Autobiography on pen 350 words
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Answer:
My name is pen and I am item of daily use for everybody and sundry. You can find me in the bags, offices and every imaginable place for the students. It’s too common to be thinking about the pen. I agree that I am too cheap and common to make any difference, but acquaintances.
People of every country use me today. People can write on paper according to their requirements, with my help. If I had not been there, nobody in the world would have read and written, nor would there would be the light of knowledge.
Children who are the future of the country start their studies with me and learn to write only with the help of mine. It gives me a kind of happiness that I am helping to make someone’s future.
Not only kids but also journalists use me to write the news. Journalists write their news by using me, and the same news appears in the newspaper the next day. Because of this news, awareness remains within society, and society gets to know about the changes that are taking place around them. I am pleased that I am working to make society aware of this as well.
Other than these two uses of mine, according to their needs people of all ages use me. Everybody uses me whether they are old or a child. Everyone keeps me in his or her pocket, so I do not get lost here and there.
Every day of your life, you use a pen. You think of me and seek me every time you want to remember something important. I have become an integral part of your everyday life; you carry me everywhere, just in case you need to take note of it.
I see many of my newer brothers thrown out after the source of their lives has run out. But I am one exception. Unlike them, my source of life can be replenished and used again. It is a loop without end. I saw a lot of things in my life, studied the ocean, wrote hundreds of poems and stories, and saw many people walking by. I remember all of them, but I’m still here on this desk, watching.
Initiation of mine
The first thing I remember was the factory assembly line. People used to bring parts of me together by hand. They put a protective casing around my sensitive cage of ink. People then added an intricately carved nib point, where the ink flowed through. I knew I was placed in a padded case with foam and moved on.
I remember traveling hours in a transport vehicle’s back. I could hear other peoples and nearby surroundings, but I couldn’t speak because I had enough sources of life scarcely to sustain ourselves. The car stopped after hours and hours of traveling, and there was shock all around me. I could hear one by one my brothers were being taken.
Then, it was my opportunity. They put me along with my brothers again after a lot of moving time. After a couple of minutes, we felt elevated. It was only after I heard about moving people that I knew we were on an airplane. We’ve been even less time in the sun. It is easier to fly by air. We were then unloaded and taken to stores.
The shop I got into was enormous. It was well maintained, with rows to sell fancy items. I was placed on my case, in a glass display. I was a different type, a more expensive customized piece. So I mostly watched people take my brother’s home.
They would be interested in me and my design, but they would still be driven away by the price. But since I was genuinely proud of my appearance, it didn’t matter. I felt special. Then came my day. In the shop came a wealthy merchant, who saw me and he had to have me. He brought me home, proud to own me.
Life as a ‘Pen’
Wealthy mechant would initially refuse to use me to document, fearing that he would ruin my intricate carvings and smooth edges. He didn’t know that the longer he waited, the more depleted my life essence became. I grew weaker every day.
I knew everything about records, the everyday things happening all around me, and the world, before long. The merchant never forgot to take me, and never forgot to replenish my source of life.
Throughout my life, I met many of my kind, but nobody stayed for a long time. They had started making cheaper pens, which I would still feel broken after a single-use, seeing those poor souls waiting for their fate, not being able to do anything to save them. Cruel, isn’t it? Since birth to be branded expendable.
Currently
Everything I thought I survived even my master, the merchant, his friend, his grandkids, and more. Now I am talking to you, you who inherited me.
My ink is multi-colored. But I’m used more in the blue, black and red inks. A blue ink pen is considered best for writing something while the teacher uses a red ink pen to write, and the title is written by a black ink pen.
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