A Room of One's Own

One of my favorite texts by my beloved Virginia Woolf. In this book, the exceptional author talks about creative women and how they are denied a place under the sun. Woolf poses the question of why we don't have a female counterpart for Shakespeare. She then imagines a fictional character, Shakespeare's sister, and explains through her the numerous obstacles which face a woman who wants to write. While this sister cooks and cleans, her brother is allowed a peaceful solitude in a room of his own, where he can explore his creativity and experiment with it. He has access to theatres and producers. He is allowed the freedom to express himself and exercise his talent. She may be more talented than him, but her life forces her to stay in the shadow and prevents her from showing this talent.

Woolf then talks about the idea of independence. In this sense, a room of one's one, becomes a space. A space where a woman can have her privacy.. where she can work and think. She also needs financial independence in order to secure this space for herself. A Room of One's Own is a brilliant text, with very solid arguments and interesting ideas.

Yet, this is not my subject. I owe the idea of this post to Egypt Rose. Thanks to her sweet compliment, she compared my writing style to that of great writers, and urged me to consider professional writing. Sometimes my mind runs through so many things as a result of a random stream of consciousness where one thought leads to another. When I read what she said I went like: "Why haven't I tried even for once to publish what I write?" "Why don't we have popular female novelists in Egypt nowadays?" There are many great female novelists like Ahdaf Souif, Nawal ElSaadawi, and others. But they aren't as popular as the male authors. They don't have a bestselling novel. I then remembered Woolf's words. How is a woman expected to be creative and have a writing career with all the loads and pressures she is subjected to in our society.

I then remembered how I used to keep a diary when I was in elementary school. I remembered how my mom used to sneak behind my back to get access to them and read them without caring to ask if it was ok with me or not. The way she denied me a room of my own, a space of privacy, a breath of air, has caused me to quit writing my memoirs altogether. It took me a long time to start realizing that I should fight for my existence and my rights. Writing is an act that needs privacy but aims to reach the public. My pains will only have value when shared. Instead of burying the pain in one's chest until it destroys her, pain can be expressed and spread out for relief as well as for education. Education itself is painful. You have to go along the passage of thorns in order to gather the roses. But I learned that lesson late in life and I wish I had learned it earlier.
My admiration for Virginia Woolf made many friends predict that I will meet the fate she had; by that they meant going mad and commiting suicide. I would answer back saying that I truely wish I would follow her footsteps, but I meant her literary and intellectual achievements, her talent, her fruitful life, and having a wonderful man by her side (Leonard Woolf). People always have different readings of anything. It is only if you have a room of your own that you come up with your own reading, find your own voice and discover your own self.