Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

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!