Yesterday at a wedding the host handed me a jute gift bag with my name inscribed in gold. Rather than choosing an unremarkable gift bought in bulk, these were brilliantly customized to the receiver’s style, preference, and personality. What struck me was the effort and care taken to make the experience personal. When I returned home, on an impulse, almost immediately went on to spring clean my closet. As if the act of straightening and cleaning clothes, jewellery and all things sundry were the external impetus I required to tailor my life back to routine and claim my individuality, after several days of gastronomy and incessant peopling. The cleaning produced a travel postcard. I remembered the time when I had found it in my mailbox one February morning, waiting patiently like truth waiting to be discovered. Travel postcards were a norm in the 80’s and early 90’s, the time before emails and texts. I remember my mother receiving such postcards from an older cousin living abroad when I was young. On one side, a photograph, perhaps of a flower she knew my mother (her aunt) would appreciate or scenery. At other times, a beach, or a local city market. On the reverse, just enough space for a quick intimate update written by hand, signed in blue or black on a white background with one profound word on the bottom right-hand corner: ‘love.’
Personalize: verb: cause to become concerned with personalities or feelings rather than with general or abstract matters.
Vanilla Hues 