
As I write to you, the song Come a Little Closer by the American rock band called Cage The Elephant sounds in my ears. Does this band please you as well? As in everything that concerns my tastes, the genuine appreciation for music transcends a single and definitive musical genre. Eclectic, as they call it. Through the music I listen to, through the books I read, the content I watch, I am able to travel the entire world regardless of the ground my feet are touching. I am able to discover the treasures hidden by the veils of Time. A book is also a time machine. Now and then my gaze meets the horizon and I allow myself to get lost for a minute in the ocean in front of me while the pen rests on the sheet of paper that gradually becomes the letter you will have in your hands. A faithful friend of mine lies serenely next to me, the hindlimbs facing the south from her body, while the head rests on the forelimbs and her muzzle on the soft, fine white sand. She is deeply asleep, a subproduct of her adventures.
As your eyes will soon see, this letter accompanies a book written by Jennifer Egan ('A Visit from the Goon Squad') and inside there is a bookmark placed on a random page with a dedication on the back. Although we all have our literary preferences defined, I feel that we do not choose which books of our ludic reading we will read, or in this case give as a spontaneous present to someone, they choose us. Each layer of our being needs to be focused on that reading, otherwise we will not be honoring the book, the author, and everyone involved in its journey until it finally reached our bookcase. Beside the book, under a comfortable hooded blanket cloak (whose aesthetic attributes will be up to you to judge, since beauty is essentially subjective), is a polished brown wooden box with four divisions and glass lid. I kindly ask you to accept not only the book and the wooden box but also the garment as a symbol of friendship on my part. There is no need to reciprocate my gesture. It was born out of spontaneity and a free feeling of friendship towards you. If that will be useful for you, every time you use it, I will feel glad, after all, it belongs to you. I say this words because the adorable scene of you becoming a "human burrito" at Books and Coffee, protecting your reactions from the world, was vividly outlined on my mind when my eyes rested on it. I had no choice. When something reminds me of someone, I let the person in question know about it through a word, an action, or, as in this case, a combination of both.
On both sides of the wooden box there is a small hand painted bird, the beauty of the drawn lines and realistic details combined with the vividness of the colors makes it seem that if you dare to blink you will lose sight of the bird, as if it were going to create life and win the skies any minute. Do you see how he appears to be positioned at the tree branch at the same time that he is facing away from the observer? This little and brightly colored bird depicted in the painting is a Todus mexicanus or Puerto Rican Tody, also known as "Little Saint Peter". They perch alone in the trees during the day and at night, they are rarely seen on the ground. Therefore, it can be said that being able to contemplate them and take a generous sip from their company is a privilege for a few. You must be wondering why I am talking about this particular detail (birds) in relation to the box when I could be talking about what it contains. I would be lying to you if I said that Bird Watching is among my hobbies. I contemplate birds in the traditional way, like someone who admires the stars without a telescope. On the other hand, my voracious thirst for knowledge combined with selective curiosity allows me to embark on all sorts of paths. Now, as for that "detail". When we met, you reminded me of this bird with your timidity. So, I decided to immortalize it as a delicate adornment on the wood. The wooden box and its contents were both made by me. Not to mention that the devil is in the details. When the immeasurable value of time is at the forefront of our minds and every opportunity is embraced or forged with Meraki by us, the details matter as much as the whole. Details make the difference.
Perhaps you are wondering why a letter. Perhaps that question did not even cross your mind and this comet just crossed the sky of my own mind. After all, handwritten letters are not exactly the cup of tea for some people. Even more a letter like the one you now have on your hands. For some people the act of writing a handwritten letter is a lost art. But nothing whose roots lie intertwined on our hearts is really lost, is it? Thus, the handwritten letters have their roots in me. Yet, the existence of this letter is due to a reason that outweighed my unfeigned appreciation for this tradition, in particular. I intuited that you receiving the treat unaccompanied by my physical presence could make you more comfortable, although the idea of giving the turquoise box to you personally crossed my mind. Knocking on your door after blindfolding my eyes, so that you could explore the contents of the box, without being in the spotlight of my attention, was a tempting possibility. But, I am not sure if your neighbors would see the eccentricity of my act with kind eyes. Would they do it? Hopefully my intuition will be successful in guiding my decision. Let me know your thoughts on this when (and if you come) to dedicate yourself to answering these lines, of course. I am writing to you willingly. I wish you to feel free to do so as well, not because of social conventions, but for your own reasons. Good reasons. So, if you are going to do it, please, do it at your own time and pace. Enjoy the journey. The journey is the real prize. I am aware that we are strangers to each other yet. We saw and we talked to each other only once. However, when I allow someone to approach and enter my life, that person will never be treated like a number by me, after all. And the depth and intensity; the transparency on my actions and the frankness on my words, combined with other traits in my personality can be possible felt intimidating by some people, or interpreted in a distorted way. But I can assure you, Miss Wonton, this letter, as well as my friendship, is completely stripped of any level of judgment and demand, also stripped of mischievous intentions and thoughts. Furthermore, the only expectations created and nurtured by me orbit around me only, are the so-called realistic expectations. So, as for what accompanies or not this letter and my friendship, only the wise and ancient Time combined with our coexistence will confirm the truth in which my words have been imbibed.
Well, I suppose that curiosity must be scratching the walls of your mind. Not to mention that this letter is acquiring biblical proportions. So, let us get straight to the point, shall we?
Christmas and Easter this new year have not yet honored us with their presence, but inside the chest there is a homemade treat for you involving both festivities and a bonus. Appetisers. After all, your avid foodie soul would hardly go unnoticed. Mr. Kartheus almost had his fingers bitten off for coveting the food belonging to Miss Tribbiani, also known as you, Miss Wonton. (Reference to the ninth episode of the tenth season of Friends, where Joey reveals that he does not share his food). Witnessing your passion for food was enjoyable, after all, nourishing the body can also be a spiritual experience. The wooden box contains Melomakarona, Koulourakia and Moustokouloura. They are desserts very much appreciated on my country (Greece) regardless of the time of year. Although they are not donuts with chips (fries), they certainly have the potential to exceed any expectations aroused by the combination of aromas given off by them and their aesthetics. Have you already tasted Greek hand-cut chips, Miss Wonton? If not, I feel that you will want to do something about it. Then, until that auspicious day arrives, let me introduce the bonus mentioned by me. It is a version of that in the form of crisps. After all, to send you cold chips would equate to an act of war on my part. Just joking a bit. Or not...

Stay safe and take care of yourself well. Taking care of ourselves is taking care of the other. And vice versa. They are the two sides of the same coin. As well as, to help someone is to help ourselves. We are many, but we are one. We are connected.

Yours sincerely,

Athan.
February, 03, 2021.