A letter of five I sent a week ago has arrived today, as the addressee told me by sending a cell phone message this morning.
I was always fond of calligraphy and writing. Even when a mere child I began my diary writings, which still lie at the bottom of the book shelves. And the calligraphy, on which I started the effort 6 years ago, later helped me a lot on the writing. Those 5 letters were just saying hello to some old friends whom I haven’t seen for years, perhaps the E-Mails would be much more efficient on doing this, but I still decided to write on paper with my cursive writings in the blank ink, cause at least there’s something truly belongs to me would meet with my old fellows again, or simply to show-off my latest-learned style of calligraphy representing my assuming and socially maladapted disposition, which tells them how I have changed along the way.
I see people don’t write letters that often as they did decades ago. Modern tools have succeeded in luring us to give in too many privilegs, which we think are enlarged and expanded day in and day out. Calligraphy used to be part of the daily life of people half a century ago, little differnt from cursive writings it once were, now has become a solemn art, seemingly untouchable. This is what the post-industrial or info civilization has done to our ancient heritage. It’s hard for the Psychiatrists to put more truth on their speech, that without memory we are nothing.
Grâce à monsieur R, that I can finally have the privilege to find a way to approach the western calligraphy, whose heir obviously was not expected to be an easterner like me, but I feel so proud to inherit it as a member of the globalization.