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Autobiography Of A Pen
by – Poojita
I am a blue inked and golden exterior pen. My edges are sharp, and my texture smooth. I feel the touch when someone takes me his/her hand.
I feel the touch when someone removes my cap and puts my point on a paper to write and puts their heart out on it, through me.
The touch of the paper is the best of all the touches that I feel because it is when I am sure that every tiny drop of my ink will word out something beautiful, something meaningful, and something that fills the heart of my owner.
I was manufactured in a factory where all my co-brand pens accompanied me for a weak time while being turned into a ready-to-write pen. From the hands of the supplier to the hands of the shopkeeper to the hands of finally my owner, I’ve traveled a long way.
I feel blissful that someone owns me, calls me I’m hers, and uses me to pen down on her both brightest and darkest days. I feel like I’m not just a pen but a source of breaking down emotions for my owner.
My owner loves me as nobody else does. She takes care that my body doesn’t get any scratches and that my cap always stays on my top when I’m not being written with.
I’m kept on her study table, inside a bit of holder that says “My Favourite Pen.” Ahh! I feel so special.
Every single night, she takes me out of it very gently and opens her secret diary, and begins to write on the page that is dated a particular date, always beginning with “Dear Diary…” at the top left of the page.
She writes every single thing that had happened to her the entire day. She writes how she is feeling about it.
She writes what she had learned that day. She writes poems, stories, catalogs, and everything she wants to, to vent all her heart out into the book with my ink. I’ve also been doodled with all the pictures she has on her head relating to everything happening in her life.
I feel that I am the source of my master’s creative input. My owner has penned down all her emotions of happiness, sorrow, love, hate, wisdom, knowledge, and bliss through me.
I feel like I’ve been a part of this beautiful journey of emotions as I’ve felt all these emotions, too, while I was being written with. I know all my owner’s secrets which she hides from the world, but only we know.
And my owner, in reality, is a beautiful person from within. I sense that while she uses me to pour her feelings out, she keeps hidden from everyone else.
I sometimes wish I could converse with my owner because I feel so helpless when she is sad, and her tears pour over me, which spreads all my ink over the page, and I cannot tell her how beautiful she is, and I cannot console her.
I feel her pain, but I cannot console her. It pains me even more. But maybe, I hope she feels better after she pens down all her sorrows because, in the end, I remember always being written with, “I feel better now. Thank you, Favourite Pen.”
It makes me feel a little lighter. I also wish that I was a part of her joyful moments because it always excites me to sense her excitement while penning her joy down.
I feel music while she writes poems, and I sense the beauty of her imagination while she draws or describes the beauty of various things with me.
Mine and her relationship are crystal – clear and straightforward. All she writes or draws in her book is exactly what we both undergo. So I feel like I am not just the origin but the end.
Yes, ‘end’ reminds me… my ink is just about to run out. And I know I’m not a refillable pen. I am a ‘use-and-throw.’
Maybe I’ll be removed from my owner’s pen holder on her study table and be replaced by someone who accompanied me in the factory while I was being made because I know that she loves only my brand.
I hope she doesn’t throw me into the bin and that she always remembers the time that we spent together to undergo all her emotions together. I will miss her, and I hope so will she, miss me back.
Tonight would be the last night that she’d be using me, and I hope this last night is my owner is happy to bid me a happy farewell.
I hope that I added meaning to her life and was of any emotional use to her. After all, all the pens aim for the same.
For its culture and literature, human civilization is dependent on us, and we are not just objects; we change the human mind and heart.
We get humans evolved; like as in over many, many years in the past and also in over many, many generations to come. And, as rightly quoted, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
So I believe, and I’m proud that I’m this worthy. Tonight, my ink will run out, and I hope to create something beautiful in the meantime.
