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Missing the Ink on My Fingers

February 9, 2007

It used to be that the fingers in my right hand were often stained with ink whenever I would write with a pen. I used to be hooked on writing using a pen, filling up pages with my own handwriting. I enjoyed the flow of the ink and the graceful letters.

Now the fingers in my right hand seldom get inked because I seldom have the chance to write with a pen. The computer has replaced the role of the pen in my life. I can compose letters faster with it. I can copy texts faster with it. I can do many other things faster and easier with it. The pen isn’t mightier than the sword anymore. The computer is.

But I still miss the pen. I still miss the ink on my fingers. It brings back some simple, happy memories: the gentle hand of my mother guiding my hand when she first taught me to write, the kind faces of my teachers who reinforced the things my mother had taught me, the smiling faces of my grade one classmates, the sleepy town I grew up in, the dog which had the habit of accompanying me to school and waiting for me at the gate when my class is over, my father’s bike which he sometimes used to take me to school, the uncemented road (about 4 kilometers) which I had to walk on to get to school when father had a lot of mails to deliver and he couldn’t take me to school on his bike, and the flowers along the uncemented road which my classmates and I picked on our way home. I smile when I remember these things. I guess I couldn’t live without a pen. And I would never ever mind if my fingers get inked when I'm writing.