Eleanoora Rosenholm - Vainajan muotokuva

Before my justified demise, brought about my own hand, I would like to write down a few words for future generations and the victims’ families in order to shed light on the reasons I had for doing what I’ve done. I don’t expect or want forgiveness, nor do I ask for it. We shall never understand why events in life turn out as they do, for they develop and deepen independently of us. We are small and fragile, alone and forgotten. How could we ever alter the will and direction of the avalanche? I believe that our fate is written in the stars, in their movements and will. The stars are great, and we are their forsaken children, deprived of warmth and understanding. The loves offered us are lust and power games, machinations of desire and reflections of our own selfishness. Life is a cold punishment for our other lives; we are the serpents of literature, forever eating our own tails. We deserve the loneliness and misery that is ours. Do not attempt to fathom why and what I’ve done, for much like a leaf that falls from a tree and a river that overflows its banks, a human life is the life of a butterfly flying against the storm. I am not proud of what I’ve done, but I loved so much that it pained my chest and broke my heart time and time again. And there is not one amongst the tiny and small who can bear this endlessly without losing her heart and love in the cold, dark eye of the mire.

May the cursing of my name offer consolation to those whom my deeds have left with none, only hatred and bitterness. I have my cross to bear, and I sincerely wish the mourners a ray of light into their sorrow.

Eleanoora Rosenholm

In this life, at Ruonela farm, on 5th January 1959

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