To Sofia, to be opened on 4 November 2036
Where I am now
It is 4 November 2026, a Wednesday, and I am writing this at the kitchen table in the flat in Lisbon. The window is open a little because the kitchen still smells of dinner. I am 29. I work as a junior architect, and most days I feel like I am still learning how to hold the pencil properly.
You are 39 now. I have no idea what that feels like, so I will just tell you what today feels like.
An ordinary day
- I take the number 28 tram to work. It is slow and crowded and I like it anyway, because I can look at the buildings and not think about anything.
- At the office I am drawing staircases for a school project. Just the staircases. I have thought more about treads and risers this month than I ever expected to.
- In the evening I come home and have dinner with Inês. We talk about her day and mine, and then one of us washes up and the other dries.
That is it. That is a good day, most of the time.
What I am worried about
I worry that I will never design a whole building myself. Not a staircase, not a detail, not a corner of someone else's plan - a building, from the first sketch to the last door handle. Some days this feels like a question of time and some days it feels like a question of whether I am good enough.
I also worry about Dad. His knee operation is in December and he keeps saying it is nothing. I keep saying I will come home for it. I hope by the time you read this it is a story we laugh about.
What I am proud of
In October I finished my first half marathon. I was slow, my legs hurt for three days, and I was so happy I cried at the finish line. I am writing it down here so that you cannot pretend it never happened.
What I hope will have changed
I hope you have your own studio. It does not need to be big. A room with a long table and decent light would do.
I hope you still draw by hand. Whatever the software does by now, I hope you still start with a pencil and a piece of paper, because that is where the thinking happens.
I hope you still take the tram sometimes, even if you no longer need to.
Questions for you
- Did you learn to swim properly? Really swim, not the thing I do now where I hold my breath and hope.
- Do you still call Grandma every Sunday?
- Are you still friends with Inês? Please say yes.
- Did you design the building?
A few words of kindness
Whatever the answers are, I want you to know that I am not keeping score. If the studio did not happen, if the building is still someone else's, that is all right. You were trying, and I was proud of you before you did any of it.
Be kind to your knees. Call Dad. Eat dinner with someone you like.
With love from the kitchen table,
Sofia