I have wrapped up all our shared memories in a paper box,
covered by light blue plastic paper and sealed with tape.
I don't like bows, paper flowers, or other cheap decorations,
and a square box is just what I want.
I will call the delivery man to pick it up,
he will charge me an additional three dollars
for another cardboard box to wrap it in,
and then send it off for me.
The delivery will begin as air cargo,
and upon landing will be transported by truck.
I didn't choose expedited shipping,
so reaching your place will take about seven working days.
The delivery person might be careless
and leave it on someone else's doorstep.
So, if by that day you haven't received it,
you can take a look at other people's homes.
(But be careful not to be mistaken for a thief and reported.)
I must leave for an unfamiliar place,
where nothing was familiar to me except soil and plants.
I have to burn each piece of soil into bricks to build my house,
and plant each apple seed into apple trees
to have something to eat.
If I'm lucky, I'll meet strangers, learn their language,
and understand why
they name December after shooting stars.
Then I'll write letters to my friends,
hopefully, I can begin writing when the apples ripen.
The plastic wrap may have faded by then.
And the colour will have seeped into the cardboard box.
By then, I hope that you have already opened this package.
Otherwise, you might appear blue
in the memories that you see.
Cindy Ye is a graduate school admissions advisor and a sustainability advocate. Her writing explores bonds between individuals that go beyond verbal communication and conventional interactions.