When a Parcel Becomes a Piece of Home

Sometimes I think that if someone asked me what exactly I do… I wouldn’t be able to explain it in one word.

I don’t just move parcels from England to Bulgaria.

It’s not just logistics. It’s not just transport.

We bring what people are missing.

We deliver pieces of love that stayed far away.

In a box, in a carton, in a jar of homemade lutenitsa, placed with trembling hands…

or in a pair of new shoes, sent with the hope: “So that you don’t lack anything, mom.”

I have seen grandmothers waiting with a smile… and tears in their eyes.

I have seen mothers hugging a parcel as if it were their child.

And grandfathers who say nothing, but look for a long time – and just nod.

We are a bridge.

Between those who left to help…

and those who stayed behind, praying silently every night.

I know what it means to live abroad.

I know what it means to be far away and to pay with time, with missed holidays,

with silence on birthdays, with turned-over photos because they hurt.

I know what it means to be in a foreign country, while your heart is in the next room – but… it’s not there.

And that’s why this work is not just business.

It’s personal.

Very personal.

We don’t carry boxes.

We carry feelings. Memories. Warmth.

And when I see someone waiting with excitement…

I tell myself:

Yes. This is worth it.

This is real.

This is life.

✍️ Cenka Koleva