Jincheongho

I have no clear memory of how I first got a fountain pen. It's blurry, but I remember the joy of first getting a fountain pen and trying to get ink to write with it...

Perhaps it was bought by parents or relatives as a gift to celebrate entering middle school.

And what I remember a little more clearly is that after putting in ink, no matter how hard I pressed and changed the position of the pen angle and grip in the many methods, it didn't write properly. Instead of drawing the color of ink on the paper, the fountain pen made a sharp groove in the paper. The color of the ink was barely visible and I couldn't help but feel hopeless. At the time, the disappointment was so great that I had an accident twice. Of course, the accident is clearer in my memory, and I want to erase it as much as it is clearer.

Feeling so disappointed, I grabbed a fountain pen full of ink and swung it vigorously with my bare hand toward the window at the end of the living room, in front of the door to my room at the time. Like a baseball pitcher throwing a ball, I swung it wildly, several times, with all my effort. I didn't intend to throw the fountain pen because I was holding it tight. My logic at the time was that I couldn't use it properly because the ink didn't come out, so I acted as an act to relieve my anger or to open a hole for the ink to come out. If you think about it now, you should see it as nothing more than a way to vent your anger by intimidating the fountain pen to see if it will not spit out the ink, but...

At that time, there were two layers of curtains in the living room, one of which was white, and dozens of black dots appeared on the white curtains. Even after looking at it, there was no way the ink would come out, so I swung it wildly, assuming it was an insect.

Nothing made the fountain pen any better. Still unable to write anything with the fountain pen, I took a fountain pen to school and did the same. This time, during a break between classes, I went to an empty space at the back of the classroom, grabbed my fountain pen, and swung it into the air. It was to spray ink on the classmates who were having fun in the classroom at the beginning of the semester. After venting my anger, I sat down in my seat. After a while, two friends came to me with angry faces and said, 'You did it.' He showed numerous black dots on his white winter jacket. The jacket was even new. The smearing and growing dots were clearly ink, and I was shocked as if I had been hit in the head with a hammer. I couldn't ignore reality any longer. I apologized to my friends. At the time, having my mom wash the curtains and ruining her friend's clothes, I admitted to being insane and put my fountain pen somewhere. And in my head, the fountain pen was buried deep in the darkness, never to be remembered, used, coveted, or recalled.

After about 35 years, I came across various videos about pens by chance. Once I saw the video, the related videos were waiting in front of my eyes, and thanks to that, I could easily continue to watch it. And interest was focused on various stationery and input tools. I didn't even remember that I once had a fountain pen, but when I happened to find the 35-year-old fountain pen while organizing my desk, it reminded me of the accidents I had committed in the past. And many questions arose at the same time. I tried to remember how I got the fountain pen, whether the curtains I washed were completely clean, etc. Among them, the most curious thing was 'Can this fountain pen really be used?' That was what I was most curious about. As if possessed by fountain pen, I bought ink and put it in. But I couldn't write it properly. The ink still didn't come out to the paper. As the cramped mind grew, the disappointment of middle school days was reproduced as before. Memories of the past came to mind one after another, and the mistakes I had made passed through my head and heart. However, the desire to use the fountain pen again grew and suppressed all other memories. At one point, I remembered the phrase 'grind the nib' that I had seen in many videos on the Internet.

I actually tried shrpening the nib. When the ink came out properly, I sharpened the nib again while making fine adjustments for the writing feel. I was motivated to try using a fountain pen again. I thought there was a possibility, but I thought there was little chance of using it properly. But really written. It was a soft feel. It was so soft that I kept writing. I transcribed history books and transcribed novels. I use it for several hours a day, it was soft and it felt like I was dreaming of walking on clouds. I had an amazing experience from using the fountain pen so much. It felt like a thin metal awl used at the dentist was scraping the wrinkles between the brains and removing waste. I thought I was addicted, but there was no reason to reject the pleasant addiction.

When we find ourselves in a situation where something doesn't go our way, there are many ways to deal with it. First, give up. It's a good choice if what you're giving up isn't important or worth much. But if you give up, you won't know its value. Second, pursue until it is done. If the method is right or if you find the way wisely, you can succeed. However, we do not know whether it will be successful or not. Once invested, time, effort, and money can have dire consequences if they become a sunk cost. Third, take a close look at whether or not to continue to make continuous efforts for what you want by collecting related information and data once you are away from the situation you are in. This too can be a futile effort.

Regrets always come and go. And in the darkness of the shadows of memories, time digs up the truth. I just hope that the small fragments of memories left in writing will become pillars that protect the rightness.