Letters of time

THIS WEEK’S WINNER

MANILA, Philippines - Kristina Andrea dela Merced Papera is a graduate of UP Los Baños and brand manager for Kenny Rogers Roasters. “I am a hopeless romantic and love to travel. I am a coffee addict. I am also fond of writing love letters, whether they’re for someone I love or someone I have not met yet. If I were to choose an era or decade in which I would be more adapted to and more suited to live in, it will be the 1950s. I love jazz and the blues and I have an old soul trapped in a 32-year-old girl’s body.

It came as a birthday present from my best friend of 19 years. We are in our early 30s now. And it amazes me how we are still fascinated by the same trivial things as much as the complicated facets of this colossal force we call life. We have always been the hopeless romantic kind, even back then when we were teenagers, falling in love and blushing over almost the same types of men.

This is the kind of book that makes you want to sit by the fireplace, let the sky weep outside the window, as you hold it with one hand and a cup of scalding hot cocoa with the other. It is one of those books that call on to you to have a hefty serving each night with just the warm reading light on, and to ponder on the words before you go to sleep. It brings you to savor the emotions that come to life as you imagine going back in time, journey through that era when love was expressed through quill pens, and inks on parchment papers. At a time when message coaches are awaited with much fervor. My best friend painstakingly wrote on the title page, “Here’s to love and your life. I believe they are one and the same thing. I celebrate this day with you. I love you always.”

Love Letters of Great Men and Women. My eyes grew wide, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw these words on the cover. I instantly knew that I’d be spending a whole lot more on coffee at Starbucks or at Seattle’s Best now more than ever. I was quite sure she saw that enormously big smile on my face after opening my most precious gift. It was something I didn’t even wish for, but realized that it was what I have always wanted. This gem of a book is a compilation of thoughts and of emotional discourse of great poets, of kings and queens, of composers and painters. Words that profess passion, jealousy, and desire, frustration, longing, and most vitally, of love — written solely for their object of most prized affection.

My curiosity is tickled by how during the turbulent times of war, depression, slavery and famine did such epic characters of world history and literary icons like Victor Hugo, John Keats, Napoleon Bonaparte, Anne Boleyn, even Queen Victoria showed their most vulnerable side. The book has stripped them down to their most fragile of emotions. It reveals their love letters.

The pages brought me to their bedrooms, with a candle burning in the dark, while guns are being fired in the backdrop. When elaborate headdresses and bouffant skirts line the streets worn by elegant women. It is the era of gentlemen, and sires, and of most gracious madams, that glorious period when a poet uses the words “adieu” for goodbye, “tis” for this and “thine” instead of yours.

I was particularly struck by how the issues between couples that we, in the age of Facebook and social media, also haunt our heroes in the distant past. For a brief moment, I was able to see through the eyes of Mozart as his heart ached in longing for his wife Constanze. During his numerous trips abroad away from her, he is illustrated as a regular husband empty without the love beside him. He added humor to his letters, and paints the picture of a happy marriage, true to their vows.

“To Contanze, Vienna, June 6, 1871,

“… I am delighted that you have a good appetite — but whoever gorges a lot must shit a lot — no, walk a lot I mean. But I should not like you to take long walks without me. I entreat you to follow my advice exactly for it comes from the heart. Adieu my love, my only love.”

John Keats, one of the greatest poets of the English language, is an ardent lover, endless in his pursuit to please his one true love. He was always jealous, always in agony. He died at 24, but throughout his brief highly exalted, but tragic existence, he was able to give an unwavering devotion to Fanny Brawne.

He wrote on July 8, 1819:

“I have vexed you too much. You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest, the last smile the brightest, the last movement the gracefullest.” He praised her to no end, making her feel like his entire existence has depended on her and the things that she goes through every day. He ached for her. Every bit of him knows that Fanny is the only aspect of his life that makes him completely happy. He ended his letter with such maddening fervent closure, “I cannot live without you, and not only you but chaste you, virtuous you. I would sooner die for want of you. Yours forever, J. Keats”

Who writes these days with such ignited ardor? Who uses the word “vex” anyway, and mean it in the most tender and nicest way possible? I believe it is not only these great men of profound genius should be left to ache in their love and longing, or to celebrate a passionate union and remembrance using but the simplest of tools they can lay their hands on. Why do we allow these masterpieces shaped by the human emotion to just fade away with time? We don’t need to be Anne Boleyn, trapped in her yearning, or infidelity to swell up in a letter of most desired forgiveness.

Or a Victor Hugo armed with all of his conflicting issues, to create a masterpiece of a letter to Adele Foucher, as he declares that his love’s letter “has restored peace to me. Your words this evening have filled me with happiness.” What happened to romance amid this world with its seemingly invincible cyberspace, with its pursuit of a paperless society and is as cold as the machines that dominate us? Wouldn’t it be good if for just a moment, we relieve ourselves of pride and arrogance and drown in this exquisite feeling of love for another and to express it without haste? We deserve to liberate our impassioned self and submit to our human complexities.

This collection has inspired me to write again on perfumed stationery and seal the envelope with a figurative kiss. Just like Josephine’s letter to Napoleon, I pray I will have that ignited fancy and be lost in a loving stupor, to end my literary piece with, “It is my entire heart that speaks to you. You also have just given me my share of happiness. Adieu, my friend, I thank you as tenderly as I shall always love you,” or something hardcore like that.

My best friend was right. Life and love are one and the same thing. If not, then it is worth nothing.