This series is titled “My love letter to…” As it suggests, an article that singularly devotes the love and appreciation to an object of admiration. As the inaugural piece, I would like to dedicate it to the piece that I dare use the word “love”, or even “lust”. This is my third fountain pen, not my first; firsts tend to be an entry point, an experimental piece; while the second, I have already garnered some affirmation on the fact that fountain pens as a genre of extracurricular subject (the sans “extra” being just “pens” in general term) are in fact not as daunting and intimidating, and I was comfortable to invest a little more into it.
Then comes the third – an alluring piece that I keep thinking about, and I know it has arrived the danger zone when I started doing “The Thing”. That is, acting out the ceremony of ownership. Fantasising the fountain pen I possessed at the time was the one that I desired for.
None of my fountain pens before the ownership of the said piece featured a screwing cap; yet I would act it out. Like a psychopath, I would repeatedly look at photographs of it, saving them into my camera roll so I could conveniently open them up for momentary enjoyment. I had even gone so far as crowning it with a worthy nickname, and association bridged by me. The association that is so near and dear to my heart that relates to an antihero by my favourite novelist of all time, where the protagonist lusted over an emerald-bejewelled ring that belonged to his friend.
It is the Montblanc Bohème, in classic black and gold with its alluring emerald gemstone mounted on its gold clip like how a diamond would be mounted on a ring. Cut in beautiful facets that glisten as one glides its two-tone nib on a smooth piece of paper.
Length – being discreetly pocket-sized makes it an apt traveller pen, and the way the nib conceals and unveils makes it that much more congenial when engaging with it. It is a careful, thought-through decision when one decides to scribble down important information or a longhand journaling session, potentially plotting out the next murderous masterplan.
Since this model is out of production, I had to acquire it through an online Japanese dealer and due to my frantic love towards it, on one occasion I accidentally attempted to close the cap without realising its espionage-like mechanism and caused a mild damage to the nib, resulting in occasional skipping phenomena.
I had promptly scheduled an appointment with a boutique, brought it in and tried it on their paper which worked fine most of the time but not on mine and it had worked swimmingly, that was of dire importance since I usually journal on my notebook which, at a time, was an unlined sketchbook acquired in a local art supply store. They demanded a small fortune commitment for a specialist examination, forewarned me that should it need replacing of the nib although unlikely, the cost could be more than a double. I obligingly agreed to it, less than two weeks of the promised timeline, they said it was ready for pickup, I was over the moon when informed that it was a minor issue and the craftsman took care of it without needing any financial compensation of their work, it was indeed a lucky episode and I’ve reminded myself never to toy with the mechanism without applying the intended ceremony.
In the most subjective way, I found it to be my best piece to start with Montblanc. The Bohème has always been paired with its namesake Irish Green ink, which I had acquired both in cartridges then in bottle form for manual refillage. Whenever I decide to use it under someone else’s observation, it has never failed to attract dangerously inviting compliments, just like the principal‘s most charming smile.
Article written by @suiticism
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