The following day I burned the notebook in the woodstove. Winter was over and we weren’t making fires anymore, but I used the stove to hold the pages as they were consumed by the flames. I remember I set about it as a sort of ritual. I was bidding farewell that day, and for the rest of my life, to my journal, not only the one on those sheets of paper but the very concept of a private journal. I couldn’t allow myself to create an object that made me so easily accessible, that might put me even more at the mercy of any person who wanted to spy on me or hurt me.
Sad Tiger; Neige Sinno




