What I find so deeply empowering about this book is how it centres two single women who choose to live together, quietly but firmly stepping outside what society tells us a “complete” life should look like. A huge part of why I loved this book so much is how uncannily relatable it felt to me:
single ✔️
have a cat / cats ✔️
don’t see myself getting married anytime soon ✔️
plan to live alone ✔️
Reading about their anxieties around living alone felt visceral and honest, and it made me pause to consider the kind of life I might build if I chose to move out and live independently. The book doesn’t just romanticise cohabitation; it shows both its beauty and its friction—the negotiations, the compromises, the slow learning of how to live with another person, especially when one is meticulously tidy and the other leans towards hoarding. One line that stayed with me was Sunwoo recalling what her boss said on marriage, “Living together with someone is communal living. The best partner isn't someone whose lifestyle matches yours but someone who is willing to put in the effort to create a lifestyle with you.”
I loved how these ruminations naturally open into reflections on marriage itself—how it, too, is a form of cohabitation, only layered with in-laws, expectations, and the labour of maintaining familial ties. What Sunwoo and Hana have may not exist on paper, but it quietly redefines traditional relationships. It feels like a deeply viable, even hopeful, option for singles who might otherwise fear growing old alone. They show up for one another in moments of grief and uncertainty, and they champion each other’s dreams with tenderness and resolve.
Another aspect that resonated so strongly with me is that they’re cat parents. I couldn’t help but think of how my parents didn’t want another cat after my previous one passed, and how I still snuck Ehsan home one day because I wanted to be a cat mum regardless. This passage truly undid me:
“A happy life isn’t achieved by preparing for and avoiding pain, loss and agony. Without those, perhaps life wouldn’t be life at all. Had I known about the difficulties of watching my cats grow old and sick, and the pain of saying goodbye, would I have given up the life that Haku and I have built together? But the moments before the farewell, the moments when we love with every fibre of our being, the memories that rekindle a loved one’s peculiarity, and those that sometimes bring us pain — aren’t those the pieces that make up the fabric of life?”
It made me think about companionship in a broader sense—about choosing love despite impermanence, about how sharing a life, even platonically, can bring double the joy and halve the pain. A pain shared really is a pain softened.
This is a non-fiction book not to be missed!