I am Kuncoro Wastuwibowo, a.k.a. Koen, an engineer lives in Jakarta, Indonesia. Surely, there is no practical reason to use a fountain pen in the second quarter of the 21st century. The world runs on touch screens, voice assistants, and disposable ballpoints that cost less than a bottle of water. Yet here I am, with a cabinet of Montblancs, Pelikans, Parkers, Pilots, and others, filling them with ink, polishing their nibs, and treating them with the kind of reverence others reserve for watches or violins. Here’s why.
- Instruments of Thought: A fountain pen is not simply a writing tool. It is an instrument of thought. Each nib, whether a fine Pelikan flex or a Montblanc calligraphy point, or the stainless steel elegance of a Pilot Murex, translates my mind into marks that feel alive. Ballpoints flatten words into mechanical uniformity. Fountain pens let language live: swelling under pressure, shading with ink, tapering to whispers of thought. Writing with one is not just recording; it is thinking on paper.
- Craft and Continuity: These pens are also marvels of engineering. The piston mechanism of a Pelikan, the gold nib of a Montblanc, the Toledo-engraved silver barrel, they are microcosms of precision and tradition. I have spent much of my life immersed in technology, networks, and digital abstractions. Pens are my counterbalance: a continuity with craft, with something that will still work when the batteries die and the servers fail.
- Symbols With Weight: Every pen carries meaning. A Montblanc 149 has been signed across treaties and balance sheets. A Soennecken once sat in the hands of Nietzsche. A Pelikan 100N helped Einstein to draft formulas that changed the world. To hold one is to hold more than resin and gold: it is to hold history, intellect, and symbolism. Collecting them is not about hoarding objects but about curating symbols that speak to who I am and what I value.
- Balanced Solemnity: Not all pens are grand and solemn. Other pens carry stories of culture and imagination: Montblanc’s Le Petit Prince series, Montegrappa’s Harry Potter, Lamy’s Pokémon Safari. My Mozart proves that elegance does not require size. The Bic fountain pen reminds me that democracy belongs alongside aristocracy. The Opus of the Squirrel, absurd and delightful, keeps me from taking myself too seriously. My cabinet is not a hierarchy but a balance: gravitas beside whimsy, heritage beside imagination.
Ultimately, I collect fountain pens because they sit at the crossroads of my two selves: the engineer who values precision, and the philosopher who values meaning. They are tactile metaphors: instruments that remind me to write deliberately, think carefully, and live intentionally.
In a world obsessed with the digital, a fountain pen is gloriously human. And that is reason enough.
You may also visit my other blogs — e.g. kuncoro.com , kun.co.ro, and koen.id; or my instagram or twitter page under name @kuncoro.