Someone wrote, many years ago, that you can tell the character of a person by their handwriting. Someone else decided that it was the state of their workplace, another person which animal they own, another…. you get the idea.
The thought about handwriting came to my mind the other day when someone, who was not reading over my shoulder and correcting my English for once, tried to take a look inside one of my many notebooks. I keep notebooks for a wide variety of things, but mainly to hold the ideas which come to me at all hours of the day and night which I can’t write down immediately: impressions of places; people’s actions; incidents along the way; quotations from books and elsewhere. I also have a handwritten diary, which I must admit to having neglected recently. Somethings are too intimate, too personal even for a private diary!
He commented that he’d never have thought, looking at me, that my handwriting could be such an illegible scrawl. Apparently I am seen by many – according to him – as being prim and proper, neat and orderly, a paragon of virtue and innocence. Obviously you can’t judge people by their appearance either, or at least he can’t. What he had expected, he claimed, was neat, legible, ordered handwriting from a real fountain pen in navy blue ink.
Photo Credit: Abizern – Creative Commons
All I can say is, there is no way that I am going to wander about college, Bremen or anywhere else with a fountain pen in tow. Does anyone have an idea how much a good pen costs these days? I have a Waterman which I dearly love, which I have had for many years, and which stays in a safe place on my desk at home. With my Waterman, which is used for writing personal letters, I can write neatly, orderly and legibly. But that is because other people have to be able to read what I have read.
Apparently my handwriting should be all rounded and big, with little hearts instead of dots above each i. This is what is expected of a woman my age, and nothing else is right, or proper, or acceptable. I think I have burst someone’s bubble with my spidery scrawl. The thing is, I can read it, and I don’t need to hide my true character behind feathery writing to convince myself of who I am. I already know what kind of woman I am, and pretty-in-pink handwriting just does not do it for me.
The next thing I am likely to hear is that I ought to be coming to college in a kimono or wearing a typical schoolgirl sailor uniform. That would really hit the generalization nail on the head.
Love & Kisses, Viki.