When the coronavirus forced us into
a long-distance communication,
professional or otherwise,
the ideal backdrop to frame our presence
was a bookshelf—even a cluttered one,
even with dictionaries,
even with small decorative objects (of sentimental value),
even with family photographs.
This still happens today. It hints at polymathy,
perhaps a love for reading,
a stable family foundation,
emotional intelligence,
and in this way, it feels as though all the 'must' checkboxes
are instantly ticked.
Thus, we become accepted.
It is a matter of prestige and function, like a 'seal',
something like a 'postage stamp'—ready for
the letter—and we move on:
moving to the next part;
our message received permission to travel to the recipient.
Either way, in reality, this relationship with paper
seems to be replaced—perhaps even entirely—
by our relationship with the screen
(at least for the time being).
But if someone goes for a coffee and,
either waiting for company or sitting alone,
holds a book in their hands,
then things change.
The tactile and olfactory relationship with paper
is capable of shifting our mood.
Even a fleeting glance at the words,
even on random pages,
offers us a new thought,
a fresh perspective, and
why not,
an inspiration and a hope.