aku selalu tidak cukup duit
aku lupa bahawa
Rasul memilih
untuk sentiasa hidup
sebagai orang yang sentiasa tidak cukup duit
serta sentiasa
kasih dan sayang kepada orang miskin
yang selalu tidak cukup duit
Sunday, April 30, 2017
06 Bila Aku Sangka Aku Tidak Cukup Duit
aku selalu tidak cukup duit
aku lupa bahawa
Rasul memilih
untuk sentiasa hidup
sebagai orang yang sentiasa tidak cukup duit
serta sentiasa
kasih dan sayang kepada orang miskin
yang selalu tidak cukup duit
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Not Where I Expected It - Discovering My First Fountain Pen
I had been under the impression that my first fountain pen was a black plastic Manuscript pen that I bought at Hobby Lobby around the holidays last year. (I purchased it in the hopes that it would somehow stave off my coveting of the Levenger Waterlilies True Writer. It didn’t work.) Then, a few weeks ago, I was rummaging in my little drawer-unit of office supplies (a wretched mess of old ballpoints, metallic gel pens that don’t not-work enough to allow myself to toss them, 3.5” disks, and shop bags from special stores). And I found a pen I’d forgotten I’d had: a blue-plastic-barreled fountain pen with silver accents. I remembered: one of my uncles (the same one who loaned me The Lord of the Rings trilogy for my first read through the series) had gotten me a fountain pen—one that used cartridges—for a birthday. It might have been my sixteenth, even, or it was a gift for high school graduation—I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember what the real occasion was.
And I don’t really remember using the pen. Even without having the accurate memory, though, I can tell you why I don’t remember using the pen: the cartridge. It likely only came with one or two cartridges, and I grew up in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania (an honest hour to anything like a Staples). This was before I could have ordered anything on the internet, too. And so I would have saved those cartridges, hoarded them until the perfect moment. Then, when I used the first one, I would have thought that the line was too bold, too dark, too certain or too arrogant or too permanent. Too wide. Too something. At sixteen, or eighteen, or whatever, I remember using pencil nearly exclusively, and if I forayed into pen-usage, it was with black Bic stick pens, the kind that left gossamer strands of that viscous ink between letters that smudged, faintly iridescent and sticky. (Those metallic gel pens? I really only used them for drawing on myself and for the occasional whimsical note—on black paper—to friends or my boyfriend, now husband.)
Ink was too permanent. I wrote—poetry, fiction, papers—in pencil. (Still, I didn’t erase much. I’d strike through something in graphite instead of erasing it, oddly enough.) My preference was for the disposable mechanical pencils, though if I could have gotten my hands on a gross of the fat, dark blue Ticonderoga pencils we used in kindergarten, I’d have used only those forever. (In a drawer, in my parents’ house, there’s a two-inch pencil stub with my name—on a tiny slip of paper—still taped to its barrel.) I don’t know if they still make those pencils, but the leads were so smooth, so yielding. I don’t think I’d call them soft, not exactly, because I don’t have much memory of that lead smudging, but they wrote so easily.
And so I wrote in pencil. Either out of ease (little pressure required), out of uncertainty (so much less assertive-looking on the page), or out of habit (very little work was done in pen during my pre-college days—just the final copies of papers). In college, I lost track of my blue fountain pen. It was probably always with me, in that messy drawer of writing utensils, but it certainly wasn’t on my radar.
Fast-forward through three degrees. I still wrote a lot of things in pencil (particularly while grading), though I’d switched to writing my fiction exclusively with the black Bic stick pens. (I learned that pencil-on-looseleaf, carried around on a clipboard shoved in a backpack, leaves one with smudged and often difficult-to-read results.) I wish I’d noticed during my Ph.D. years that the Bics were probably contributing to my massive wrist/hand pain because they require a good bit of pressure to work well, but I didn’t. It wasn’t until my move to Wyoming that fountain pens really hit my radar, completely due to the aesthetics of the pen itself. (I’ve never much cared for a bold line while writing. Growing up, I envied those wispy sketch-lines that come out of taking certain art classes.)
I thought I could stave off the (expensive) urge for a Levenger pen by getting any pen with the “fountain” quality. It didn’t work. My black plastic Manuscript served its purpose, though it also was prone to covering my hands in black ink at any given moment, of getting me used to a bold line. I discovered I liked that. I don’t know if it had to do with having my first “real” job—a full-time position as an instructor; if it had to do with accepting my writing as a legitimate, worthy thing; or if it was simply time. (Having that “real” job also made it possible to even consider a pen that cost more than all of my office supply budget for a four-year graduate degree. And now I know that the Levenger brand pens are on the gentler end of the fountain pen expense scale, for the most part—but that’s another thought for another day.)
The rest, of course, is the current history: fountain pens have become one of my enthusiasms, though the symptoms are relatively minor by comparison to others’. But let me bring this all back to that blue-plastic-barreled pen.
It is, as I have discovered, the most basic model of the Parker Vector, probably from about 1997. The nib is petite, and the point is quite rounded.
Nib very shiny. It says Parker across the base of the nib.
I’m sure there are terms for these features, but I don’t know them. It is extraordinarily light in the hand because the blue plastic is quite thin. It uses cartridges (which I can now get at the local OfficeMax, though they only have black in stock). My current evil plan is to use up at least one cartridge and then refill it with more interesting ink until I have a good reason to order a converter for it. (I much prefer converters to cartridges. I can’t even tell you how much more.) I may even consider making it an eye-dropper pen, though I’ve not done that before.
The line it makes is fairly smooth, somewhere around the Western fine that my Levenger True Writer produces. It is a little bit dry-writing, though it cooperates more easily the longer I write with it. It also seems to like the Levenger annotation pad (with a slight bit more tooth to it than the Rhodia) more than other paper options.
At current, I will likely not use it very often—just to have something inked in black when I need it, as my other three everyday writers are always done up with something a bit more colorful—but I am glad to have it. This pen came to me because my uncle recognized, more than a decade ago, that I was someone who took writing seriously. My uncle Dennis has always done this; from him and his wife, I received writing and reading tools (bookmarks, particularly, and the refillable planner I used from freshman year of college until I graduated with my Ph.D., the year that finally killed it) that were both beautiful and functional. Things that were serious business. More importantly, these gifts said that he took what I did seriously, and that interest goes a long way in bolstering the confidence of a young writer and academically-minded person.
Rujukan: hollywendt
And I don’t really remember using the pen. Even without having the accurate memory, though, I can tell you why I don’t remember using the pen: the cartridge. It likely only came with one or two cartridges, and I grew up in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania (an honest hour to anything like a Staples). This was before I could have ordered anything on the internet, too. And so I would have saved those cartridges, hoarded them until the perfect moment. Then, when I used the first one, I would have thought that the line was too bold, too dark, too certain or too arrogant or too permanent. Too wide. Too something. At sixteen, or eighteen, or whatever, I remember using pencil nearly exclusively, and if I forayed into pen-usage, it was with black Bic stick pens, the kind that left gossamer strands of that viscous ink between letters that smudged, faintly iridescent and sticky. (Those metallic gel pens? I really only used them for drawing on myself and for the occasional whimsical note—on black paper—to friends or my boyfriend, now husband.)
Ink was too permanent. I wrote—poetry, fiction, papers—in pencil. (Still, I didn’t erase much. I’d strike through something in graphite instead of erasing it, oddly enough.) My preference was for the disposable mechanical pencils, though if I could have gotten my hands on a gross of the fat, dark blue Ticonderoga pencils we used in kindergarten, I’d have used only those forever. (In a drawer, in my parents’ house, there’s a two-inch pencil stub with my name—on a tiny slip of paper—still taped to its barrel.) I don’t know if they still make those pencils, but the leads were so smooth, so yielding. I don’t think I’d call them soft, not exactly, because I don’t have much memory of that lead smudging, but they wrote so easily.
And so I wrote in pencil. Either out of ease (little pressure required), out of uncertainty (so much less assertive-looking on the page), or out of habit (very little work was done in pen during my pre-college days—just the final copies of papers). In college, I lost track of my blue fountain pen. It was probably always with me, in that messy drawer of writing utensils, but it certainly wasn’t on my radar.
Fast-forward through three degrees. I still wrote a lot of things in pencil (particularly while grading), though I’d switched to writing my fiction exclusively with the black Bic stick pens. (I learned that pencil-on-looseleaf, carried around on a clipboard shoved in a backpack, leaves one with smudged and often difficult-to-read results.) I wish I’d noticed during my Ph.D. years that the Bics were probably contributing to my massive wrist/hand pain because they require a good bit of pressure to work well, but I didn’t. It wasn’t until my move to Wyoming that fountain pens really hit my radar, completely due to the aesthetics of the pen itself. (I’ve never much cared for a bold line while writing. Growing up, I envied those wispy sketch-lines that come out of taking certain art classes.)
I thought I could stave off the (expensive) urge for a Levenger pen by getting any pen with the “fountain” quality. It didn’t work. My black plastic Manuscript served its purpose, though it also was prone to covering my hands in black ink at any given moment, of getting me used to a bold line. I discovered I liked that. I don’t know if it had to do with having my first “real” job—a full-time position as an instructor; if it had to do with accepting my writing as a legitimate, worthy thing; or if it was simply time. (Having that “real” job also made it possible to even consider a pen that cost more than all of my office supply budget for a four-year graduate degree. And now I know that the Levenger brand pens are on the gentler end of the fountain pen expense scale, for the most part—but that’s another thought for another day.)
The rest, of course, is the current history: fountain pens have become one of my enthusiasms, though the symptoms are relatively minor by comparison to others’. But let me bring this all back to that blue-plastic-barreled pen.
It is, as I have discovered, the most basic model of the Parker Vector, probably from about 1997. The nib is petite, and the point is quite rounded.
Nib very shiny. It says Parker across the base of the nib.
I’m sure there are terms for these features, but I don’t know them. It is extraordinarily light in the hand because the blue plastic is quite thin. It uses cartridges (which I can now get at the local OfficeMax, though they only have black in stock). My current evil plan is to use up at least one cartridge and then refill it with more interesting ink until I have a good reason to order a converter for it. (I much prefer converters to cartridges. I can’t even tell you how much more.) I may even consider making it an eye-dropper pen, though I’ve not done that before.
The line it makes is fairly smooth, somewhere around the Western fine that my Levenger True Writer produces. It is a little bit dry-writing, though it cooperates more easily the longer I write with it. It also seems to like the Levenger annotation pad (with a slight bit more tooth to it than the Rhodia) more than other paper options.
At current, I will likely not use it very often—just to have something inked in black when I need it, as my other three everyday writers are always done up with something a bit more colorful—but I am glad to have it. This pen came to me because my uncle recognized, more than a decade ago, that I was someone who took writing seriously. My uncle Dennis has always done this; from him and his wife, I received writing and reading tools (bookmarks, particularly, and the refillable planner I used from freshman year of college until I graduated with my Ph.D., the year that finally killed it) that were both beautiful and functional. Things that were serious business. More importantly, these gifts said that he took what I did seriously, and that interest goes a long way in bolstering the confidence of a young writer and academically-minded person.
Rujukan: hollywendt
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Avoid using fountain pens to write cheques
PETALING JAYA: Malaysians are advised to avoid using fountain pens or those with ink that are easily washable when writing details on cheques to prevent fraud.
MCA Public Services and Complaints Department head Datuk Seri Michael Chong urged the people to use a ballpoint pen as the ink was more permanent.
He also advised the people to make a copy of the cheque before issuing or sending the cheque to the recipient, and not sending cheques via the mail.
“When writing details on the cheque, try not to leave too much blank space where fraudsters can add letters or numbers,” he said yesterday.
Chong said he had received eight such complaints involving tens of thousands of ringgit since 2011.
“There are many forms of such cheating using cheques,” he said, adding that one of the ways was where fraudsters intercepted the cheques while they were being delivered and altered instructions written on the cheques like the payee’s name, date and amount, leaving only the signature intact.
Chong said fraudsters were believed to use a high-performance eraser to clean off printed words, from ballpoint pen ink to typewriter ribbon ink and other printed letters.
After removing the details from the cheque and leaving only the signature, the suspects would then “fill in the blanks”.
Chong said another way was where the fraudsters would add letters or numbers into the details written on the cheque.
Chong added that fraudsters also used a computer and scanner to produce “clean” copies of the altered cheques.
Rujukan: thestar
MCA Public Services and Complaints Department head Datuk Seri Michael Chong urged the people to use a ballpoint pen as the ink was more permanent.
He also advised the people to make a copy of the cheque before issuing or sending the cheque to the recipient, and not sending cheques via the mail.
“When writing details on the cheque, try not to leave too much blank space where fraudsters can add letters or numbers,” he said yesterday.
Chong said he had received eight such complaints involving tens of thousands of ringgit since 2011.
“There are many forms of such cheating using cheques,” he said, adding that one of the ways was where fraudsters intercepted the cheques while they were being delivered and altered instructions written on the cheques like the payee’s name, date and amount, leaving only the signature intact.
Chong said fraudsters were believed to use a high-performance eraser to clean off printed words, from ballpoint pen ink to typewriter ribbon ink and other printed letters.
After removing the details from the cheque and leaving only the signature, the suspects would then “fill in the blanks”.
Chong said another way was where the fraudsters would add letters or numbers into the details written on the cheque.
Chong added that fraudsters also used a computer and scanner to produce “clean” copies of the altered cheques.
Rujukan: thestar
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Top Five Fountain Pen
oleh Robb Report Malaysia. We bring you the top five fountain pens that should make their way to your private study room.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Passionate about fountain pens
February 7, 2016, Sunday
Peter Tan, mail@petertan.com
A few months ago, I wrote about discovering the fountain pen that my father gave to me when I was in primary school. It is my most cherished possession. Unfortunately, I never took the trouble to look after it with care. The years of neglect and abuse have damaged it beyond repair.
That unexpected find renewed my interest in cursive handwriting once again. The flair in looping the letters, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s is therapeutic to say the least. Studies have shown that writing by hand makes learning more effective, improves memory and stimulates creativity.
While browsing for a replacement in eBay, I found out that there are many variations in nib, refill system and barrel materials. The options for nibs alone are staggering. They come in different metals with an assorted tip shape and size, and flexibility. The prices are also wide-ranging – starting from a few ringgit to tens of thousands of ringgit.
The search led me to affordable yet quality makes, namely Pilot, Platinum and Sailor. These are the big three in writing instruments in Japan. Until then, I never knew the ‘Land of the Rising Sun’ had a long and illustrious history in fountain pen manufacturing that began in the early 20th century. These pens are reasonably priced and are good value for money.
I settled for the most expensive that I could afford, which is the Platinum #3776 Century Bourgogne. The #3776 Century range has particularly good reviews in fountain pen forums. The four digits in the name denote the height of Mount Fuji, the tallest mountain in Japan. I had seen the picturesque snow-capped peak from afar when I was in Tokyo many years ago and the name of this pen brought back memories of that mesmerising experience.
Since it was sold for 30-per cent lower in an online store in Japan, I got a friend to buy it for me from there and bring it when he came here on a working trip. The moment I laid eyes on the burgundy-coloured barrel with gold-plated trims, I fell in love with it. The 14k gold nib was smooth and made writing a pleasure.
The resin barrel was glossy smooth. Maintaining it in its pristine condition could be tricky. I was determined not to allow the same neglect to befall this pen. Not using it would keep it in its original condition but that would defeat the purpose of getting the pen as I had intended to use it to improve my handwriting as much as possible.
There are the common but expensive leather and faux leather cases, some which cost more than the pen itself. And then I came across the pen kimono. This is basically a long slender pouch made from kimono fabric, which usually comes with the more expensive and exclusive handcrafted Japanese-made fountain pens.
I showed my friend Jocelyn an image of it. She makes beautiful cloth bags and handmade bows, and bakes some of the most mouth-watering cookies. We have known each other from our blogging days more than 10 years ago. I asked if she could make a similar pen kimono for me. By the next day, she showed me some photos of what she had made.
The deep red of the pen stood out against the bold-patterned blue Swedish fabric that she chose. She had asked if I was fussy about the fabric. I told her I was not as the main purpose was to keep the pen in good shape. To date, it remains a precious accessory in protecting the pen from scratches and wear and tear of being indiscriminately left around on my messy work desk.
In the evenings, when there is some time to spare, I would take the pen out to practise my handwriting. The feeling of writing with the hand is different from tapping on the keyboard.
I have to be conscious of the spacing, angle and size of each letter, making sure that they are properly formed and legible. If anything, it is a good way to improve my fine motor skills.
I have since gone on to acquire a few more fountain pens. The cheapest in my collection is a China-made Jinhao X450 which I won for approximately RM5 from an auction on eBay. It performs just like a fountain should for its price range, which I would say is quite a bargain.
My other favourites are the beginner-friendly Pilot Kakuno and the Lamy Al-Star. Both give clear crisp lines with smooth ink flows.
Each pen has its own characteristics. I find that my handwriting is different with each pen, partly due to the way I hold it and partly due to the flexibility and width of the nibs. I tend to go for the bigger pens which are easier to grip, and broader nibs to match my large writings.
I have stopped buying recently as there are only so many I can use. As it is, I seldom have time to practise my handwriting as much as I would like to.
Perhaps it is time to get Jocelyn to make a few more pen kimonos for the other pens as well. They need all the protection they can get, seeing how most of them are scattered all over my work desk.
Rujukan: theborneopost
Peter Tan, mail@petertan.com
A few months ago, I wrote about discovering the fountain pen that my father gave to me when I was in primary school. It is my most cherished possession. Unfortunately, I never took the trouble to look after it with care. The years of neglect and abuse have damaged it beyond repair.
That unexpected find renewed my interest in cursive handwriting once again. The flair in looping the letters, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s is therapeutic to say the least. Studies have shown that writing by hand makes learning more effective, improves memory and stimulates creativity.
While browsing for a replacement in eBay, I found out that there are many variations in nib, refill system and barrel materials. The options for nibs alone are staggering. They come in different metals with an assorted tip shape and size, and flexibility. The prices are also wide-ranging – starting from a few ringgit to tens of thousands of ringgit.
The search led me to affordable yet quality makes, namely Pilot, Platinum and Sailor. These are the big three in writing instruments in Japan. Until then, I never knew the ‘Land of the Rising Sun’ had a long and illustrious history in fountain pen manufacturing that began in the early 20th century. These pens are reasonably priced and are good value for money.
I settled for the most expensive that I could afford, which is the Platinum #3776 Century Bourgogne. The #3776 Century range has particularly good reviews in fountain pen forums. The four digits in the name denote the height of Mount Fuji, the tallest mountain in Japan. I had seen the picturesque snow-capped peak from afar when I was in Tokyo many years ago and the name of this pen brought back memories of that mesmerising experience.
Since it was sold for 30-per cent lower in an online store in Japan, I got a friend to buy it for me from there and bring it when he came here on a working trip. The moment I laid eyes on the burgundy-coloured barrel with gold-plated trims, I fell in love with it. The 14k gold nib was smooth and made writing a pleasure.
The resin barrel was glossy smooth. Maintaining it in its pristine condition could be tricky. I was determined not to allow the same neglect to befall this pen. Not using it would keep it in its original condition but that would defeat the purpose of getting the pen as I had intended to use it to improve my handwriting as much as possible.
There are the common but expensive leather and faux leather cases, some which cost more than the pen itself. And then I came across the pen kimono. This is basically a long slender pouch made from kimono fabric, which usually comes with the more expensive and exclusive handcrafted Japanese-made fountain pens.
I showed my friend Jocelyn an image of it. She makes beautiful cloth bags and handmade bows, and bakes some of the most mouth-watering cookies. We have known each other from our blogging days more than 10 years ago. I asked if she could make a similar pen kimono for me. By the next day, she showed me some photos of what she had made.
The deep red of the pen stood out against the bold-patterned blue Swedish fabric that she chose. She had asked if I was fussy about the fabric. I told her I was not as the main purpose was to keep the pen in good shape. To date, it remains a precious accessory in protecting the pen from scratches and wear and tear of being indiscriminately left around on my messy work desk.
In the evenings, when there is some time to spare, I would take the pen out to practise my handwriting. The feeling of writing with the hand is different from tapping on the keyboard.
I have to be conscious of the spacing, angle and size of each letter, making sure that they are properly formed and legible. If anything, it is a good way to improve my fine motor skills.
I have since gone on to acquire a few more fountain pens. The cheapest in my collection is a China-made Jinhao X450 which I won for approximately RM5 from an auction on eBay. It performs just like a fountain should for its price range, which I would say is quite a bargain.
My other favourites are the beginner-friendly Pilot Kakuno and the Lamy Al-Star. Both give clear crisp lines with smooth ink flows.
Each pen has its own characteristics. I find that my handwriting is different with each pen, partly due to the way I hold it and partly due to the flexibility and width of the nibs. I tend to go for the bigger pens which are easier to grip, and broader nibs to match my large writings.
I have stopped buying recently as there are only so many I can use. As it is, I seldom have time to practise my handwriting as much as I would like to.
Perhaps it is time to get Jocelyn to make a few more pen kimonos for the other pens as well. They need all the protection they can get, seeing how most of them are scattered all over my work desk.
Rujukan: theborneopost
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