A Letter to Myself, One Year Later: My Visit to Jiyucho

If you were to write a letter to your future self, what would you tell them? And if you could hear from yourself a year ago, what would you want to know? These were the questions on my mind when I first heard about Jiyucho, a space in Tokyo where you can pause, reflect, and write a letter that will find its way back to you exactly one year later.

I went there over a year ago, unsure of what I’d put down on paper. At the time, it felt almost like sending a message in a bottle—except the ocean was time, and the person who would discover it was me. Then, at the end of June, the letter I had written finally arrived. Reading words I had forgotten I wrote, from a version of myself I had almost lost track of, turned out to be a pleasant surprise. 

Having gone through both the writing and the receiving, I want to share what Jiyucho is all about, why it stayed with me, and what you might take away from the experience, too.

What is Jiyucho?

Jiyucho（自由丁, JIYUCHO）isn’t a café, a bookstore, or a co-working space—though it borrows pieces from all three. It’s best described as a creative retreat in Kuramae, Tokyo, where the main offering is time with yourself. The name comes from “自由帳” (jiyu-cho, or free notebook), the kind children use to draw or scribble freely, without worrying about being right or wrong. That’s the spirit here too: a place where your thoughts, however messy or incomplete, are welcome.

Its signature experience is the TOMOSHIBI POST, a service that lets you write a letter to your future self, seal it away, and then receive it one year later in the mail. Beyond that, Jiyucho also offers quiet desks for reading or writing, shelves filled with books that feel like community treasures, and walls where visitors can leave behind fragments of their own reflections. It’s part writing salon, part reading nook, part sanctuary from Tokyo’s constant rush.

The Man Behind Jiyucho

Jiyucho was founded by Shohei Koyama (小山将平), a poet and essayist with a deep love for words. His vision was simple but profound: to create a place where people could reconnect with themselves through writing. He wanted to reintroduce the same freedom we experience in childhood to adulthood, turning it into a space where people could put their inner lives into words without judgment.

Koyama’s background in poetry is everywhere in Jiyucho. Lines of verse hang on the walls, and there’s a literary sensibility woven into the atmosphere that makes you want to slow down and listen to your own thoughts. He believes in the value of “time with unanswered questions,” and that belief is at the heart of Jiyucho’s concept.

In recent years, Koyama also expanded his vision with a nearby sister space called Futo (封灯), continuing his mission of creating havens where words, reflection, and creativity are given space to breathe. His influence lingers in every corner of Jiyucho—it feels less like a business and more like an ongoing poem you get to step inside.

Why Visit Jiyucho?

Tokyo has no shortage of cafés and co-working spots, but Jiyucho stands apart because it isn’t about productivity or ticking things off a to-do list. It’s about giving yourself permission to pause. Whether you’re writing a letter to your future self, journaling through something on your mind, or just sitting in silence with a book, the space is designed to honor the act of slowing down.

There’s also something grounding about knowing that your words will come back to you a year later. It makes you more intentional with what you write—less about documenting daily minutiae and more about capturing feelings, hopes, or even worries you want to remember (or move past). For travelers, it’s an especially meaningful way to mark a moment in your journey through Tokyo, leaving behind a time capsule you’ll open long after your trip is over.

Jiyucho isn’t just worth visiting because it’s unique; it’s worth visiting because it reminds you that your inner voice deserves as much attention as the busy streets outside.

My Experience Visiting Jiyucho

I first went to Jiyucho as part of filming my YouTube video Stories that Stationeries Tell. I’ve always thought of stationery as silent witnesses of our lives, and Jiyucho made such a strong case for that idea.

When I arrived, a couple was just finishing their letters to their future selves. I couldn’t help but think what a lovely way that would be to mark an anniversary—though at the same time, I wondered how bittersweet it might be to receive that letter a year later if things had changed between them.

Inside, the atmosphere was dreamy. Much of the furniture was wooden, which instantly set a reflective mood. The lone staff member greeted me warmly and led me to a long wooden desk with protruding bookshelves on the wall. It felt like I had plenty of space just for myself. Nearby, there was a table with colored pencils, stamps, and other writing tools; a wall strung with letters; and a semi-private corner table that could seat four people.

I was handed a menu of themes to choose from, each tied to a different postcard design and a set of guiding questions. Once I picked my theme, I started writing. To my surprise, the words flowed nonstop for nearly two hours. Where was this momentum when I’m trying to draft a YouTube script, I thought to myself with a laugh. With some time to spare, I decorated my postcard with hand-drawn hydrangeas before handing it over. The staff even snapped a photo of me, printed it, and tucked it inside the envelope with my letter.

Then came one of my favorite parts—sealing the envelope with wax. It was my first time, and I got to choose the colors, melt the wax myself, and press down the stamp with the letter “M.” Watching the wax harden into a seal felt oddly satisfying, like putting a period at the end of a very personal sentence.

I left Jiyucho feeling lighter, as if I’d given my thoughts an outlet and a safe place to rest. Just the act of writing, without distraction or expectation, was already worth the visit.

Receiving the Letter

Memories can be tricky. The letter was always at the back of my mind, almost like a quiet motivation. I wanted to receive it knowing I had grown into a better version of myself than the year before. I had always thought I wrote it in August, so imagine my surprise when it showed up at the end of June. Opening my mailbox, I found the envelope wrapped in plastic, protecting everything inside.

The first thing I pulled out was the instant photo. Wow—I really hadn’t cared much about how I looked when I filmed that day. A lot has changed since then, and honestly, I think I look better now.

Then came the letter itself. I knew how it would begin: with the acknowledgment that if I was reading it, it meant I was alive, and for that I was thankful. But the rest? I didn’t remember writing any of it. What touched me most was the ending, where I had written a note of encouragement: a reminder that I was loved, and that I was enough. Reading those words from my past self felt oddly comforting, almost as though someone else had written them for me. It was strange but also warm—proof that sometimes we can be our own source of reassurance.

Just as I had filmed my visit to Jiyucho, I also recorded myself opening the letter to commemorate the moment. It turned out to be unexpectedly cathartic, like a conversation across time.

Know Before You Go

Address	4-11-2 Kuramae, Taito-ku, Tokyo
Nearest Station	3 minutes on foot from Kuramae Station (Toei Asakusa Line)
Opening Hours	Wed–Fri: 1:00pm–6:00pm; Sat, Sun & Holidays: 10:00am–8:00pm
Closed	Mondays & Tuesdays (check Instagram/website for updates)
Reservations	Recommended, especially on weekends

Pricing

Jiyucho uses a dynamic pricing system (価格変動制), meaning the cost changes depending on the day of the week and time of day. Weekends, especially afternoons, are usually the busiest and therefore priced slightly higher. For the most accurate and up‑to‑date prices, always check their official website.

Service	Weekdays	Weekends/Holidays (Open–12:00)	Weekends/Holidays (13:00–16:00)	Weekends/Holidays (17:00–close)
TOMOSHIBI LETTER	¥3,080	¥3,740	¥4,070	¥3,740
A CUP OF LETTER	¥800	¥990	¥990	¥990
REST (3 hours)	¥1,320	¥1,980	¥2,420	¥1,980

Extras

• Flower at seat: ¥1,650
• Cheki instant photo: ¥330 (Jiyucho)
• Overseas postage: additional ¥1,100
• Take-out version (Tomoshibi Letter Set): ¥2,750

What Each Option Means

• TOMOSHIBI LETTER: The signature experience where you write a letter to your future self, seal it with wax, and have it mailed back to you one year later.
• A CUP OF LETTER: A lighter version combining a drink and a piece of writing to read, designed for a shorter, more casual pause.
• REST (3 hours): Use of the space for reading, working, or simply reflecting quietly without writing a letter.

Tips for Visiting

• Book ahead on weekends—the space is small and intimate, so spots fill quickly.
• Take your time—set aside at least two hours to fully immerse yourself in the experience.
• Bring your own stationery if you want to use pens or tools you’re comfortable with, though supplies are provided.
• Lean into reflection—don’t worry about making your letter perfect. Let the words flow.
• Explore Kuramae after your visit—the neighborhood is full of indie cafés and craft shops that pair beautifully with Jiyucho’s reflective vibe.

How to Get There

Jiyucho is located in Kuramae, an area known for its creative studios and calm atmosphere, just one stop away from Asakusa. The easiest way to get there is by taking the Toei Asakusa Line to Kuramae Station, then walking about three minutes. From the station, it’s a straightforward stroll through quiet streets until you see the unassuming entrance that feels more like stepping into a retreat than a shop.

A Closing Note to Myself (and You)

Jiyucho isn’t just about writing a letter; it’s about making space for reflection in a city that rarely slows down. Receiving my letter reminded me that growth isn’t always loud or obvious—it can be quietly recorded in ink, sealed in an envelope, and rediscovered a year later when you need it most. If you’re visiting Tokyo and looking for more than just sights to see, Jiyucho offers something rarer: a conversation with yourself that waits patiently to be heard.