Why Nearly 2,000 People Chose to Write by Hand at Angkor Wat

At first, it felt unexpected. In a world filled with autocorrect, voice typing, and short-form slang, nearly 2,000 Cambodians showed up with a straightforward plan: sit down, pick up a pen, and write carefully. On the causeway of Angkor Wat, the third annual Angkor Dictation Competition unfolded quietly, but with a level of focus that was impossible to miss.

The event has grown fast. What started a few years ago with around 700 participants welcomed 1,860 contestants this year, from five-year-olds to participants in their eighties. That’s a big jump. But the numbers aren’t just about popularity. They hint at something familiar to all of us: as messages get faster and typing gets easier, careful Khmer writing is slowly being pushed aside. The competition isn’t anti-technology; it simply asks people to slow down for a moment and care again.

And doing that at Angkor Wat makes it even more special. As Deputy Prime Minister and President of the Union of Youth Federations of Cambodia, Hun Many, pointed out, the location itself reflects shared pride and identity. Writing Khmer at Angkor isn’t random; it’s a reminder that language belongs to everyone, not just schools or textbooks.

Things got serious when a respected Buddhist monk began reading the dictation text. Pens froze mid-air. A child quietly bit their lip. Someone in the front row leaned closer to catch every syllable. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was intense in the best way. In that moment, everyone realised the same thing: getting words right actually takes effort.

Of course, national leaders were there, and winners walked away with medals and prizes. But the real challenge wasn’t about winning. It was about patience. In a world that rewards speed, writing slowly and carefully felt almost brave. The competition didn’t just celebrate perfect spelling; it celebrated attention.

It’s nice to see that people keep coming back. Families return year after year. Young participants help one another. Many now say it’s something every Cambodian should experience at least once, not to compete, but to remember how easy it is to lose accuracy when no one expects it anymore.

The Angkor Dictation Competition stands out not just because it keeps growing, but because it makes learning feel meaningful and even a little fun. Culture doesn’t survive just because we admire it. It lasts because people keep practising it. At Angkor Wat, thousands chose to do precisely that. The only question left is whether we’ll keep that same care when we pick up our phones again.