On a warm Wednesday morning in May, I sent two medium-sized boxes on their way, hoping against hope that between the Korean Post Office, the South African Post Office and two customs departments they’d arrive in one piece. The first one arrived today.

I set off with ID and R25 customs duty, alerted by a parcel slip in the mail. The Post Office teller looked utterly bewildered, which did not bode well. Luckily, she had a friend and between them it took a mere 15 minutes to locate my 1 box. Another 10 minutes and I was walked out. It was an easy late-winter day – sun, blue-sky, jasmine – very similar, now that I think about it, to the day I posted the boxes. I found myself feeling strangely prickly and protective. I wanted to get to where I could be alone with my box. This box, with its twin still to come, was the last part of me to come home, my last link to another world so very far away.

Back home, I opened it. Three months (almost to the day) since I packed, I had no idea what to expect. Inside was a smaller box stuck closed with sticky-tape. It began to come back to me. I remembered the frantic packing and the long walk to the Post Office. Somewhere in here was a mug I got at the Opera. I wondered if it was still intact. The small box contained little mementos – one or two things from my Korean Christmas, the miniature windsock from when we went paragliding, a bracelet I bought at that temple we went to on that Daegu City Bus Tour.

Underneath was the backpack I bought at that little shop in Suncheon, that last epic weekend when I went to see the Islands. I’d packed it full of clothes – clothes I’d almost forgotten existed. Summer clothes I’ll be glad of soon. Depth-of-winter clothes I may never use again: long underwear, heavy denim jeans, my coat, so crumpled I’m going to have to get it dry-cleaned.

I sat on the floor with that coat in my hands and the memories flooding back. I remember the day I bought it. A random day on my way to school. I stopped at Fashion Exchange opposite the bus stop. They had racks of coats outside. What did I know about buying coats? The only coats I’d owned had been second-hand imports I’d never worn more than once or twice in a winter. But here I was going to need a coat so I took the one that fitted. It was the first winter thing I bought and my comfort against the cold for all those months. It felt so strange to have it here, now, back in my real world. All these things. As if the memory of another lifetime had somehow arrived in the post.