“Careful now, it’s really heavy. What could possibly be in there?” the postal employee half laughed, but his eyes flashed quickly from the huge box he had just set down on the counter to my face. The curious side of him wanted to know what had been sent from abroad that was too heavy for the front desk employees to carry.
I took back my Foreign Residency Card and signed the proof of delivery notice on his clipboard, smiling a little bit inside, as I replied:
He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. It may have been, “Is that so?” But he was needed elsewhere so he gave a sharp nod of his head before disappearing into the back room. It may have been that he thought I had meant something else entirely. In any case, my parents could have sent me any size box they wished with nothing but packing styrofoam. Or even filled with air. I still would have been happy.
It’s the little things in life. The little things – for some reason unknown – always seem to matter more.