I was rummaging through my suitcase when it fell out—the crimson envelope.
Faded ink. A sticker in place of postage. I immediately recognized the handwriting.
Miniature and exquisite, it spelled out my name: Dear Kana.
I raised an eyebrow and thought to myself, How long ago was this from?
But before I could think twice, the train shifted its weight. I sat down and adjusted myself.
I’d forgotten to place my suitcase in the overhead bin, so I held it on my lap instead. The train entered a tunnel, and the windows darkened.
My fingers brushed over the envelope, and I began to open it gingerly.
It was a greeting card with neon balloons on the front, outlined with silver. The writing was in italics: To my dearest friend.
How long has it been since I received a greeting card? I thought to myself.
I didn’t know.
I opened the card and scanned the writing. The letters were small and neat, so very characteristic of a girl I once knew.
I began to read the letter.
Dear future Kana,
I hope everything is going well for you. I just want you to know—no matter where you are or what you’ve done—I love you. I have loved you for such a long time. I’ve been there, through the good days and the bad. I was there when you struggled in high school, when your best friend turned her back on you, and it felt like it was you against the whole world. I was there when you fell in love for the first time... and when you fell out of it. I remember how you cried beneath your blanket after the breakup, trying to hide your muffled sobs. I remember how you always managed to wipe away the remaining tears the next morning.
You went on to college and wanted to try anything new. You met amazing friends, joined new clubs, and even learned to sing in the choir. Your singing wasn’t perfect, but after months of practice, I could hear the depth and emotion in your voice. It was the same voice that would hum softly while you wandered the grocery aisle, as if washing away your worries with courage and a bit of faith. You chose to believe, even when it was hard, that tomorrow might be better.
But, to be honest, sometimes I am scared, Kana. I’m scared of what the future holds. I’ve worked hard yet some obstacles seem insurmountable. Nights like these, I can’t seem to close my exhausted eyes. I’m scared—what if I can’t become the person I want to be? I feel trapped in this pit of my journey, unable to crawl out.
Will you remember? Ten years from now—the night your world came crashing down? When you didn’t get the contracted job you wanted and were sent to work on the other side of the country? Three years away from home—your worst-case scenario.
I’m living that moment now. Earlier tonight, I was lying in the bathtub, thinking about how much of a failure I must be for missing the chance to return home. I’ve been away for too long. I miss Dad complaining about his clients’ troubles. I miss Grandma making chicken broth every Wednesday, and yet she now spends the night in hospice. They’re getting older, and so am I. I’m missing out so much.
Yet here I am, stuck at this crossroads. Do I fulfill my contract or give up and go home?
Why do I feel like I don’t belong anywhere? I just want to go home.
Future Kana, tell me that everything is alright ten years from now. Tell me you finished the contract, became a permanent hire, moved back home, and achieved your dream career. Tell me you saved enough money to go travel with dad, and buy him the watch he has always wanted.
And that man—the one who was supposed to sweep you off your feet—did he ever show up?
He feels terribly late. I’ve waited for him at the bus stop near campus, at the luggage carousel in a crowded airport, and late at night until the break of dawn. I keep wondering why he hasn’t come. Or when I thought he did, he turned out to be just another passerby—not someone meant to stay.
I’ve pictured him so many times. Would he have long curls or cropped hair? Would his smile be framed by dimples, or would his eyes crinkle when he grins? Would his hands stay warm after holding mine for hours? Would he love me the same way before we sleep and when I wake up beside him?
But, Kana, if these things don’t happen—if you don’t get the career you’ve dreamed of, if you don’t make it back home, if you never meet “the one”—that’s okay. I want you to know, it’s okay.
I have never, even for a moment, doubted you. I’ve never doubted your strength, courage, or perseverance. I’ve never doubted the light in your heart or your ability to come through in the hardest situations. You deserve love, and to be loved. And even if, at this moment, you feel desperately lonely, know this: I love you. I have loved you above all else. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Even as I ache deeply, I lend my courage to you.
I hope you defeat all odds, survive every outcome, and hold onto the hope in your heart as you move forward.
With love,
Kana from 2014.
The train emerged from the tunnel, and sunlight poured through the windows, casting a gentle glow.
It was warm and soft, caressing my skin.
I set the letter down, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
I’d almost forgotten—somewhere out there, beyond the bounds of time, someone once loved me so fervently.
The girl Kana used to be had loved me, despite not knowing what the future would hold.
Even if I’m far from home, even if my career fell short of expectations, even if the love of my life never shows up—somewhere out there, I was loved.
I let out a breath, clutching the letter tightly in my hands.
Thank you, Kana.