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Somewhere a Room of Ones Own美文欣赏
有时候，一个痛苦的人是不喜欢别人陪伴的。其实痛苦往往就是源于陪伴。如果我不能按照自己的喜好装饰房间，至少也得让我独自呆在里面受苦啊。但已经有人告诉过我了，宿舍不是你独处的地方，而是让你学会和别人相处的地方。
Somewhere a Room of One's Own
My room at home was too small for me. I barely had room for all the little knickknacks I'd collected over the years. There were so many things I had to pack away in boxes and store in closets all over the house. Oftentimes I didn't quite remember exactly where everything was.
There were all the notes my girlfriends and I passed throughout junior high, along with all the goofy poems my first boyfriend paid his friends to write and passed along to me as his originals. I also had a separate box for rose petals collected from past birthdays, Valentine's Days, anniversaries, and proms. I kept all my pictures in neatly organized albums on the bottom shelf of my bookcase. I had jewelry that I never wore but I thought I might someday need stashed away all over my room. I also saved birthday and Christmas cards, leaves that had fallen from the trees the previous fall, and medals I won for participating in piano recitals. On another shelf of my bookcase I even had a brick I found on the playground at my elementary school.
I'm not exactly sure why I saved everything, but I have some sort of idea. I never wanted to forget the great times I'd had growing up. I always feared I'd become one of those adults who couldn't relate to children because they simply couldn't remember having been children themselves. I wanted to remember the flowers my brother gave me when no other boy would. I wanted to someday look back at pictures of my first trip to Panama City. For some strange reason, I wanted to remember the day my playmates and I found that broken brick on the playground and thought our school was being broken into.
So I kept my life stored away in my bedroom, tucked neatly into boxes, stacked high up in my closet, on display on my bookcases, stashed discreetly away in my underwear drawer in hopes I'd never forget anything. I loved my room because it was all about me. I didn't have to share it with anyone else. My memories didn't have to mingle with a sibling's or roommate's. My room at home was just that ... my room, full of my things.
Now that I'm away from home, enrolled in college, and sharing ten cubic feet with another girl, my old bedroom doesn't seem so small. I try my hardest to make my half of the room personal to me, but in a space so small, that proves almost impossible. Occasionally her books will find their way to my half of the desk, or her shoes will be near my closet. Sometimes crumbs from the crackers she's eating litter my half of the carpet, and every so often, her hair brush begins to hang around with mine.
I don't have room for all the little memories I cherish. I only brought a handful of pictures from home, left behind all my yearbooks, as well as my dried flowers and "who loves who" notes. Perhaps the worst part about the whole ordeal is that I don't have room to start any new collections. The threat is there that I won't have anything to remind me of my college years. That's a really scary thought for me. This place where I sleep and study isn't my room. It's just a room.
404 South Carrick Hall is just a place to sleep, study, and watch my roommate watch TV. It's filled with textbooks, CD-ROMs, and dishes ... things that aren't supposed to be in a bedroom. There's only room for one stuffed animal and three posters which have a hard time staying on brico-block walls. I hate the fact that there's a microwave and refrigerator in the room where I sleep, and I hate that I'm responsible for filling them.
Maybe even worse than my new room's lack of personality is the lack of privacy it offers. Occasionally, and especially during home-coming, my roommate comes in after I've gone to sleep. She doesn't mean to wake me up, but when she starts her nightly contact-removal ritual, I can't help but hear what seems like thousands of different cleaning solution bottles bumping around the sink. I've been known to bother her too. During the day when I'm trying to study, my typing interferes with her enjoyment of "The Loveboat," "Days of Our Lives," and "Another World."
My roommate is not the only one who deprives me of privacy and makes 404 a room that is not really my own. The girls next door to me see me as a back-up grammar check when their computers don't catch every mistake. I can't lock them out because it's not my room to lock. I can't say, "Go away," because they've gotten to be really good friends and I can't be rude to people I care about.
The lack of privacy thing really bothers me. Not only do I live in a room that acts as a bedroom, study, kitchen, living room, and bathroom, I don't even get to be miserable in it by myself. Sometimes misery does not love company. Rather, it is created by company. If I can't decorate my room to my liking, I should at least be able to suffer in it alone. But dormitories are not for being alone - I've been told - they're about learning to get along with others. (Maybe I'll see the positive results of this nightmare when I'm giving advice to my own children when they begin college, but for the moment, I'm completely oblivious to them.)
There is some good news, however. Though she annoys me to no end, sometimes my roommate is just the person I want to see. I didn't get to know her habits so well without her taking in a few of mine. She oftentimes knows what I'm going to say even before I do, and most of the time she knows exactly when not to say anything to me at all. She's friend as well as foe, and I'd probably miss her if she left. The same sentiments apply to my neighbors. It's really quite flattering that they, even if somewhat mistakenly, consider me some sort of grammar goddess.
And perhaps most important is the next thought. While I don't live in a room that's completely mine anymore, and probably won't ever again, I do find comfort in the knowledge that somewhere there's a pink, green, and white bedroom with a brick on the bookshelf, a diary in the underwear drawer, and an air of privacy that belongs strictly to me. It may not be my room as often as I'd like, but it will wait for me, just like I sit and wait for it.
我在家里的房间很小，偏偏我平时又喜欢搜集一些可爱的小玩意，几年下来，各种各样小玩意就渐渐摆满了我的房间。对那些摆放不下的东西，我只好忍痛将他们打包放进纸箱里，然后再塞进家里大大小小的储物柜里面，通常情况下我都不记得这些东西的具体存放位置。
在这些小玩意当中，有我和初三的女伴们互传的小纸片，还有我的第一任男朋友的蹩脚情诗－－还不是他自己写的，是他掏腰包请他的朋友代写的，然后大言不惭地跟我说是他自己写的。我还有一个专门放玫瑰花瓣的箱子，花瓣都是我在历年的生日、情人节、各种周年纪念日和舞会上收集回来的。我还把照片整理成相册，整整齐齐地放在书架的底层上。我还留着一些自己从来都没戴过的首饰，想着哪一天要把它们好好藏在房间的每一个角落。我仍然保存着各式各样的生日卡和圣诞卡，去年秋天的落叶，还有我参加钢琴演奏会时赢回来的奖牌。在书架的另外一层甚至还摆着一块砖头，那还是我上小学的时候在操场上拾回来的。
我也不清楚为什么自己要保留这些东西，我只能说一些模糊的理解，我觉得是想让自己铭记成长过程中的美好时光。有些成年人不能理解孩子的想法，因为他们根本不记得自己也曾是一个孩子，而我总是害怕会变成这样的人。当没有其他男孩子送花给我的时候，哥哥送了花给我，我想永远记住那些花儿。我也希望可以通过看照片回想起自己第一次去巴拿马城的情景。我还记得那天我和玩伴在操场上发现那块烂砖头的时候，我们还以为学校遭打劫了呢。我也说不出为什么，我就希望当自己看回这块砖头的时候，我还能回想起当时的想法。
于是我将我的生活点滴就这样储存在我的卧室里，整整齐齐地叠放在箱子里，高高地堆放在储物柜里，或是陈列在书架里，小心翼翼地藏在存放内衣的抽屉里，惟恐自己遗漏了什么。我很喜欢自己的房间，因为它处处充满了我的气息。我不用与任何人共用房间，我的回忆也不会与兄弟姐妹或室友的相混杂。我在家的房间是我自己私人的世界，到处都是我自己的东西。
后来我考进了大学，也就离开了家，和一个女孩共住一间十立方英尺的宿舍，现在我再也不觉得家里的房间小了。我竭尽全力地维护属于自己的一半领地，可地方实在太窄了，事实证明我的努力都是徒劳的。有时候她的书会很自然地出现在我的半边桌子上，或是我的鞋柜里冒出她的鞋子。有时候，在她吃饼干的时候，饼干屑还会掉落在我的半边地毯上。她的梳子也开始和我的梳子混在了一起。
由于没有地方摆放所有记载着珍贵记忆片段的物品，我也没有从家里带来年鉴和干花，也没有拿来写着“谁爱谁”的纸条，只带了一叠相片过来。我想开始收集其它东西，却没有地方存放，这可是这段苦难最惨痛的部分啊。而由此造成的危害是：我将没有能让自己记起大学岁月的物品。想到这，我就心慌意乱。我睡觉和学习的这个地方不再是属于我的天地；它只是一个房间而已。
南卡尔克宿舍404房只是一个睡觉、学习和看着我室友看电视的地方。房间里摆满了课本、光碟和盘子，尽是一些不应该出现在卧室里的东西。剩下的空间只够放一只毛公仔和三张海报，要呆在粗糙的墙壁上，这些海报可真够呛的。我讨厌把微波炉和电冰箱摆在我睡觉的地方，也讨厌自己总要往里面塞放食物。
我的新居没有个性，这已经够糟糕了，但更糟糕的是我老是要受到干扰。有时候，尤其在晚上室友回宿舍的时候她总要把我从梦中吵醒。她也不是故意要吵醒我，可是她每晚睡前例行的“脱隐形眼镜仪式”总让我心烦意乱，我觉得仿佛有上千瓶的隐形眼镜清洗液在洗手盆里摇来晃去。
当然了，我也有干扰她的时候。当我集中精神学习的时候，我打字的声音也让她很扫兴，这样她就不能专注地追那些肥皂剧，像《爱之舟》、《我们的生活》和《异度空间》。
我的室友剥夺了我的私人空间，使404室不能真正成为我自己的房间，而她也不是唯一这样做的人。隔壁的女孩们把我当作后备的“语法检测器”，当她们的电脑不能找出文章的每处语法错误时，她们就跑来求救。我不能要她们吃闭门羹，因为这不只是我的房间，我不能把它紧锁。我也不能对她们说：“走开”，因为她们都是我要好的朋友，我不能粗鲁地对待那些我所关心的人。
没有私人空间真的让我很苦恼。我住的房间既是卧室，也是书房、厨房、起居室和卫生间，而且我还不能一个人在里面痛苦受罪。有时候，一个痛苦的人是不喜欢别人陪伴的。其实痛苦往往就是源于陪伴。如果我不能按照自己的喜好装饰房间，至少也得让我独自呆在里面受苦啊。但已经有人告诉过我了，宿舍不是你独处的地方，而是让你学会和别人相处的地方。（也许到了将来某一天，在我给开始上大学的儿女提建议的时候，我可以意识到住宿舍的好处。可现在在我看来，住宿舍就是一场噩梦，我没有发现其中的任何好处。）
然而，好处还是有的。对于我的室友，虽然我总是不胜其烦，但有时她正是我想见到的人。如果她没有接纳我的一些习惯，我也不会对她的习惯了如指掌。通常，我还没开口她就知道我要说什么了；而且，在我不想和人答腔的时候，她都能感受到，并做到缄口不言。她集朋友和敌人于一身，如果她离开了，我就会挂念她。对于我的隔壁宿舍的邻居们，我也有同样的感觉。她们把我当作－－即使是“误”当作－－语法女神，我还是觉得非常荣幸。
也许接下来的想法才是重要的：虽然现在我不住在完全属于我的房间里，也许以后也不会，可是我相信在某个地方有个完全属于我的私人空间－－卧房是粉红色、绿色和白色相间的，书架上放了一块砖头，内衣抽屉里面还放着一本日记本，想到这些我就觉得油然欣慰。这个房间不总是如我所愿，可它会等着我这个主人，正如我现在在宿舍里坐着等它。
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