words by Cheryl S. Ezekiel
The irony of this article is that, while I am typing it on my computer, there’s a slight sting in the back of my mind – I have not wholeheartedly put pen to paper in a long time. And yet, here I am, typing about the very act of putting pen to paper. The world has changed so much. Progress comes with letting go of certain things from the past. Sure, I could write this on a piece of paper, but the postage, travel and effort of that procedure would cost me more than my phone bill.
For the sake of convenience, we are all giving up things which require more effort and losing expressiveness. Such is life in a changing economy. At the moment, what I will delve into in this article is why the practice of writing letters has decreased drastically. Let’s try to understand what’s been lost and what’s been gained by the abandonment of pen and paper. Prior to the age of instant electronic messages, communication came in the form of handwritten letters.These were sometimes even delivered by trained pigeons. We once had adorable messengers delivering handcrafted emotions to us. There is something incredibly alluring and intricate about that.
Receiving a handwritten letter used to be an event. So was writing one. The flair of carefully crafting messages to other people and the intimate effort poured into each stroke of the pen is a thread in an intricate web of words. What about the weight of the envelope in your hands, the familiar scrawl of a loved one’s handwriting, the faint scent of ink or perfume lingering on the page? These were small, intimate treasures. Today, letters have largely disappeared, replaced by texts, emails and instant messages. The question remains: Why did we stop writing them?
The most obvious answer is convenience. In a world where communication is possible through the tap of a screen, sitting down to write a letter feels archaic. Instead of spending days waiting for a response, we can receive it in an instant. Emails are faster, texts are immediate and social media keeps us constantly connected. Information is just one effortless tap away. The slow, deliberate, cautious, conscientious nature of letter-writing clashes with our craving for immediacy. And now, it can all be stored and recorded on one device – no need for boxes and trunks to store information any more.
But speed comes at a cost. A text message is a fleeting read – once replied, quickly forgotten. Even though we type so much – hundreds of words a day – how much of it truly lingers in our minds? How much of it makes us pause and ponder? A letter, on the other hand, is a physical artefact. People used to keep them, safely tucked them into drawers to reread them years later. The physicality of the words made the message and its sender, as well as the moment of reception ubiquitous in one’s life.
Many schools no longer emphasise cursive practice, and some adults barely write by hand anymore. Certain schools have even adopted the use of tablets and laptops so that students can type instead of writing. The reasons? Saving paper, ink and time. But there’s something about rote learning that leaves a lasting impact. Much like an artist practices their strokes to understand their style and improve, writing is the same. The more we write on paper, the better our handwriting gets and the more we understand our mistakes. Handwriting improves motor skills, boosts memory, increases cognitive understanding and a legible handwriting helps us retain more information. With children, the development of the brain is boosted much more than keyboard typing. The room for improvement and its acknowledgment are much greater when we physically write.
Tapping a screen is still just tapping a screen. Writing, with its various hand and eye movements, requires coordination and concentration, and can be considered a sort of mindfulness. A typed message can also be forgotten or deleted with a swipe. Typing is undoubtedly cleaner, more efficient and easier to edit, but handwriting demands effort, messy crossings-out, ink smudges, the occasional cramp in your fingers. That effort was part of the charm. A letter was not just about the words; it was about the person and process behind it. The quirks in their handwriting, the pressure of the pen, the little doodles in the margins… all of it made the message feel personal in a way a typed email never could.
Through the physical pressure and energy that was put into crafting or drafting a letter, the sender’s aura remained in the pages. One can type as hard or as lovingly as one wants; the text looks the same. However, a person’s emotions can be expressed via the indents of the pen on the paper – subtle, yet evident indications of a person’s emotions.
Letters were inherently intimate. You wrote them alone, sealed them, sent them off with the conviction that only the intended recipient would read them. Nowadays, digital communication leaves traces of information stored in servers and texts saved in the cloud. Some social media posts never truly disappear. While this digital footprint is a great resource to track crime, it also adulterates this intimacy between two people. The tenderness of a letter, the sense that these words were meant for you and no one else, that is hard to replicate.
And then, there was the waiting. The anticipation of checking the mailbox, the disappointment when nothing was there, the thrill when a reply finally arrived. That delay gave us time to think, reflect and let emotions settle and take shape. Now, if a person doesn’t reply to us within minutes, the worst is assumed - we’re being ignored. No postman to put the blame on.
And with that, ego steps in. Due to uncertainty and unawareness, our interpersonal bonds are influenced into either successes or failures. Nowadays replying to a text or not, indicates the respondent’s value of the sender. Either we do not have the patience to wait or the former is true. Many forgotten or delayed texts have shattered relationships and caused misunderstandings.
Despite all this, there are still those who keep the tradition alive. Pen-pal communities thrive online, journaling remains a cherished practice and some people still send handwritten thank-you notes, condolences or love letters. There’s something undeniably special about holding a piece of paper that someone else once held, knowing they took the time to write on it just for you.
The intimate process of receiving something that someone spent hours curating, embossing and engraving with emotions being replicated by sending another letter is a unique and courteous cycle. If there’s magic, then letters reflect that. They have the power to convey the emotions and affects that a person has intended for another or others with greater depth.
Maybe letters didn’t disappear because we stopped caring; maybe we just forgot how much they mattered. In a world of endless digital noise, perhaps there’s still room for the quiet, thoughtful art of putting pen to paper. Just as past civilisations were able to find intimacy and meaning in different ways, we too will always revive something old and golden. Perhaps, in the end, we will learn to balance our digital and intimate lives henceforth.
--
Cheryl Susanna Ezekiel is an ardent writer and journalist, actively carving out her unique space in the field. With her first class background in natural sciences and journalism she weaves articles that implore readers to introspect. As one of the first members at Zimmer she has primarily focused on encapsulating its cultural identity. Cheryl is a pianist, an avid reader, gamer and wildlife enthusiast.