It is undoubtedly one of those Instagram traps that I fell for! One day, as I was endlessly browsing on that ill-fated app, I came across a cafe called ‘Café Pli’ in Paris. Here, I saw a travel influencer writing a letter to her future self that was then scheduled to arrive in 5 years’ time. At the back of my mind, I knew that this is another capitalistic endeavor of the booming ‘self-love’ industry that is heavily pushed to the younger generations. Since I have willingly participated in far worse flashy gimmicks, I decided to take the bait and pay a visit to the cafe. Luckily, I had a trip planned for Paris during this Easter weekend. Since I’ve been to Paris a couple of times in the past, I was on the lookout for doing some not-so-touristic things, and this activity, in particular, stood out to me. I have to admit, this is the first of its kind, which makes the concept so unique.
I had to reserve two spots at least two months in advance. The concept of the cafe is quite simple: you choose a time period – months, 5, or 20 years. The amount you pay at the end is priced depending on when you want your letter to arrive. The longer the wait, the more you pay. You can choose the type of paper, the decorations, the stickers, and a theme card for your letter. In total, the weight of the letter cannot exceed 20 grams. Once your letter has been composed, you choose the type of seal wax and place it in the respective month-year slot. You pay 25 euros for the whole ordeal, and it includes a free drink!
The cafe is relatively small, and there were two young ladies trying to manage everything by themselves. I noticed that the customer base was quite international. I, an Indian, was there with my husband, who is Swedish. There were French- and German-speaking ladies on the tables next to us. Soon, a group of young Spanish-speaking crowd arrived and filled up the upstairs section of the cafe. For a brief few minutes, the whole room was silent; the pens moved briskly, and we were lost in our letters.
What can I possibly say to myself in 5 years? I don’t even know where I’m going to live! I left home at 18 and have moved ever since. At present, I do not feel at home anywhere. Clouded by anxiety and the state of the world, I do not know if I will ever find stability – my home and tribe. I hope I do; and this yearning made up the first section of my letter.
The second part of my letter spoke of learning to live with grief. Last year, my cousin and best friend died of brain stroke, and I’ve never been the same. Unknowingly to me, I had placed so much of my emotional well-being on her that now, when she is gone, I do not know how to grow around that void. I am shy, introverted, and very afraid of making connections. Growing up in a dysfunctional family with a narcissistic mother will do that to you. I no longer have anyone to share the little glimmers and inconsequential happenings of everyday life. Since she fell ill, I managed to get married, save money, publish poems, travel, join body ballet classes, resume modelling, and yet, something is not quite right. I miss her, and in five years’ time, I hope I am in a better place than today.
In the last part of the letter, I wrote about my relationship. Managing my emotional outbursts is a work in progress, and I expect to get better at it in the months and years to come. Ludvig has been nothing but kind, sweet, and patient with me. He has a great relationship with his parents, which is lovely to see. In contrast, I couldn’t wait to get away and break all contact with my abusive, narcissistic mother. Throughout my childhood, I have picked up unpleasant behavioral patterns, which used to show up in my relationship from time to time. I have gotten so much better at conflict resolution, choosing my battles, and not being avoidant when things get rough. I aspire to be better, especially for my future children, if I ever decide to have them.
Now that I’ve left Paris, I often find myself wondering how I’ll feel when I receive the letter in five years’ time. At best, it will be a kind of historical time capsule and a playful reminder of a fleeting Parisian moment. At worst, it may reflect changes I’d rather not face, though I sincerely hope that isn’t the case.
I realize this isn’t my usual kind of post, and I’m not entirely sure what compelled me to write it. Perhaps it’s because, like the letter itself, these words come from a place of unfiltered honesty – something I’m learning to embrace again after a very long time.
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