Chosen as an exchange student, I was living in a small coastal town in southeast Queensland, Australia, during 1983. In the spring, I met an outgoing Australian exchange student named Peter. Peter was tall, dark and handsome, and we swooned for each other.

He was headed to medical school upon his return from his post in Sweden, which would begin soon, and I had vowed to follow an international path of business or law so we could be together again one day after my stint Down Under concluded. So, prior to his departure, he and I became fast friends, attending the various functions required of our sponsoring clubs, dancing and laughing and running barefoot in the sand.

Peter departed in the winter (the summer for Sweden), vowing to keep in touch as 17-year-olds do. We began exchanging postcards. (A lifeline when one finds oneself in a foreign culture!)

Meanwhile, my eldest sister had obtained a scholarship to the University of Leningrad (now St. Petersburg), Russia, to finish up her undergraduate degree in Russian languages and literature abroad.

One day, I received two postcards: one from Peter and one from Laura. Here's a paraphrase of what they both had to say in their respective notes to me:

My sister Laura was on a train in Finland for a holiday weekend when she heard an English speaker. She approached him asking him where he was from. He said, "Australia." So, as people do, halfway around the world, she said, "Oh, really? My sister is an exchange student living in Australia right now! Maybe you know her?" And Peter said, "Oh, well, I'm on a Rotary Scholarship, and Australia's a big place, but what's her name?" And Laura said, "Oh, so is she, her name is Kristen!"

It was then that Peter's jaw dropped, and both became speechless across five languages. After confirming my identity to his satisfaction, they spent the next few hours chatting on the train.

I never found out what else they spoke about that day, but the simultaneous postcards blew my mind -- what a freakin' small world!