Dear Virginia Woolf,
You don’t know who I am. And two months ago I didn’t know you either. We are just two writers almost a century apart. 54 years, 2 months, 13 days – that’s how long there was between us. You killed yourself after forever of struggling in March 1941, I was born not knowing all the hardships I would face in June 1995.
Mrs. Woolf or can I call you Virginia? Both of us share many similar traits. Writers, issues with mental health, seeing the world from a different perspective. But you will never know this because you’re dead. And even I don’t yet know how deep our bond truly goes.
1915-1918 those are the years from your diaries I have read so far. But it feels like I should have started from somewhere far before.
It was a sunny day in June when I first saw your diaries in a bookstore. All 5 of them were in the discount aisle. The back cover told me you were a writer but that’s all. I had never heard of you and dead people have never been an interest of mine. Still, something in these books screamed for me. I took the first one and continued my stroll around the store. It’s just a few euros, that’s what I thought.
When I finally got to the counter something didn’t feel right. Those 4 remaining diaries kept bugging me. Call it intuition, destiny or my addiction to books but my mind kept telling me to take all five of your diaries home. And so I did.
Next thing I knew, I couldn’t stop reading your first entries in 1915. Maybe I saw myself in you or you in myself or the text just felt so real. Virginia Woolf, you interest me.
It took only a week from me to know that this was now a thing. You and me had become a thing so I had to find as much information about you as possible. Not my proudest moment when one night I ordered your early diary, essay collections and letter collections to go together with the diaries already in my bookshelf. 16 books of you all together. 16 books full of text written by you.
Reading someone’s writing is the closest way to be with them. 54 years, 2 months, 13 days between us but I can feel you in my bones.