"Fountain Pen Diplomacy " by Jerry F

     Streaks of emerald green flow smoothly down a piece of rough tan-white papyrus, curving into something much like the resemblance of two olives branches. Cuddled in between the branches, firm streaks of sapphire blue form circle within circle within circle. Within these circles, the same glistening emerald green trails again, painting a myriad of irregular shapes with a collection of small and big blobs scattered across the interior of the large circle. 

     It took many years for me to fully understand the meaning behind this emblem: it was the logo of the United Nations. 

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     During the scorching summer of 2010, I very reluctantly packed my bags, left everything behind, and moved to a foreign land: Shanghai, China. This would be the first time I would live permanently in another country. 

     When we arrived, I immediately took notice of the differences of this uniquely unfavorable environment I just landed in. As I got off the plane, within 5 minutes, I felt a faint itchiness on my less, arms, neck; before long, I could count two dozen mosquito bites. Outside, there were no clear, blue skies like there were in Dublin (CA), just gloomy, pale gray clouds sitting miserably over us. In fact, I could barely even see the sky; my vision, blurred by the starkness of these giant concrete structures, could see nothing but thick walls of gray and glass. There were no beautiful green lawns that rippled in the wind like there were at home, nor any “roofs” of houses. Worse yet, we didn’t even have a car; we had to wait for taxis and buses. Going to the “Costco” in China, or Carrefour, was a whole day’s job. We had to leave in the morning, hop on the bus, get off, walk, shop, eat lunch, shop more, hop back on the bus during rush hour with our dozen bags of groceries, then walk all the way back home with those groceries in hand. We couldn’t just jump in the car, go to Costco, and leave in two hours. That was a joke. 

     However, over time, I got used to the new environment, and I began to appreciate the little changes in my life. Everyday, I’d go to school without needing my parents to send me. The students all spoke English, and most of my teachers were actually white, much to my surprise. In general, people were much nicer than they were at home, and everyone treated each other like family. Ironically, I felt much more “free” living in China than I did at home. Back in Dublin, I couldn’t leave 100 meters from home by myself without worrying about potentially getting kidnapped or getting sent home by the police, but, in Shanghai, I could ride the subway a whole hour away with my friends feeling completely safe. In addition, I didn’t have to drive to Target to buy myself things; I could just walk to the local store and buy things for myself. After all, life wasn’t as bad as I thought it would’ve been. 

     Some of my biggest passions were also developed in Shanghai, including my love for learning about the world’s history and countries, and my love for fountain pens. Since living in Shanghai, I’ve had an uncontrollable “utensil-mania”; I frequented the ​wen-ju​ (stationary) stores in China almost everyday after school, hoping to pick out a cool pen. I loved to see the cool designs and intricate details of the pens, especially how the inner gears of springs and barrels worked together to produce beautifuls trails of ink; at home, every so often, I would take my fountain pens out of my pencil case and carefully bring them over to the sink to give them a good rinsing and polishing. My classmates always asked me why I treated my “simple writing tools” with so much care. They don’t see what I see. To me, these pens were ​chef d’oeuvres, r​ oyal masterpieces of art waiting to be appreciated. 

     Back in America, my addiction continued as my love for history intensified. I spent hours upon hours researching the history of the fountain pen, the best brands, etc. At school, when I pulled out my fountain pens, students always marvelled at the sight of such an alien product, asking, “Is that a pen?!” Even some teachers who borrowed my pens asked, “How do I even use this thing?” It shocked me. I thought everyone knew what a fountain pen was. In China, my cousins used them; even my friend who came from France said students in France used fountain pens. 

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     Years later, looking down at my pen in hand, I am reminded of the challenges that our society still faces. In the beginning, I dreaded the idea of moving to China, and I stuck with a closed mind; however, after having gotten accustomed to the new environment, I came to appreciate the little changes in the environment that made Shanghai the city that I loved. That same ignorance that I had regarding China can be symbolized by the use of a simple pen, that there are still many people who are sheltered from the knowledge of the world, potentially skewing their view of other countries, ultimately creating misunderstandings. In a United, International Community, it is so important for us to know just a little about our neighbors, their traditions, lifestyles, cultures, etc. So, from my experience of living in a developing country, I learned how important it is to be globally aware, to keep an open mind, and to never judge a book by its cover.