There's a time slot in our schedule for writing letters. Which is strange. I think it's supposed to be comforting, knowing that you have that little bit of time to yourself. In reality, though, it just reinforces how isolated we are from the rest of our lives.

Texting or speaking on the phone is so much easier. Spontaneous. Whether I'm worried about someone, or want to share something that just happened, I can do it right then. Or I can just snap a picture to remind myself. Now I have to hoard news and feelings throughout the day and dig them up when I'm allowed to.

And that's so much harder than it sounds.

The first few evenings we all sat there, staring almost dumbfounded at the empty sheets in front of us, trying to remember things worth writing about that had happened that day. It doesn't help that by the time our schedule has progressed that far it's almost curfew and you're so tired you can barely see straight.

So all you talk about is dinner and that you're sleeping well enough, and all the funny little things you've seen, heard and thought of during the day get forgotten. Which is a shame, really, because they're the things you want to remember, the things you want your family to know so they don't worry about you.

I used to scribble down snatches of lyrics on my phone's notepad app all the time. Ready to share with the others, insurance against forgetting things that meant something to me. It's not so different here. There are many things I want to remember, so, maybe, that's what I need to do. Re-learn how to remember things that matter. After all, pen and paper aren't any trickier to carry than a phone.