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Malaysian in Tokyo. Welcome to my happy space!

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book review: a room of one's own

 Finally finished this book by my favourite author - Virginia Woolf.


I won't lie, when I first started on the book I forgot that this woman has her own witty way of writing (other than her sometimes taking 3 pages for a paragraph). And this book is the proof.




The whole point of the book, or extended essay is that a woman, in order to become an author, needs these things:

A room of her own
Money, or financial freedom
Freedom, or undistracted time

I love love it. Other than having some trouble understanding her longgg trail of thoughts (takes a few pages for a paragraph, she truly is one of a kind) I love that she pioneered the feminism in regards to woman being authors. I mean, she even had Shakespeare quoted in the book to draw a comparison to his fictional sister! 

Brilliant woman.


As usual, her books will change your perspective on life and everything you believe in - so I am not disappointed. Being a feminist myself (well, used to, now 50-50) I understand what she meant about having a room on my own. 

Freedom for me started at a very young age. I was living in a dorm room away from my family at 12 years old, and even then it felt private to me rather than living at my own house in my hometown. I lived my teenage years with a walkman and earphone - two items so essential to my introvert being so that I could drown the outside noise and focus on my safe space instead, in a 12-pax dorm room with other girls around my age. 

But I enjoyed it. Collected my own favourite albums during those times and still love them even at 35 year old.

I started writing at 13 year old, which was a poem addressed to my (late) dad. Literally addressed to - I wrote those poems during Father's Day with a page of Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me" and sealed them in a big, thick envelope and posted them to my dad's office. I don't know why, I just wanted my dad to receive them away from my house so that my mom won't find out and feel bummed that I didn't send her anything.

That school break, when I came back I found out my dad framed the poem and hung it on his office wall.

I felt so happy I cried.

And that was when I started writing more. Mostly letters to my parents (even though I called them almost everyday #homesick) and random journals. Short stories. Oh how I wish I've kept them!

Fast forward almost 20 years later, still writing. Blog, I hope you know that my inner child is so thankful I kept you all these while. 

And now that I've gotten my own space and freedom back, I've started to write again. So Miss Virginia, I wholly and totally agree with you. How crazy it is that the book was published in the 1920s but still relevant today, in 2022. 

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