My Typewriter
Since I was young, I always had a fascination with old technology. You see, though I was born at the tail end of the 90s, I still grew up with things like dial-up internet, floppy disks, the Nintendo 64, VHS, cassette tapes, and so on. The reaction from my older coworkers when I shared this with them were always amusing, ranging from utter disbelief to fascination - but this gave us common ground to bond over where there was little else to talk about. I've always felt that shared experiences were the best way to pull people together.
Now you might be wondering why I have this deep affection for typewriters? You'd be in the same boat as my girlfriend, who is but a few months older than myself and rightfully so - ever since the advent of personal computers, typewriters started to become obsolete everywhere. My girlfriend never had any experience with a functional typewriter, she only saw them used as display pieces at cute cafes or as decor at those vintage stores. However, when I was young I got to experience one at a local bank where they kept several typewriters for typing out hard documents for record-keeping (banks never escaping the archeotech allegations) and it was an amazing experience. For one, the tactile experience and seeing the words imprinted upon the paper you're typing on is very raw - no mistakes either, because one slip-up and you need to replace the whole page. Having to slow down to consider your words, to consider the emotions you are imprinting upon this piece of paper, is something that appeals to me immensely.
In a world where we are rushed to get things done as quickly as possible, slowing down was what I sought to do where I'm able. Having that space to reflect deeply and thoroughly to flesh out your thoughts, your actions, your perspective, means almost everything to me. I don't want to rush. I want to live in the moment and enjoy the now - if tomorrow might not come, it's not worth saving that enjoyment for the future. Typing something down on a typewriter felt like you're leaving a physical presence, a fragment of yourself, in the world. It's not like typing on Microsoft Word and saving it to your personal folder with a poorly thought out name. Every letter from its typeface leaves a mark on this world. And I think that as our society moves forward, we are becoming more and more detached from that sort of physical permanence.
Back to the typewriter, I bought my typewriter towards the end of July 2024. The model is a 1975 Olympia-Werke AG Traveller de Luxe manufactured in Yugoslavia. If you're aware you'd realise that Yugoslavia isn't a country anymore, it collapsed shortly after the USSR in 1992. Olympia-Werke began outsourcing and relocating their production of Olympia Traveller typewriters around the early 70s. The build quality is as good as can be, but if you're a stickler for a product's country of origin (West Germany purists) then that may never be good enough for you. When I bought this typewriter I'd have thought of a few things to use it for - typing letters to my friends abroad, noting down recipes for the food I cook at home, random shopping lists for when I need to buy my groceries, so on and so on. I found it difficult however to motivate myself to sit by my typewriter and use meaningfully in my day-to-day life. Much like a soul-searching journey in life, I went through several phases in trying to discover simple purpose for my typewriter once I had it.
In the end, typing my thoughts down allowed for this purpose to slowly manifest within my mind. That's why all of my first drafts will be typed up on my typewriter first and foremost. It is rawest version of my thoughts, my emotions, my very person. Then skillfully edited to be more mindful, more demure.
Anyway, that's the story of my typewriter.
