楊銳

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.”

—Michel de Montaigne

“世界上最偉大的事，是一個(gè)人懂得如何做自己的主人?！?/p>

—米歇爾·德·蒙田

I always wanted to live alone. When I was a teenager I had a fantasy about living in my own flat， wearing a Japanese kimono and drinking lapsang souchong1） （I read a lot of Colette2） novels at a formative3） age）. But when I moved in with my boyfriend at the age of 23， I started planning for a new future—one with other people in it.

This all changed when I turned 30. Like Colette in my paperback novels， I had arrived at my “age of reckoning.” I left my boyfriend， went to live with my mum and her partner， and a year later finally moved into my own place. Alone.

Those first few days of being by myself in my flat—decorated with my choice of colours， with my books on the shelves and my pictures， hung by me， on my walls—were disconcerting4）. I walked around the few rooms， wondering what to do now. With no one to move around， no one to talk to， no one to ask me how my day had been， I didnt know where to put myself. The life I had once assumed—the one with a partner and a house and a family—had vanished. Here I was， facing a new future， living by myself.

That trepidation5）， that anxiety， soon turned into a feeling of liberation.

Living alone gave me a sense of freedom I hadnt known Id craved. In my own flat， with my own space， I started to write with a renewed energy. Id spent years writing the first draft of a novel—years filled with interruptions and squeezed space. Within months， I had finished a book.

By taking control of my physical space， I opened up a new emotional space for myself. I was working harder and better than Id ever worked before. My self-image changed with the move， too. I started calling myself a writer. In Woolfspeak， I had found my “room of ones own6）” where I could carve out a space for my creative self.

Despite the fact that Im a radical feminist writer and activist， my ex-partner and I had easily slipped into gendered roles in our shared home. I was convinced that I was rubbish at anything technical， and I hate talking to people on the phone. He took on those jobs， while I did most of the cooking and cleaning.

Moving into my own place， this was no longer possible. I had to call the gas company； I had to learn how to programme my central heating， and tune my TV. No one else was going to do it for me. All these things I had been convinced I couldnt do， convinced I didnt understand， I was forced to learn. I had to become more capable， and fast. I had to become independent.

There is something blissfully selfish about living alone. In a society where women are expected to take on so much domestic and emotional labour， where we are typecast7） as nurturers and carers， living purely for myself has been both a joyful and liberating experience.

Living alone means I am my priority. It feels quite subversive8） or transgressive to say so. And yet， theres something really positive about putting myself first. Everything is designed for me， around me， by me. My space is my own space， and my time is my own time. I dont have to answer to anyone.

Of course， it also means that I am responsible for everything. Its up to me to take out the bins as well as do the cooking. Again， in a world where women carry the burden of domestic labour in relationships， there is something liberating about cleaning up for myself and not after other people. I keep my flat tidy because I want to live in a pleasant space， not because Im carrying the domestic burden for a partner， parent， or child. Taking ownership is empowering.

It would be a lie to say that life doesnt sometimes get lonely. However， I believe we can reframe the way we think about loneliness. We can transform the state of being alone into one that is motivating and empowering. When I start to feel lonely， I go for a walk， watch a film， read a book or take a bath.

Most of all， I write.

Moving into my own place proved to me that I can be capable， independent， and in control of my own space and my life.

And yes—I do have that Japanese kimono， and I do drink lapsang souchong.

我過(guò)去總想著要獨(dú)自生活。十幾歲的時(shí)候，我幻想過(guò)住在屬于自己的公寓里，穿著日本和服，飲著正山小種（在那些成長(zhǎng)的歲月里，我讀了很多柯萊特的小說(shuō)）。但23歲時(shí)，我搬去和男朋友一起住，那時(shí)我開(kāi)始規(guī)劃新的未來(lái)——一個(gè)有其他人存在的未來(lái)。

到了30歲，這就完全變了。和我的平裝小說(shuō)中的柯萊特一樣，我已經(jīng)到了“思考的年紀(jì)”。我離開(kāi)了男友，和媽媽及其伴侶住在一起。一年之后，我終于搬進(jìn)自己的地盤(pán)。一個(gè)人。

公寓裝修用的是我喜歡的色彩，書(shū)架上擺的是我的書(shū)，墻上掛著的是我的照片，而且是我自己掛上去的。但最初一個(gè)人在公寓的那幾天，我感覺(jué)焦躁不安。我在為數(shù)不多的幾個(gè)房間里徘徊，不知道要做些什么。沒(méi)有人在身邊走動(dòng)，沒(méi)有人和我說(shuō)話，沒(méi)有人問(wèn)我今天過(guò)得怎么樣，我不知該如何安放自己。我曾經(jīng)假設(shè)的生活——有一個(gè)伴兒、一所房子、一個(gè)家的生活——化為了泡影。走到了這一步，我要面對(duì)的是嶄新的未來(lái)，一個(gè)人的生活。

這種驚惶和焦慮很快就轉(zhuǎn)變?yōu)樽杂芍小?/p>

一個(gè)人生活給我?guī)?lái)了一種自由的感覺(jué)，這種自由感是我一直渴求卻不自知的。我在屬于自己的公寓里，有了自己的空間，于是重新打起精神，開(kāi)始寫(xiě)作。我曾花費(fèi)幾年的時(shí)間才完成一部小說(shuō)的初稿——那幾年里我經(jīng)常被打斷，個(gè)人空間遭到擠壓。現(xiàn)在，幾個(gè)月內(nèi)我就寫(xiě)成了一本書(shū)。

我通過(guò)控制物理空間為自己開(kāi)辟了新的情感空間。我比以往工作得更努力，工作得更好。自我形象也隨著此次搬家改變了，我開(kāi)始稱自己為作家。用伍爾芙的話說(shuō)，我發(fā)現(xiàn)了“自己的房間”，在這個(gè)房間里我可以為富有創(chuàng)作力的自己開(kāi)辟一片天地。

盡管我是激進(jìn)的女權(quán)主義作家和活躍人士，我和前男友在共享的家中還是容易進(jìn)入各自的性別角色。我相信自己在任何技術(shù)問(wèn)題面前都相當(dāng)于一個(gè)廢物，我還討厭在電話上與人交談。所以這些工作都由他承擔(dān)，而做飯、打掃這些工作大部分由我做。

搬進(jìn)自己的地盤(pán)后，這樣分工就不再可能了。我必須自己打電話給煤氣公司；我必須學(xué)會(huì)預(yù)設(shè)中央暖氣；我必須自己調(diào)電視頻道。沒(méi)有人再幫我做這些。所有我以前認(rèn)為自己不會(huì)做的，搞不明白的，我都被迫去學(xué)。我必須變得更有能力，更敏捷。我必須變得獨(dú)立。

獨(dú)自生活也有一些幸福的私利。這個(gè)社會(huì)期待女性承擔(dān)太多的家務(wù)勞動(dòng)和情感付出，把我們一成不變地看成營(yíng)養(yǎng)師、護(hù)理工。在這樣的社會(huì)中，單純?yōu)樽约憾钍且环N快樂(lè)且自由的經(jīng)歷。

獨(dú)自生活意味著我首要考慮的對(duì)象是我自己。這樣說(shuō)感覺(jué)有點(diǎn)違背常理，大逆不道。但是，把自己放在首位確實(shí)有一些積極作用。一切都是為我設(shè)計(jì)，圍繞我設(shè)計(jì)，由我設(shè)計(jì)。我的空間就是屬于我的空間，我的時(shí)間就是屬于我的時(shí)間。我不需要為任何人負(fù)責(zé)。

當(dāng)然，這也意味著我要對(duì)一切負(fù)責(zé)。我要自己扔垃圾，自己做飯。還是那句話，在這個(gè)世界里，處于兩性關(guān)系中的女性要承擔(dān)家務(wù)勞動(dòng)的擔(dān)子，所以為自己打掃而不是跟著別人后面打掃讓人有一種解放的感覺(jué)。我保持公寓的整潔是因?yàn)槲蚁肷钤谝巳说沫h(huán)境中，不是因?yàn)槲乙獮榘閭H、父母或孩子去挑起家務(wù)的擔(dān)子。擁有自己的地盤(pán)能賦予人更多的自主權(quán)。

說(shuō)生活中沒(méi)有任何孤單的時(shí)刻，那是騙人的。但是，我認(rèn)為我們可以重新思考孤獨(dú)。我們可以把孤獨(dú)的狀態(tài)轉(zhuǎn)變成激勵(lì)人、振奮人的狀態(tài)。當(dāng)我開(kāi)始感到孤獨(dú)時(shí)，我會(huì)去散散步、看電影、讀本書(shū)或洗個(gè)澡。

更多的時(shí)候，我寫(xiě)作。

搬進(jìn)自己的地盤(pán)讓我明白我可以能干、獨(dú)立，可以掌控我的空間和生活。

而且，是的——我確實(shí)穿著日本和服，我也確實(shí)喝著正山小種。

1. lapsang souchong：正山小種（中國(guó)產(chǎn)上等紅茶，有明顯的煙熏香味）

2. Colette：即西多妮·加布里埃爾·科萊特（Sidonie Gabrielle Colette， 1873～1954），法國(guó)國(guó)寶級(jí)女作家，代表作為小說(shuō)《琪琪》（Gigi）。

3. formative [?f??（r）m?t?v] adj. 有助于形成（或成長(zhǎng)）的

4. disconcerting [?d?sk?n?s??（r）t??] adj. 使人不安的

5. trepidation [?trep??de??（?）n] n. 驚恐

6. 此處指英國(guó)著名作家弗吉尼亞·伍爾芙（Virginia Woolf， 1882～1941）的一句話：“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”伍爾芙是意識(shí)流文學(xué)代表人物，被譽(yù)為20世紀(jì)現(xiàn)代主義與女性主義的先鋒，代表作包括小說(shuō)《達(dá)洛維夫人》（Mrs. Dalloway）、《到燈塔去》（To the Lighthouse）及隨筆《一間自己的房間》（A Room of Ones Own）等。

7. typecast [?ta?p?kɑ?st] vt. 一成不變地看待

8. subversive [s?b?v??（r）s?v] adj. 顛覆性的