My Signature, My Handwriting


Holding on tightly by my mom’s hand, on my first day in school, I was slightly scared not to lose that familiar touch but at the same time proud when I was barely seven years old, I could mark the straight lines and curves perfectly when writing my name. Months prior to school per my dad’s tutelage, each night I sit by the gas lamp, over and over, letter after letter, line after each line, page after page. With eagerness I wanted to show my teachers and classmates with pride  what I could do on my first day in school.

Since then I’ve been writing my name with slants, rounded corners, links and connections only my fingers could muster.

This is my identity. My head unconsciously tilts upward, my mouth opens and my arms instantly rise when I hear my name called.

Growing up, after going to school all those years, I have to unlearn the way I wrote my name. I went back to those series of scratches, they call signature.

The last time I went to the bank, I did my name in print and signature. Three times signature. One final look then I submitted the documents. I have simple signature, no need to decipher, my abc is as it is, no extra curling or slanting.

Sometimes I try to change my signature, the way lawyers and doctors make theirs. I admire those uniform upward slant forming long ovals, short ovals, straight lines, then is suddenly crashed with one swift horizontal line. Or one that looks like a series of small circles like wheels running after each other. Sometimes they look like train. Or sometimes they are thumb mark for people who can’t write.

When I heard that handwriting reveals a personality I decided to change my signature to suit a perfect characteristic. Straight lines shows that one is determined compared to slant writers, while those whose round letters are never closed reveals people with short interest span, and so on and so forth.

However, I abandoned that idea. Nowadays we are all assigned a number. Our names are shown in our identification cards and  in the digital world we are all a series of numbers.

Incidentally, I  have a nickname which doesn’t sound any closer to my real name. Friends would ask how my mother came with it. I’m glad I know the answer. It came from this funny movie in that year I was born about an autistic boy who turned out to be a hero at the end of the movie.

We may write our name anyway we want it, we maybe born in different circumstances but we always want to be a hero in the end with our own handwriting and signature.

(My 171st post. Thanks for reading and comments)

When was the last time you wrote? In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Handwritten.”

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