Therefore, we use flowers to inspire life, and banquets to drive away loneliness. Or, in order to avoid death, we use drugs to maintain life, and we hide in seclusion... But Woolf told his husband that avoiding life would not bring peace.
Richmond in 1923, LA in 1951, NY in 2001, the lives of three women are so strangely intertwined. On this day, the alarm clock by their bedside goes off, they comb their hair, look in the mirror, stare, trance, wash their faces, and open the curtains, she wrote, Mrs Dalloway says she will buy the flowers herself. She read this page in bed. And she, said to her girlfriend, I'm going to buy flowers myself. The story written by Woolf happened to two other women. A woman's whole life changes just in a single day. Just that day, a whole life...
This story is not destined to be gorgeous, because it talks about suicide, it talks about hesitation, it talks about the ultimate loneliness of life. And, the loneliness seemed self-inflicted. Why, in what we see as a perfect relationship, would someone want to run away? Why are some people in a state of anxiety and fear of losing everything in what we see as a perfect life? Why in her own perfect life, others tell her that I live only to satisfy you?
In this stream-of-consciousness story, only a few hours, only one day, the woman touches the truth of her heart. Between freedom and concern, some people choose the former, some choose the latter, and some people comfort themselves that life is bound to have gains and losses , someone throws everything away and runs away.
The inescapable fate connects the two women because of the suicide of a man, who is her son and her former lover. He is an AIDS patient and a novelist. When he was young, he once witnessed his mother's uneasy day. Now, when a banquet that belonged to him was approaching, he chose to commit suicide. like a premeditated plan. He accomplished what his mother had never accomplished, and he gave his life to the woman he loved so much. I don't know how his departure will change their lives. Maybe it's just one less person to speak, maybe one less door, they are closer to themselves.
In 1941, Sax, England, Woolf slowly walked towards the center of the river. She left a letter to her husband telling him that no one in the world could be as happy as they once were. Life has finished the banquet, and there is no regret when it ends.
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