I used to hate this machine back when computers were just an idea. In college, I had to take a typing class because, well, reporters then typed their news reports. We had to religiously stick to the "proper" way of typing with each finger assigned to a letter. The final exam then mainly consisted of demonstrating to our teacher that we can type properly and fast with less mistakes.
I hated that class. I hated the typewriter. It was a pain using it.
But now, my heart skips a beat when I see a typewriter, especially an old, vintage one. The one in the picture is a Remington that my Dad's secretary still uses. Even though they already have a laptop, she still types up a storm in this ol' machine. It's an antique and it's lovely. Whenever I drop by their office, I'd tinker with it and find an excuse to type anything on it because it's wonderful seeing those keys punching letters on paper. If it wasn't so huge and heavy, I would have persuaded my Dad to let me bring it home with me.
Why are things of old so lovely now? Or maybe it's because we just grow sentimental as we grow old?
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