Special boxes lie at the bottom of my locked filing cabinet. Deposited there are important letters and cards collected throughout my life, from my grandparents, school friends, parents, wife and son. Since the invention of e-mail though, they've been few and far between.
Tonight is New York's Eve 2029 and there's a very special box of letters I want to look at. But first there's something I have to do – The Ritual (惯例).
I go to my trusted computer and start. I begin to type: Dear -- . I leave the name blank for now, anticipating the thrill of typing it in. "I hope you are well and I wonder how this will find you. And you still planning to move to that villa in Portugal? Did your son marry Fiona? Is your mother still alive? Questions surge into my mind.
For the next two hours I sit writing. About what I've been doing for the last year, my failing health, my increasing wealth and sometime difficult marriage. Then about my goals and ambitions. Will he be interested? Do I climb Mt. Kilimanjaro? Do I get that novel published? the one that's been rejected more times than I carte to think about.
Finally, it's finished. 11:30 pm. I fill in the recipient's name, print my letter, sign and address it and then seal it up with tape. I then delete the document and empty the trash folder – to avoid the possibility of temptation. That completes the ritual!
I walk over to my "special box". It contains ten long, white, thick envelopes, all with the same handwriting. I place the one I have just written in at the back and take out the one at the front. It's dated 2019, and labelled "to be opened 31st December 2029".
The cycle is finally complete! I open it, trembling with anticipation. I begin to read, my eyes tearing up a little as I do so. Throughout the last ten long, eventful years, of life, death, joy and heartbreak, it has been waiting patiently in this box for me, though I now have no memory of ever having written it.
