Dear Putri,
A wise man once said that we did lose so much when we stopped writing letters (or in this case, postcards) because we can't reread our phone calls. Rumor has it Mark Zuckerberg laughed at his tombstone.
I'm not writing this postcard to give you an extended explanation about how big brother is watching us, listening to our phone calls, keeping records of our chats, and/or spying on our GPS. You already finished Social Dilemma anyway.
I'm writing this postcard to remind you that it took an actual artist to make a postcard. It also took an actual clerk to sell that postcard in the shop. Until someone bought it because it has a weird-looking girl holding a water gun while dressing in a traditional costume.
That particular someone waited almost two years to actually write something on it. He put a limited edition non-mass-produced stamp on it and went into the mailbox near his area. An actual postman took that postcard and send it to the sorting group in the postal office. There are groups of labor that sorted it out so this postcard can get the best route possible. Yet it required another postman to deliver this postcard to someone's doorstep.
Imagine that people need to create a postcard, sell it in a store, having another one bought it, wrote a joke on it, put it in a mailbox, having another one picked it up, sorted it out, and send it to another one's doorstep.
If you ever felt down, just remember, people got into those hustles and troubles above just because a boy decided he wanted to make one particular girl smiles with a not so witty joke of his.
I'm not the boy in the story. I bought this postcard online and just put a regular stamp on it. I did want to put a smile on that lovely face of yours though.
Stay open, who knows?
Lightning could strike.
Boy
