A very late thank you to Daniel of the Oddity Writer who went out of his way to write about this lil’ ol’ blog. Again, he’s been extremely kind in sharing the word, even though I have been (embarrassingly) missing-in-action. It’s good to be back. What I like is that Daniel can appreciate the diversity of writing styles.
I don’t think he realizes this, but that is a huge step in acceptance and peace. Recognizing the differences between yourself and another being and celebrating them is what makes us unique. A point of difference is all it takes to either make peace or start a fight. And for those who have experienced pain in forms that most people don’t have to worry about, you have my respect.
There are some things that still haven’t changed. I still don’t have a smartphone. I’m no hipster, but I just don’t really see the point in one right now (I’m a sucker for screenlogging). However, I have a weakness for stationery and I just bought myself my first fountain pen. It may seem outdated in the day and age of computers, tablets and smartphones but there’s just something extremely personal about handwriting. I’m glad that I have at least one friend that shares my point-of-view and she will send me things through snail mail just because she knows that I enjoy reading her squiggles and loops. It’s also reassuring to know that other people make mistakes when they write too.
Perhaps this is going off into a tangent, but in the name of privacy it isn’t illegal to read another person’s email. It is however, illegal to open another person’s mail. The messages that pass through the Internet are like postcards or Post-It notes. And depending on where you put these Post-It notes, someone with malicious intent may come and ridicule your writing. Likewise with postcards, depends if the messengers are snoopy enough to read your scribble.
I remember being surprised on one of our high school open nights where they used current students to boost the image of the school and do some shameless self-promotion. On a screen with blue knitted fabric, in my English classroom there were student pieces of literature pinned on. One of pieces was particularly striking to the eye. We leaned in closer and my friend commented on how beautiful the handwriting looked. We figured that because it was so aesthetically pleasing it must belong to a female.
“James,” I said, as I eyed the bottom right corner of the page. “Wow, it’s a boy.”
His letters were evenly spaced, adorned with beautiful loops and legible. I was used to seeing uneven, sloping letters from boys my age and this completely blew me away.
I had always been praised for my handwriting during my childhood until my late teenage years. And after all these years, I think I may just be able to take James on. Maybe after a few weeks practice, though. Have to at least finish writing the lyrics out to Lionel Richie’s, Hello. I mean, hello!