HOME | DD

Description
“Why do I write?” the pen asked the virgin-white paper, lying underneath.

“Is this really the time to contemplate your existence? Please do not let me wait any longer and let me stare at your ink that is almost dropping on me. I know you want to have an impact, but this is not the impact I was hoping for. You should be the one answering questions, not me. So please let’s continue where we started… Take your hat off and… oh well.. all magic is gone now. I feel it. Your ink is almost dry again. Why did you bring up this question is the first place?"

“Because I feel I am not worth it. You offer me your whiteness, you are so willing… But why do I have to do everything on my own? What if I just cannot stand the pressure that is put on me from above? How do I know I do the right thing to you? I do not want you to feel violated by my dominance.”

“Pressure is good. I feel it too. It feels like creation, food for thought, meaning, somehow. Can you imagine what it feels like for me? You make me all yours and I am proud of it. That’s it, you make me proud, because you give me my identity. I have had so many pens and every pen leaves me with this inky food for thought that reminds me of my purpose here on this desk. Please continue writing, because without you, I am nothing. Without you, I cannot have an impact on those eyes I love so dear….”

“I need to tell you something,” the pen said after a profound silence. “Something about what happened before I saw you. I will tell you about it without feeling the pressure from above that guides me. Something has changed since I traveled with my owner. I want you to know, dear paper, before we go any further, that my owner and I went to several language courses in several countries. There, I was even handed over to other language learners in the class, when they needed me. This way I was touched and pressed by many different people and… and I saw my ink, my core, transform into so much more than I thought I would ever be capable of, do you understand?

“I’m not sure… I am usually the one who lays passively and waits until a pen does something to me. The only thing I can do is try to keep clean, without crinkles or early signs of yellowing. What is the point you are trying to make?”

“I have realized that there is so much more possible if one changes one’s surroundings. I never thought I would be capable of writing…Chinese! Can you imagine what exchanges and changes could be possible if we moved together?”

“No. what difference would it make?” the paper asked.

“It would make me a friend to more fingers and more eyes than ever before. I know we can do it, as long as we stay together and be present in as many language courses and travels as possible. Because I think I know why I write…”

“Great, so let’s continue where we started, I’m ready and waiting and done with your written contemplations.”

The pen started writing the paper, with the powerful pressure from above. The pen that was ready to be exchanged and learned with, hoping that its ink would flow in as many languages as possible.

The paper did not express its worry to the pen, glad as it was to be finally written all over by the pen. Because At some point the paper knew it would be fully written and there would be nothing more for the pen to add. The pen did not realize that yet. Its mission of poly-usefulness was what kept the pen going. And the paper enjoyed its moment of Meaning.

Description
“Why do I write?” the pen asked the virgin-white paper, lying underneath.

“Is this really the time to contemplate your existence? Please do not let me wait any longer and let me stare at your ink that is almost dropping on me. I know you want to have an impact, but this is not the impact I was hoping for. You should be the one answering questions, not me. So please let’s continue where we started… Take your hat off and… oh well.. all magic is gone now. I feel it. Your ink is almost dry again. Why did you bring up this question is the first place?"

“Because I feel I am not worth it. You offer me your whiteness, you are so willing… But why do I have to do everything on my own? What if I just cannot stand the pressure that is put on me from above? How do I know I do the right thing to you? I do not want you to feel violated by my dominance.”

“Pressure is good. I feel it too. It feels like creation, food for thought, meaning, somehow. Can you imagine what it feels like for me? You make me all yours and I am proud of it. That’s it, you make me proud, because you give me my identity. I have had so many pens and every pen leaves me with this inky food for thought that reminds me of my purpose here on this desk. Please continue writing, because without you, I am nothing. Without you, I cannot have an impact on those eyes I love so dear….”

“I need to tell you something,” the pen said after a profound silence. “Something about what happened before I saw you. I will tell you about it without feeling the pressure from above that guides me. Something has changed since I traveled with my owner. I want you to know, dear paper, before we go any further, that my owner and I went to several language courses in several countries. There, I was even handed over to other language learners in the class, when they needed me. This way I was touched and pressed by many different people and… and I saw my ink, my core, transform into so much more than I thought I would ever be capable of, do you understand?

“I’m not sure… I am usually the one who lays passively and waits until a pen does something to me. The only thing I can do is try to keep clean, without crinkles or early signs of yellowing. What is the point you are trying to make?”

“I have realized that there is so much more possible if one changes one’s surroundings. I never thought I would be capable of writing…Chinese! Can you imagine what exchanges and changes could be possible if we moved together?”

“No. what difference would it make?” the paper asked.

“It would make me a friend to more fingers and more eyes than ever before. I know we can do it, as long as we stay together and be present in as many language courses and travels as possible. Because I think I know why I write…”

“Great, so let’s continue where we started, I’m ready and waiting and done with your written contemplations.”

The pen started writing the paper, with the powerful pressure from above. The pen that was ready to be exchanged and learned with, hoping that its ink would flow in as many languages as possible.

The paper did not express its worry to the pen, glad as it was to be finally written all over by the pen. Because At some point the paper knew it would be fully written and there would be nothing more for the pen to add. The pen did not realize that yet. Its mission of poly-usefulness was what kept the pen going. And the paper enjoyed its moment of Meaning.