Postcards are a novelty, rendered irrelevant even before the internet was in full swing. The earliest postcard was created by Theodore Hook in 1840 with hand-painted designs. He would post them to himself for reasons unclear. He was either trying to stress test those pieces of cardboard or it was all just a sick prank on the post offices. But now, the concept and personal aspect of postcards are fading and never got an authentic replacement. Postcards today are presented with coloured photographs of famous tourist spots for collectors and people with incredible patience to wait for a reply in the mail.
Postcards, in essence, are vehicles for stories. Where you’ve been, what you’ve done and who you cared enough about that you went through the hassle of sending it by post. They tell stories of travel experiences, personal feelings and long-distance relationships,
So what would you do when these deeply personal postcards started showing up at your doorstep without anyone to claim it?
Back in 2018, I lived in a shared house with a few tenants not too far from campus. All was well until a postcard was delivered to our house. The postcard had a painting of a lady in a large purple dress playing the guitar. She had a large smile under her equally large purple and yellow sombrero. To the side of her read the words in large block letters “GREETINGS FROM MEXICO CITY!”. It was addressed to a person named Jie, from what I assume to be a dashing man with wavy hair named Paulo.
At first, I paid it no mind as it would be rude to look at someone else’s private mail. So I left it on the kitchen table, hoping it’d be claimed by anyone in the house. Eventually, a week went by and a thin film of dust began to dull the bright colours of the girl’s sombrero.
Naturally, my curiosity started to peak as a housemate confirmed that multiple times that no one in the house was named Jie. So in a small moment when our wills gave in and the thirst to be a Scooby-Doo character was strong, we picked up the postcard, flipped it over and started reading it.
Dear Jie,
How are you? Are you doing well? I’m doing fine.
Been struggling to get a job. If I don’t get one soon, I can’t pay rent.
But don’t worry, a friend would let me stay with him.
I hope you reply soon, thinking of you makes my long days a little bit shorter.
Love,
Paulo
My housemate and I exchanged looks. Our hands were stained with the blue ink that it was written in and the guilt of what we’ve done. This was super personal and we just intruded on their privacy. So we shoved it to the back of our minds and left it on the kitchen table once again. Soon, the postcard was thrown away and we sort of forgot about it.
Until the next one showed up.
Dear Jie,
How are you? Are you doing well?
I’ve got a job now, as a waiter.
It doesn’t pay enough to cover rent, but I’ll be ok for a few more months.
I hope you get back to me, I miss you and really want to know how you are doing.
Love,
Paulo
These postcards were developing into a full-on soap opera. Wanting to know more, we decided to look into Paulo and Jie. We tried looking online but only went so far with having only both of their first names as a guide. We asked the other housemates about previous tenants but it came up short. Once again, we were left hanging as did the postcard on the edge of the kitchen table until it was ultimately discarded.
At this point, we were fully expecting a third one to appear. So we waited patiently for more clues. A couple of months later, Paulo delivered.
Dear Jie,
How are you? Are you doing well?
I’ve quit my job as a waiter.
I couldn’t keep it up, rent needs to get paid.
Found a new job at my uncle’s tour agency as a tour guide.
Things might finally start to look up.
I hope it’s the same for you.
Miss you,
Paulo
As the months went by, a few more postcards came in, most of them the same and we followed the story as if it was a subscription service to a novel that would only send us one chapter every couple of months. Paulo talked more about his job, their happy and romantic times in Melbourne, while a few fantasizing about a future that only my housemate and I knew were never going to happen.
In late October, one last postcard arrived. This one soaked by the spring rain causing the blue ink bled to the side. Luckily for us, enough of the postcard was preserved for us to piece it together.
Dear Jie,
How are you? Are you doing well?
How are your parents? If they are stopping you from replying, you can tell me.
I have a good job now, I’m making people happy.
In a few more months, I would have enough to fly back to Melbourne.
We can talk to your parents together, help them understand.
Please get back to me, I really miss you.
Love,
Paulo.
This last postcard we received gave the most clues of all but we were never able to see its conclusion. We were forced to move out of the place as our landlord decided to scrap the house. The place we came to call home, the place where Paulo might one day return to, the place that Jie will no longer be.
Who were Jie and Paulo? How did they meet and what happened to them? Were they in an interracial relationship that wasn’t approved by Jie’s family? So many unanswered questions that can only be filled with speculation and a healthy dose of fan fiction.
My housemate and I would imagine that both Jie and Paulo had a huge travel lust, were extroverted and have a great appreciation of the vintage. Either that or Paulo was just so deep in student debt that he couldn’t afford Wi-Fi and had to resort to postcards.
Let’s be optimistic and assume it’s the former. They might have both met at Monash, stayed in the same house and eventually started a relationship. Eventually, university ends, lease and visas end and they were forced away from each other. The one part of their future together that they thought would be certain was challenged over and over by Jie’s parents, society, life and it was eventually pried open by the unforgiving hands of Australia’s migration system.
Now they are both alone, a planet apart. Jie, back with her parents, carrying on with her life hoping for any word from Paulo. Meanwhile, Paulo sits in his small apartment, broke and facing the trials of the real world alone.
Or Paulo could just be a creepy stalker, we would never know.
Every postcard tells a story, but a string of them from a stranger tells an epic tale of life after graduation, long-distance relationships and promises that will never be fulfilled.