“Every stroke is a belief” — The 82-Year-Old Handmade Pen Grandpa in Hualien

Text/Photo by /“Observation Diary of Travel in North Taiwan”by Tsai Da-fu

Stepping into the store, I saw a grandpa dressed in a sharp suit, exuding a dashing aura. He greeted me in a booming voice, yet he looked nothing like an octogenarian. When it comes to fountain pens, he has unique insights and deep dedication.

From the types of fountain pens, materials, disassembly, repair, and maintenance, the grandpa explained everything in detail. He even discussed how people hold and use pens, including grip style, posture, usage duration, and wear conditions, which can be used to infer the owner’s personality.

Grandpa: “A fountain pen is something you can use for decades. The longer you use it, the deeper the bond. Unlike regular ballpoint pens, which are relatively cheap and not much missed when lost. That’s why you can see the owner’s character reflected in their pen.”

“Grandpa, what is it about fountain pens that captivates you so much, making you love them this much? It’s really such a retro thing—nineteenth-century invention, right?”

Grandpa: “The writing produced by these pens is alive. Chinese is one of the most beautiful scripts in the world, and the traces left by ink are truly beautiful. Although running the business is more difficult nowadays, it’s okay—I just sell other things to make up for it. For example, during Chinese New Year, people don’t mind buying my hand-written spring couplets. But I think the happiest thing is helping someone find a pen that suits them, and helping these pens I love find the right owner. It’s genuinely joyful.”

The grandpa also shared many of his own stories. He is a true Hualien native and received Japanese-style education for the first fifteen years of his life, up until high school.

“When I was a kid, our teachers always taught us that once we decide to do something, we should do it to the best of our ability. The Japanese teachers back then taught us not to be selfish, to think of others, to share, and to unite. I remember there was even a class called ‘self-cultivation,’ which was all about teaching this.”

After speaking, the grandpa slowly took out his tools, put on a magnifying glass needed for fine engraving, and carved my name and the date onto my very first fountain pen. “Fountain pens recognize their owners. I hope you’ll take good care of it. Fountain pens can almost always be fixed if they break—don’t throw them away lightly. I hope you can practice writing beautifully. Cherish it, remember!”

Then the grandpa wrote my address and name on an envelope, advising me to start practicing with the characters I use most often. The beautifully written regular script on the envelope conveyed far more than just the literal message.
“The strokes of ink are, every single one, a belief!”