Rediscovering the Beauty of Printed Words

The power of paper

I ache for the gentle caress of paper, the intoxicating aroma of both old and new books, the freedom to underline, highlight, and jot down quick, handwritten notes in the margins.

I crave to fold the corner of the pages where I’ve left off, or meticulously select the most attractive bookmark while standing among the aisles of an intimate book store, or a Barnes and Nobles, eagerly preparing to embrace a multitude of books and magazines.

That sensation, I dearly miss.

These days, my Kindle is the closest companion to a book, but it falls short in capturing the essence of a genuine, tangible book in my hands — the weight of it, both significant and cherished.

There’s a conflicting pleasure in growing weary from holding books, only to find comfort in placing them snugly in my beloved reading corner, on my nightstand, under my pillow, near my coffee table, or on my windowsill — where just the sight of their covers invites me to unfold their pages and lose myself in their worlds.

Today, we gaze at these tiny, medium, and large screens that fit into our pockets and bags. They accompany us everywhere, like little babies or pets — these convenient tools are incredibly insightful and helpful. Yet, they can fry our brains if we don’t use them properly, and we often take for granted the real pages that once served as our sole research engine.

Encyclopedias, dictionaries, almanacs, atlases, and index books.

Continuing to reflect on the matter, it’s fascinating how these screens have become essential to our daily lives, serving as windows to the world, sources of knowledge, and connections to our loved ones.

Nonetheless, it’s nice to remember the irreplaceable charm of physical pages — the feel of flipping through them, the aroma of aged paper, and the simplicity of being fully present with a book, free from digital distractions.

In an era dominated by technology and instant communication, there’s something uniquely intimate about the act of writing and receiving a letter.

Personally, I find that I prefer letter writing over a quick text or an email. It carries a sense of authenticity that’s often lost in the digital realm.

The handwritten words, the carefully chosen stationery, and the anticipation of receiving a tangible letter all contribute to a more personal connection that transcends the convenience of modern communication.

Like the times when I used to exchange letters with my grandfather, Salvador, from Puerto Rico, throughout my middle school and high school years, or received birthday cards from friends and family. And I can’t forget about the postcards from loved ones who’d send them randomly just because.

I miss that.

When I rediscover those letters, I hold them close to my heart, cherishing the exchange of Spanish words in my grandfather’s shaky handwriting that allowed us to connect, sharing the rhythms of our daily lives, the excitement of new adventures on the horizon, giving each other a window into our distinct worlds, all sealed with the heartfelt “Que dios te bendiga” (God bless you) at the end of every letter.

I miss him.

As we navigate this digital age, let’s not forget to cherish the beauty of the printed word, the wisdom held within the pages of traditional books, and the connection that a handwritten letter can bring into our lives.

Thank you for reading.

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