The Parcel

A friend asked me last week if I had written any blog posts lately, and I replied that I had a few drafts of thoughts and memories written down, but I didn't get around to collecting my them properly yet. I haven’t really opened my blog since my last article, which is almost two years ago. I couldn’t believe it was so long. Yes, life was busy, but the truth is, I haven’t posted anything since I said goodbye to my aunt. I used to send her my articles, and somewhere lost in time, I lost that desire to write. 

My friend’s message, although perhaps didn't know it, nudged me to revisit my blog. After all it gave me great joy, and we all need joy in our lives. As I scanned over some of my drafts, I found the below article that I wrote in 2021. 

The Parcel

Date written, May 2021,

If the COVID lockdown has taught us anything, it has led us to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. These days, there is nothing quite like a walk in the fresh, crisp air on a spring morning, standing in a shallow river throwing stones or making muddy sandcastles at the beach. And then, of course, there are unexpected parcels. 

Every time the doorbell rings, and it's like, “On your marks, get set, go”, Abigail is out the block running to reach the front door before I do. She likes to open everything; it creates so much excitement that it is hard to refuse her. But on Friday morning, I reached the door first and managed to sneak the parcel away and in a brief quiet moment to myself, I opened it. 

Inside the box, wrapped in tissue paper, lay a beautiful leather notebook. I love notebooks; one can never have enough, especially finely made ones. As I carefully lifted it out, I spotted a wonderful note from the Design team I was working with and Bracken (The CEO of Logitech at the time), which was unique. I read it with delight and reflected on the journey that I was involved in with work.

I was about to throw the box out when out of the tissue paper fell a handmade mechanical Nicholas Hemingway pencil. I caught it as it rolled out of the box, and as I admired it, I spotted my name engraved on it. This thoughtful gift deeply moved me, and my thoughts drifted back to my second year of college, where, as an art student, I was learning many new skills but in particular typographic skills. 

I had the most fascinating Dutch typography lecturer. He was a grumpy older man that smelled like cigarettes. He used to roll his cigarettes up as he sat beside us, talking through projects. He always looked smartly dressed, but something told me he hadn't washed his blazer since he bought it. We both shared a love of music, and he also taught me about Mingus and Monk if you are into Jazz music. Most students were not fond of him, but I found him endearing. I will never forget one of the first projects he gave us was to design a book cover and insert pages for the book titled “The Devil is in the Detail”. He sat down beside me, and just before he gave me harsh, direct feedback, which he was known for, he reached into his blazer pocket and produced two mechanical pencils. He could draw the most beautiful typefaces freehand, almost as if he had a template he drew over that was invisible to our eyes. It was flawless. As a poor student, I admired these pencils and their quality, and I dreamed of creating beautiful typefaces as he did.

I haven’t thought about that grumpy yet inspiring lecturer in 20-odd years, and I never got around to buying a handmade mechanical pencil, but now I have one of my own, with my name on it. 

It is incredible how design can bring us on all kinds of journeys.

Regards,

Working from Hawaii (WFH)