Was there a certain point for you when you thought, now I’m going to begin writing all of this down?

That point happened when I wanted to talk to someone. But no one was there who would have listened to me, and—paper is patient. I was a bit hindered in writing, but then, once I started, the memories just shot out. Afterward, I had the feeling that it”s accomplished, that”s the truth now. Although it was often a little difficult to write, because my partner didn”t truly understand it. It didn”t occur to him that I picked up a pencil, at most, when I signed my name, or sent a card to the children from out of town, which only the children would receive. The mailman didn”t know me, so I didn”t need to feel embarrassed. That”s why I always had to take advantage of the time when I was alone. I mostly wrote for a half hour, then I already had to go back to cooking again. While I was cooking, however, or serving the food or washing up the dishes, I saved what I wanted to write in my mind; in my thoughts I was already back to the paper. And when I had time again, it came out fluently.

One time I didn”t find all the stuff. Where was it? I looked for it for three days. The others had mislaid it somewhere because they didn”t attach any value to it. That”s understandable; it really did look like scribbling, but it was really important to me, and I could read my own handwriting. At one point I organized these pieces of paper nicely, took one, and went to my brother. Karli, I said to him, you would do me a favor by reading this sheet of paper.—Go on! This scribbling! Throw it away.— Really? And I was embarrassed because of my scribbling, and I went away. Despite this, I took everything, and I saved it in the kitchen, where no one went. And every time I had finished another page, I threw it in with the rest. In the end, I wasn”t able to stop myself. And even if I knew I had to go into the kitchen to do work there, I didn”t care. It would all become too much for me.