An ode to all pens
As I attempt to restart this blog for what I think is now the third time, I got to thinking of all the writing that had gone before it. Analogue and digital. Ideas for blog posts that never became anything more than a concept, an idea, a blurb or two with some inane quotes to encapsulate the subject in a digestible, tl;dr kind of fashion. Some even made it to almost perfect and then I hesitated, Publish, or Draft. I practically mourn the writing that could have been, what the practice of doing so could have become, but that is life, a lesson learnt.
I recalled my first exploits writing and being lauded for it; the year was 2000, I even remember the article I wrote for my 6th form AS-level English Language class, it was called Rage Against the Machine, an article on the degradation of the English language and the exponential rise of initialisms and acronyms replacing phrases and well pretty much anything else, I remember it for several reasons but one of them was because I think it was the first A grade I ever received. It was the start of something I have always been on the cusp of achieving, the writing, not the grade. I usually hoard everything, especially digitally, I wish I still had it but in the aim of leaving some things behind and moving on, so to speak, I decided to delete it. In hindsight, I wish I could revisit it, see what if anything was still true and maybe write a follow-up 20 odd years later.
I wrote from time to time, but never thinking it was worth more than paper it was written on and there it remained for some time. In some cases digitised for my own posterity.
To all the pens I have owned, I’m sorry, the potential, the ideas that slipped away, the novels we could have authored, shopping lists we could have written, the pens that got lost, given away, stolen, borrowed (but never returned). I miss you all!
As much as I try to fight it, I’m digital, I have a love for the analogue but it is time to admit it is nothing more than a torrid affair, a lame attempt to rekindle that love for the written word. The love before I discovered the mighty computer and keyboard. The consistency of the lettering, the clarity, the ability to edit, comment, move words, sentences, paragraphs and so much more was too much to resist!
I also admit, my handwriting has never been up to muster, I try and fail, I try and fail, in perpetuity. My mother once likened my handwriting to an ant, falling in a vat of ink, managing to climb out and then scurrying scared across the page. My handwriting it seems is art mimicking life or life mimicking art, I can never remember which way round it was. What ever it is, it sounded much harsher in Punjabi!
The funny thing is, I recently actually did manage to start (though quite some time ago) and recently finish using the same pen. I remember feeling incredibly accomplished. It was a joyous moment. I thought about taking a picture of it and writing this very piece. And then I lost it…