About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
![Joy Sweeps [#1514072]
Kiya's gift. I love it!](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
|
Off the Cuff / My Other Journal #638627 added March 3, 2009 at 2:27pm Restrictions: None
Handwriting, hallways, memories and such
The first time I was a hall monitor, I felt lonely and scared. Scared of the bullies who’d threaten me if I noted their unwanted appearance in the corridors while the classes were in session.
This was a very long time ago when all-girl private schools were still in the works. And yes, we did have bullies in all-girl schools, too. I was supposedly responsible and worked well when alone, and that was why the teachers dumped on me the monitoring assignment during the hours I didn't have class.
In time, I grew into being a hallway monitor and even enjoyed it. After all, an empty hallway was the best place where no one saw your handwriting as you studied. Talking of handwriting, the greatest asset that made you teachers’ pet was well-executed cursive, then.
I did execute good handwriting but by guillotine. Although my schoolwork in general was pretty good, my handwriting scored just a tad above mediocre. In hindsight, when I look at the handwriting of today’s scholars, I find my handwriting nuanced, interesting, and much more legible than the modernized cursive or rather the non-existence of it. It seems my hand-wringing about my handwriting has been for naught.
All this came about because, this morning, I wrote a hand-written letter to someone and sent it in the snail mail. I feel so ancient!
|
© Copyright 2009 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|