In the Catholic Times column: Are you at peace today? the nun in her weekly column gives the readers some thoughts on our use of computers and our losing the need for handwriting.
"When I write with a pencil, I feel my body is pushing the writing." These are the words of a Korean novelist. If you write with a pencil, your body feels the writing, what does this feel like? Does it feel like I'm telling the story of life and soul engraved on my body?
" … This father has been praying for you and will continue to pray every day for you to become a great disciple and a true disciple for the poor people in this society for the rest of your life. All I can do for you is this."
One day, while cleaning out the bookshelves, she found the above letter written by her father a long time ago. It was heartbreaking to the point of tears. It was a letter mixed with Chinese characters in an old fashion handwriting style that came from an old man, easily imagining her father's dim eyes and trembling hands. The letters were yellow and old, but the handwriting was alive and moving. As the years passed and she got older her father's handwriting returned to her with greater meaning.
When she first received this letter, she thought only of the contents. However, now she senses her father's breath from each of the strokes of the letters. Is it not said that the script is the "mirror of the heart"? The warm heart of her father found it difficult to express his love but was conveyed warmly in the handwriting. Then, she thought: "What if this letter was printed on a computer?" She wondered if her heart would be so moved. If so, it would have been a letter that would have been concluded by reading the contents.
Computers are described as an 'a tool that extends the body and sensory functions' (Marshall McLuhan). The computer, which handles work faster than the speed of her body, has become a part of her body. As she repeats writing, erasing, searching, copying, and pasting at high speed, the computer becomes one with her. Sometimes the computer becomes the owner and she is dragged along. Otherwise, when she leaves the computer, she doesn't even remember what she was doing.
There is a line from a poem by William Stafford, "When I close the book, I see that I have left my head in the book." I think the expression 'I left my head on the computer after I turned it off' would be correct. The moment you work hard on something and save it to your computer, your brain doesn't want to remember it anymore. So, is the brain resting?
When she was studying abroad in the United States, she wrote a diary with a pencil almost every day. It was a diary that was turned into prayer while struggling to learn English and trying to overcome cultural barriers. While writing a diary with a pencil, she passionately met God. On days of pain, she wrote down her anger, on days of solitude, on loneliness, and on days of sadness, she wrote down her sorrow. Sometimes like a raging wave, sometimes like a soft flower petal. Looking back now, she wonders if she had ever introspected and faced the Lord as deeply as she did back then. The diary was her sincere confession of faith, and at the same time, she received the joy of being purified as a gift. Although now the hand holding the pencil has moved to the computer. Still, traces of her handwriting days remain in her hands and return to her in memory. A new change does not erase all of the old. What is stored in the body cannot be erased.
