Hagintha Woods

Perhaps it is the innate human predilection towards pattern recognition.

When I read books concurrently, thematic similarities tend to unfurl between the pages, connecting fantasy to horror, a 40 year old female protagonist to a 16 year old boy, fiction to non-fiction. I do not set out to read in thematic blocks, often choosing to read contrasting books simultaneously-when one book gets too much, it is often a reprieve to duck into a story that has already been cracked open, the winged pages of its’ abode already familiar and waiting.

And yet, so it happens.

‘Out of the blue, Rika was hit by the desire to have an apartment of her own, the same size as this one. Or no, the size didn’t really matter- the thing was to have lots of individual rooms, so that people could have their privacy.’ – Butter, Asako Yuzuki

Through the course of the book, the main character -Rika-eventually muddles her way towards this, creating a sort of refuge from social norms where people could come together. To have a gathering of people, but without conventional roles. It reminded me of The Ladies, two women who’d run off to live in Llangollen.

‘Their goal was “Retirement”, a life of “Sentiment” and “Tenderness”.’ – The Art of the Wasted Day, by Patricia Hampl

They were seen as oddities, growing famous in their own right. Many writers and even royals came to visit, all for different reasons, such as the landscape, the availability of a place to write, or the women themselves.

‘Coming and going, the aristocrats paid wistful (or baffled) homage to a way of life rare in both its independence and chosen affection.’ -The Art of the Wasted Day, by Patricia Hampl

A thread of words was strung, from passage to passage, then to somewhere deep within me. As words lingered, settled into a notion, my mind’s fangs flossed on the thought with the insistence and irritation of someone trying to get at something stuck for far too long.

Then, a catch. And with a tug, the thread thrummed, vibrating a chord that echoed with desire finally given form. The want to create a place of belonging, and to be content and assured enough that I had the space and means for friends to pass by.

I’ve had a dream for a while, an ambitious plan with two partners, loved ones with whom I shared my sacred girlhood, survived the emotional valleys of teenagehood, and now experience the dulling ache of womanhood with together. Barring romantic partners or other twists of fate, we envision a house together with separate rooms, sharing the chores and joys of domesticity. When the sunlight gets too harsh or the rigours of existence wring my soul out to dry, the very thought of such a future is a refreshing balm, a few drops of water on the tongue.

I do not know if we will manage it. Life is unpredictable, and we are in the middle of our stories, with not much experience in the laws of house acquisition. Even if this plan does not bloom, I would be grateful for the peace and strength the mere seed of the idea has given me over the years.

But though plans are always in fluctuation, I’ve always been adamant about one thing- I want a guest room.

Where I live, where there are barely enough rooms for even the people that live in them, this sounds ludicrous and arrogant of me (especially coupled with the fact that we’d also like an additional, smaller room for our movies, games and books). But it doesn’t have to be big, or something I would be proud to bring my parents home to. I just want it to be comfortable.

And I think I’ve always imagined my home that way. No matter how many people in the house, I want one more room. I deeply enjoy the idea of an empty room where we can house friends who need a rest. Where they can have tea and soba and a home to come back to- but also similarly have to be a part of the labour of living: chores, communication, doing nice things for each other.

Of course, it all depends on context-I wouldn’t expect someone deep in the throes of sadness to be the light of the party, just as I wouldn’t expect someone who lost their job to contribute financially. There is a time to give and a time to take. But I’d expect them to be honest to themselves, and contribute where they are able.

Because healing is sometimes isolation, but most of the time it is uncomfortable.

It is work. It is learning conflict de-escalation, practicing empathy, acting out how to forgive. It is staying strong to who you are, pulling back from enmeshment, allowing yourself to receive love and forgiveness. That requires a careful balance of solitude and community, of being beholden to oneself, but also to others.

I wish to build a place that encourages that. That builds and strengthens bonds that help each other see the way through the murky waters of life, and intuit what must be done. A place of repose and relaxation, but also one of healing. And in that moment of clarity, where vague wants had unfurled into clear desire, the need I’ve held unto for so long really took shape for me.

What I want to build is a dressing room in the stage of life.

Somewhere private from community, but not apart from it. Somewhere away from the pressure of performance-the play will still be going, and my friend will still need to step back in when it is their act, but somewhere they can get ready.

Here, let us fix our makeup, tend to the zips that have come apart. Here, we can sit down, rest our weary soles, let our voices take a break for the upcoming soliloquy. Here, Montagues talk and laugh with Capulets, and no matter how many times Orpheus turns around, Eurydice is there. Here, Persephone stops by as she traverses between the land of her husband and the land of her mother, and enjoys a bit of time beholden to no one but herself.

The battles outside will still have to be fought, and the inevitable will still come, but in this space, let us acknowledge it is hard. Let us shore up our strength and build our patience.

When I was younger, I used to think I just wanted to run away from it all. And when I found companions I loved, my form of affection was to dream of cloistering them, of hiding these treasured souls I’d found somewhere where there was no pain nor sorrow. But that is far beyond my capabilities, and through life since, I’ve learned that a life lived hiding is half a life at best. Experience is a nuanced, detailed thing with many sides, and the best way to go through it is by staying open.

I cannot sequester my loved ones from life. But I could walk with them so that the burden is not as heavy to carry. I understand that the world is harsh. I do not understand why that means I need to be harsher. Everyone has their own narratives, and I want this to be one of mine.

Come. Stay a while. Leave when you are ready. The door will be open if you need to come back. I wish you the best.

When you next find yourself in the space between the Acts, we will sit together once more and share about where we have been.