Writing a Diary (Tentative) April 12, 2026 | A Letter from Myself on That Day
I often watch a variety show where experts appraise old or rare items found in homes and reveal their 'true value'.
Whether I watch from the beginning, in the middle, or even if I've seen it before, it's always interesting. It's wonderful content.
Sometimes, the show features things like love letters from historical figures, requests for loans, or letters of apology—items that make me think, 'Isn't this a leak of private correspondence?' Is that really okay?
Moreover, these are usually personal property rather than items from museums or archives, so it's a bit confusing.
I live with the determination never to write letters, just in case my own handwritten letters are ever made public, which would be a problem.
Then, one day.
Among the stack of envelopes I took from the mailbox, there was one addressed to my father-in-law, and it made my heart skip a beat.
When I flipped it over, the sender was also my father-in-law.
The meticulous handwriting was also his.
What does this mean?
My father-in-law passed away a long time ago.
A letter from the dead to the dead! Why now?
I was confused, but the trick was soon revealed.
It was a letter written in response to a call for 'Letters to Yourself in 10 Years' as part of a commemorative project by the municipality where he used to live.
After my father-in-law passed away, my mother-in-law decided to dispose of their home and moved to Tokyo on impulse.
I thought the mail that was supposed to arrive at his old address would have lost its way after 10 years, but it was safely forwarded to Tokyo. Thank you, postal worker.
My father-in-law was meticulous; he always kept his hair parted to the side, combed neatly, and never forgot his cologne. He was a man who cared about his appearance.
After retiring, while enjoying a leisurely life, he mastered his hobby of folk songs and even became an instructor.
I remember the scene at his funeral, where many of his students surrounded his coffin and sang his signature song as a 'farewell'.
A letter written to his future self by my father-in-law, that silver-haired gentleman.
Is it okay to read it? Or rather, is it okay to show this to my mother-in-law in the first place? Will she get teary-eyed?
I was worried, but my husband said, 'Just give it to her,' quite nonchalantly.
In fact, when my mother-in-law saw the letter, she smiled and said,
'Such a thick letter, it's just like him.'
'The future' is far away, and the boat of life carrying us is drifting slowly across the ocean toward it.
The brightness of the horizon before dawn illuminates the surroundings, but the mist rising from the water makes it impossible to see far ahead.
We don't know what lies ahead for our little boat.
A great waterfall leading to the depths of the earth might be waiting with its mouth open.
Sea monsters like sirens or krakens might be lying in wait.
Ten years ago, my father-in-law, who was already suffering from a chest illness at the time, might have had a premonition that by the time this letter arrived...
We cannot stop the ship heading into the future. We cannot change its destination.
Even so, did he decide that he wanted to convey words to his future self?
I imagine he looked back on the path he had walked, felt proud of having lived a good life, and penned his thoughts in the hope that he could reach a peaceful future if possible.
It must have been an act akin to a prayer.
I thought about such things while listening to my mother-in-law read the letter aloud.
We, who travel in a boat without sails, can receive messages of support from our past selves.
I wondered if there were other services like that, and when I looked it up, I found some surprisingly close by.
Maybe I should take a moment to write a message to myself.
Aiming for a masterpiece that will remain for posterity... No, I'd be in trouble if it were taken to an appraisal show, so I'll keep it modest (laughs).
I'll write a letter to myself one year from now.
Because my future self will surely be at a loss on that little boat, too.