SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 1944Dearest Kitty,This m, when I had nothing to do, I leafed through the pages of my diary andcame across so maers dealing with the subject of "Mother" in such strong terms that I was shocked. I said to myself, "Anne, is that really you talking about hate? Oh, Anne, how could you?”I tio sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why I was filled with so muger and hate that I had to fide it all to you. I tried to uand the Anne of st year and make apologies for her, because as long as I leave you with these accusations and dont attempt to expin rompted them, my sce wont be clear. I was suffering then (and still do) from moods that kept my head under water (figuratively speaking) and allowed me to see things only from my own perspective, without calmly sidering what the others -- those whom I, with my mercurial temperament, had hurt or offended -- had said, and then ag as they would have done.I hid inside myself, thought of no o myself and calmly wrote down all my joy, sarcasm and sorrow in my diary. Because this diary has bee a kind of memory book, it means a great deal to me, but I could easily write "over and doh" on many of its pages.I was furious at Mother (and still am a lot of the time). Its true, she didnt uand me, but I didnt uand her either. Because she loved me, she was tender and affeate, but because of the difficult situations I put her in, and the sad circumstances in which she found herself, she was nervous and irritable, so I uand why she was often short with me.I was offeook it far too much to heart and was i aly to her, which, in turn, made her unhappy. We were caught in a vicious circle of unpleasantness and sorrow. Not a very happy period for either of us, but at least its ing to an end. I didnt want to see what was going on, and I felt very sorry for myself, but thats uandable too.Those violent outbursts on paper are simply expressions of ahat, in normal life, I could have worked off by log myself in my room and stamping my foot a few times or calling Mother names behind her back.The period of tearfully passing judgment on Mother is over. Ive grown wiser and Mothers nerves are a bit steadier. Most of the time I mao hold my tongue when Im annoyed, and she does too; so on the surface, we seem to be getting aloer. But theres ohing I t do, and thats to love Mother with the devotion of a child.I soothe my sce with the thought that its better for unkind words to be down on paper than for Mother to have to carry them around in her heart.Yours, AHURSDAY, JANUARY 6, 1944Dearest Kitty,Today I have two things to fess. Its going to take a long time, but I have to tell them to someone, and youre the most likely didate, since I know youll keep a secret, no matter what happens.The first is about Mother. As you know, Ive frequently pined about her and then tried my best to be nice. Ive suddenly realized whats wrong with her. Mother has said that she sees us more as friends than as daughters. Thats all very nice, of course, except that a friend t take the pce of a mother. I need my mother to set a good example and be a person I respect, but in most matters shes an example of what not to do. I have the feeling that Margot thinks so differently about these things that shed never be able to uand what Ive just told you. And Father avoids all versations having to do with Mother.I imagine a mother as a woman who, first and foremost, possesses a great deal of tact, especially toward her adolest children, and not one who, like Momsy, pokes fun at me when I cry. Not because Im in pain, but because of other things.This may seem trivial, but theres one i Ive never fiven her for. It happened one day when I had to go to the dentist. Mother and Margot po go with me and agreed I should take my bicycle. When the dentist was finished and we were back outside, Margot and Mother very sweetly informed me that they were going downtown to buy or look at something, I dont remember what, and of course I wao go along. But they said I couldnt e because I had my bike with me. Tears e rushed to my eyes, and Margot and Man ughing at me. I was so furious that I stuck my to at them, right there oreet. A little old dy happeo be passing by, and she looked terribly shocked. I rode my bike home and must have cried for hours. Strangely enough, even though Mother has wounded me thousands of times, this particur wound still stings whenever I think of how angry I was.I find it difficult to fess the sed one because its about myself. Im not prudish, Kitty, a every time they give a blow-by-blow at of their trips to thebathroom, which they often do, my whole body rises i.Yesterday I read an article on blushing by Sis Heyster. It was as if shed addressed it directly to me. Not that I blush easily, but the rest of the article did apply. What she basically says is that during puberty girls withdraw into themselves and begin thinking about the wondrous ges taking p their bodies. I feel that too, which probably ats for my ret embarrassment over Margot, Mother and Father. Oher hand, Margot is a lot shyer than I am, a shes not in the least embarrassed.I think that whats happening to me is so wonderful, and I dont just mean the ges taking p the outside of my body, but also those on the inside. I never discuss myself or any of these things with others, which is why I have to talk about them to myself. Whenever I get my period (and thats only been three times), I have the feeling that in spite of all the pain, disfort and mess, Im carrying around a sweet secret. So even though its a nuisance, in a certain way Im always looking forward to the time when Ill feel that secret inside me once again.Sis Heyster also writes that girls my age feel very insecure about themselves and are just beginning to discover that theyre individuals with their own ideas, thoughts and habits. Id just turhirteen when I came here, so I started thinking about myself and realized that Ive bee an "indepe person" soohan most girls.Sometimes when I lie i night I feel a terrible urge to touch my breasts and listen to the quiet, steady beating of my heart.Unsciously, I had these feelings even before I came here. Once when I ending the night at Jacques, I could no longer restrain my curiosity about her body, which shed always hidden from me and which Id never seen. I asked her whether, as proof of our friendiship, we could touch each others breasts. Jacque refused.I also had a terrible desire to kiss her, which I did. Every time I see a female nude, such as the Venus in my art history book, I go iasy. Sometimes I find them so exquisite I have tle to hold back my tears. If only I had a girlfriend!THURSDAY, JANUARY 6, 1944Dearest Kitty,My longing for someoo talk to has bee so unbearable that I somehow took it into my head to select Peter for this role. On the few occasions when I have goo Peters room during the day, Ive always thought it was nid cozy. But Peters toopolite to show someohe door when theyre b him, so Ive never dared to stay long. Ive always been afraid hed think I est. Ive been looking for an excuse to linger in his room a him talking without his notig, aerday I got my ce. Peter, you see, is currently going through a crossword-puzzle craze, and he doesnt do anything else all day. I was helping him, and we soon wound up sitting across from each other at his table, Peter on the chair and me on the divan.It gave me a wonderful feeling when I looked into his dark blue eyes and saw how bashful my ued visit had made him. I could read his innermost thoughts, and in his face I saw a look of helplessness and uainty as to how to behave, and at the same time a flicker of awareness of his masity. I saw his shyness, and I melted.I wao say, "Tell me about yourself. Look beh my chatty exterior." But I found that it was easier to think up questions than to ask them.The evening came to a close, and nothing happened, except that I told him about the article on blushing. Not what I wrote you, of course, just that he would grow more secure as he got older. “That night I y in bed and cried my eyes out, all the i while making sure no one could hear me. The idea that I had to beg Peter for favors was simply revolting. But people will do almost anything to satisfy their longings; take me, for example, Ive made up my mind to visit Peter more often and, somehow, get him to talk to me.You mustnt think Im in love with Peter, because Im not. If the van Daans had had a daughter instead of a son, Id have tried to make friends with her.This m I woke up just before seven and immediately remembered what Id been dreaming about. I was sitting on a chair and across from me eter. . . Peter Schiff. We were looking at a book of drawings by Mary Bos. The dream was so vivid I even remember some of the drawings. But that wasnt all -- the dream went oers eyes suddenly met mine, and I stared for a long time into those velvety browhen he said very softly, "If Id only known, Id have e to you long ago!" I turned abruptly away, overe by emotion. And then I felt a soft, oh-so-cool ale cheek against mine, and it felt so good, so good . . .At that point I woke up, still feeling his cheek against mine and his browaring deep into my heart, so deep that he could read how much Id loved him and how much I still do. Again my eyes filled with tears, and I was sad because Id lost him once more, a the same time gd because I knew with certainty that Peter is still the only one for me.Its funny, but I often have such vivid images in my dreams. One night I saw Grammy* [*Grammy is Annes grandmother on her fathers side, and Grandma her grandmother on her mothers side.] so clearly that I could even make out her skin of soft, kly velvet. Aime Grandma appeared to me as a guardian angel. After that it was Hanneli, who still symbolizes to me the suffering of my friends as well as that of Jews in general, so that when Im praying for her, Im also praying for all the Jews and all those in need.And now Peter, my dearest Peter. Ive never had such a clear mental image of him. I dont need a photograph, I see him oh so well.Yours, AnneFRIDAY, ]ANUARY 7, 1944Dearest Kitty,Im su idiot. I fot that I haveold you the story of my orue love.When I was a little girl, way ba kindergarten, I took a liking to Sally Kimmel.His father was gone, and he and his mother lived with an aunt. One of Sallys cousins was a good-looking, slender, dark-haired boy named Appy, who ter turned out to look like a movie idol and aroused more admiration than the short, ical, chubby Sally. For a long time we went everywhere together, but aside from that, my love was ued until Peter crossed my path. I had an out-and-out crush on him. He liked me too, and we were inseparable for one whole summer. I still see us walking hand in hand through our neighborhood, Peter in a white cotton suit and me in a short summer dress. At the end of the summer vacation he went to the seventh grade at the middle school, while I was in the sixth grade at the grammar school. Hed pick me up on the way home, or Id pick him up. Peter was the ideal boy: tall, good-looking and slender, with a serious, quiet and intelligent face. He had dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, ruddy cheeks and a nicely pointed nose. I was crazy about his smile, which made him look so boyish and mischievous.Id gone away to the tryside during summer vacation, and when I came back, Peter was no lo his old address; hed moved and was living with a much older boy, arently told him I was just a kid, because Peter stopped seeing me. I loved him so much that I didnt want to face the truth. I kept ging to him until the day I finally realized that if I tio chase after him, people would say I was boy-crazy.The years went by. Peter hung around with girls his own age and no longer bothered to say hello to me. I started school at the Jewish Lyceum, and several boys in my css were in love with me. I e a honored by their attentions, but that was all. Later on, Hello had a terrible crush on me, but as Ive already told you, I never fell in love again.Theres a saying: "Time heals all wounds." Thats how it was with me. I told myself Id fotteer and no longer liked him in the least. But my memories of him were s that I had to admit to myself that the only reason I no longer liked him was that I was jealous of the irls. This m I realized that nothing has ged;on the trary, as Ive grown older and more mature, my love has grown along with me. I uand noeter thought I was childish, a still hurts to think hed fotten me pletely. I saw his face so clearly; I knew for certain that no o Peter could have stu my mind that way.Ive been in an utter state of fusion today. When Father kissed me this m, I wao shout, "Oh, if only you were Peter!" Ive been thinking of him stantly, and all day long Ive beeing to myself, "Oh, Petel, my darling, darliel . ..”Where I find help? I simply have to go on living and praying to God that, if we ever get out of here, Peters path will ine and hell gaze into my eyes, read the love in them and say, "Oh, Anne, if Id only known, Id have e to you long ago.”Once when Father and I were talking about sex, he said I was too young to uand that kind of desire. But I thought I did uand it, and now Im sure I do. Nothing is as dear to me now as my darliel!I saw my fa the mirror, and it looked so different. My eyes were clear and deep, my cheeks were rosy, which they hadnt been in weeks, my mouth was much softer. I looked happy, ahere was something so sad in my expression that the smile immediately faded from my lips. Im not happy, since I know Petels not thinking of me, a I still feel his beautiful eyes gazing at me and his cool, soft cheek against mine. . . Oh, Petel, Petel, how am I ever going to free myself from your image? Wouldnt anyone who took your pce be a poor substitute? I love you, with a love so great that it simply couldnt keep growing inside my heart, but had to leap out and reveal itself in all its magnitude.A week ago, even a day ago, if youd asked me, "Which of your friends do you think youd be most likely to marry?" Id have answered, "Sally, since he makes me feelgood, peaceful and safe!" But now Id cry, "Petel, because I love him with all my heart and all my soul. I surrender myself pletely!" Except for that ohing: he may touch my face, but thats as far as it goes.This m I imagined I was in the front attic with Petel, sitting on the floor by the windows, and after talking for a while, we both began to cry. Moments ter I felt his mouth and his wonderful cheek! Oh, Petel, e to me. Think of me, my dearest Petel!WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 12, 1944Dearest Kitty,Beps been back for the st two weeks, though her sister wont be allowed back at school until week. Bep herself spent two days in bed with a bad cold. Miep and Jan were also out for two days, with upset stomachs.Im currently going through a dand ballet craze and am diligently practig my daeps every evening. Ive made an ultramodern dane out of a cy vender slip belonging to Momsy. Bias tape is threaded through the top and tied just above the bust. A pink corded ribbon pletes the ensemble. I tried to turn my tennis shoes into ballet slippers, but with no success. My stiff limbs are well on the way to being as limber as they used to be. A terrific exercise is to sit on the floor, pce a heel in each hand and raise both legs in the air. I have to sit on a cushion, because otherwise my poor backside really takes a beating.Everyone here is reading a book called A Cloudless M. Mother thought it was extremely good because it describes a number of adolest problems. I thought to myself, a bit ironically, "Why dont you take more i in your own adolests first!”I think Mother believes that Margot and I have a better retionship with our parents than anyone in the whole wide world, and that no mother is more involved in the lives of her children than she is. She must have my sister in mind, since I dont believe Margot has the same problems and thoughts as I do. Far be it from me to point out to Mother that one of her daughters is not at all what she imagines. Shed be pletely bewildered, and anyway, shed never be able to ge; Id like to spare her that grief, especially since I know that everything would remain the same. Mother does sehat Margot loves her much more than I do, but she thinks Im just going through a phase.Margots gotten muicer. She seems a lot different than she used to be. Shes not nearly as catty these days and is being a real friend. She no lohinks of me as a litde kid who doesnt t.Its funny, but I sometimes see myself as others see me. I take a leisurely look at the person called "Anne Frank" and browse through the pages of her life as though she were a stranger.Before I came here, when I didnt think about things as much as I do now, I occasionally had the feeling that I didnt belong to Momsy, Pim and Margot and that I would always be an outsider. I sometimes went around for six months at a time pretending I was an orphan. Then Id chastise myself for pying the victim, when really, Id always been so fortunate. After that Id force myself to be friendly for a while. Every m when I heard footsteps oairs, I hoped it would be Mother ing to say good m. Id greet her warmly, because I honesly did look forward to her affeate gnce. But then shed snap at me for having made some ent or other (and Id go off to school feeling pletely disced.On the way home Id make excuses for her, telling myself that she had so many worries. Id arrive home in high spirits, chatting een to the dozen, until the events of the m would repeat themselves and Id leave the room with my schoolbag in my hand and a pensive look on my face. Sometimes Id decide to stay angry, but then I always had so much to talk about after school that Id fet my resolution and want Mother to stop whatever she was doing and lend a willing ear. Theime would e once more when I no longer listened for the steps oairs a lonely and cried into my pillow every night.Everything has gotten much worse here. But you already khat. Now God has sent someoo help me: Peter. I fondle my pendant, press it to my lips and think, "What do I care! Petel is mine and nobody knows it!" With this in mind, I rise above every nasty remark. Which of the people here would suspect that so much is going on in the mind of a teenage girl?SATURDAY, JANUARY 15, 1944My dearest Kitty,Theres no reason for me to go on describing all our quarrels and arguments down to the st detail. Its enough to tell you that weve divided many things like meat and fats and oils and are frying our own potatoes. Retly weve beeing a little extra rye bread because by four oclock were so hungry for dinner we barelytrol our rumbling stomachs.Mothers birthday is rapidly approag. She received some extra sugar frler, which sparked off jealousy on the part of the van Daans, because Mrs. van D.didnt receive any on her birthday. But whats the point of b you with harsh words, spiteful versations and tears when you know they bore us even more?Mother has expressed a wish, which isnt likely to e true any time soon: not to have to see Mr. van Daans face for two whole weeks. I wonder if everyone who shares a house sooner or ter ends up at odds with their fellow residents. Or have we just had a stroke of bad luck? At mealtime, when Dussel helps himself to a quarter of the half-filled gravy boat and leaves the rest of us to do without, I lose my appetite and feel like jumping to my feet, knog him off his chair and throwing him out the door.Are most people so stingy and selfish? Ive gained some insight into human nature since I came here, which is good, but Ive had enough for the present. Peter says the same.The war is going to go oe our quarrels and our longing for freedom and fresh air, so we should try to make the best of our stay here.Im preag, but I also believe that if I live here much longer, Ill turn into a dried-up old beanstalk. And all I really want is to be an hoo-goodeenager!Yours, AnneWEDNESDAY EVENING, JANUARY 19, 1944Dearest Kitty,I (there I go again!) dont know whats happened, but since my dream I keep notig how Ive ged. By the way, I dreamed about Peter again st night and once again I felt his eyes pee mine, but this dream was less vivid and not quite as beautiful as the st.You know that I always used to be jealous of Margots retionship with Father.Theres not a tray jealousy left now; I still feel hurt when Fathers nerves cause him to be unreasooward me, but then I think, "I t bme you for being the way you are. You talk so much about the minds of children and adolests,but you dont know the first thing about them!" I long for more than Fathers affeore than his hugs and kisses. Isnt it awful of me to be so preoccupied with myself? Shouldnt I, who want to be good and kind, five them first? I five Mother too, but every time she makes a sarcastic remark hs at me, its all I do to trol myself.I know Im far from being what I should; will I ever be?Anne FrankP.S. Father asked if I told you about the cake. For Mothers birthday, she received a real mocha cake, prewar quality, from the office. It was a really nice day! But at the moment theres no room in my head for things like that.SATURDAY, JANUARY 22, 1944Dearest Kitty, you tell me why people go to such lengths to hide their real selves? Or why I always behave very differently when Im in the pany of others? Why do people have so little trust in one another? I know there must be a reason, but sometimes I think its horrible that you t ever fide in anyone, not even those closest to you.It seems as if Ive grown up sihe night I had that dream, as if Ive beore indepe. Youll be amazed when I tell you that even my attitude toward the van Daans has ged. Ive stopped looking at all the discussions and arguments from my familys biased point of view. Whats brought on such a radical ge? Well, you see, I suddenly realized that if Mother had been different, if shed been a real mom, our retionship would have been very, very different. Mrs. van Daan is by no means a wonderful perso half the arguments could have been avoided if Mother hadnt been so hard to deal with every time they got onto a tricky subject. Mrs. van Daan does have one good point, though: you talk to her. She may be selfish, stingy and underhanded, but shell readily back down as long as you dont provoke her and make her unreasohis tactic doesnt work every time, but if youre patient, you keep trying and see how far you get.All the flicts about our upbringing, about not pampering children, about the food -- about everything, absolutely everything -- might have taken a different turn if wed remained open and on friendly terms instead of always seeing the worst side.I kly what yoing to say, Kitty."But, Anne, are these words really ing from your lips? From you, who have had to put up with so many unkind words from upstairs? From you, who are aware of all the injustices?”Ahey are ing from me. I want to take a fresh look at things and form my own opinion, not just ape my parents, as in the proverb "The apple never falls far from the tree." I want to reexamihe van Daans and decide for myself whats true and whats been blown out of proportion. If I wind up being disappointed in them, I always side with Father and Mother. But if not, I try to ge their attitude.And if that doesnt work, Ill have to stick with my own opinions and judgment. Ill take every opportunity to speak openly to Mrs. van D. about our many differences and not be afraid -- despite my reputation as a smart aleck -- to offer my impartial opinion. I wont say anythiive about my own family, though that doesnt mean I wont defend them if somebody else does, and as of today, my gossiping is a thing of the past.Up to now I was absolutely vihat the van Daans were eo bme for the quarrels, but now Im sure the fault was rgely ours. We were right as far as the subject matter was ed, but intelligent people (such as ourselves!) should have more insight into how to deal with others.I hope Ive got at least a touch of that insight, and that Ill find an occasion to put it to good use.Yours, AnneMONDAY, JANUARY 24, 1944Dearest Kitty,A very strahing has happeo me. (Actually, "happened" isnt quite the right word.)Before I came here, whenever a home or at school talked about sex, they were either secretive or disgusting. Any words having to do with sex were spoken in a low whisper, and kids who werent in the know were often ughed at. That struck me as odd, and I often wondered why people were so mysterious or obnoxious whealked about this subject. But because I couldnt ge things, I said as little as possible or asked my girlfriends for information.After Id learned quite a lot, Mother once said to me, "Anne, let me give you some good adviever discuss this with boys, and if they bring it up, dont ahem.”I still remember my exact reply. "No, of course not," I excimed. "Imagine!" And nothing more was said.When we first went into hiding, Father often told me about things Id rather have heard from Mother, and I learhe rest from books or things I picked up in versatioer van Daan wasnt ever as obnoxious about this subject as the boys at school. Or maybe just once or twice, in the beginning, though he wasnt trying to get me to talk.Mrs. van Daan oold us shed never discussed these matters with Peter, and as far as she knew, her had her husband. Apparently she didnt even know how much Peter knew or where he got his informatioerday, when Margot, Peter and I were peeling potatoes, the versation somehow turo Boche. "Were still not sure whether Boche is a birl, are we?" I asked.Yes we are, he answered. "Boche is a tomcat.”I began to ugh. "Some tomcat if hes pregnant.”Peter and Margot joined in the ughter. You see, a month or teter informed us that Boche was sure to have kittens before long, because her stomach was rapidly swelling. However, Boches fat tummy turned out to be due to a bunch of stolen bones. No kittens were growing inside, much less about to be borer felt called upon to defend himself against my accusation. "e with me. You see for yourself. I was h around with the cat one day, and I could definitely see it was a he. “Uo restrain my curiosity, I went with him to the warehouse. Boche, however, wasnt receiving visitors at that hour, and was nowhere in sight. We waited for a while, but when it got cold, we went back upstairs.Later that afternoon I heard Peter go downstairs for the sed time. I mustered the ce to walk through the silent house by myself and reached the warehouse. Boche was on the pag table, pying with Peter, who was getting ready to put him on the scale and weigh him."Hi, do you want to have a look?" Without any preliminaries, he picked up the cat, turned him over on his back, deftly held his head and paws and began the lesson."This is the male sexual an, these are a few stray hairs, and thats his backside.”The cat flipped himself over and stood up on his little white feet.If any other boy had pointed out the "male sexual an" to me, I would never have given him a sed gnce. But Peter went on talking in a normal voice about what is otherwise a very awkward subjeor did he have any ulterior motives. By the time hed finished, I felt so much at ease that I started ag normally too. We pyed with Boche, had a good time, chatted a bit and finally sauhrough the long warehouse to the door. "Were you there when Mouschi was fixed?”"Yeah, sure. It doesnt take long. They give the cat ahetic, of course.”"Do they take something out?”"No, the vet just snips the tube. Theres nothing to see oside.”I had to get up my o ask a question, si wasnt as "normal" as I thought."Peter, the German weschlechtsteil means sexual an, doesnt it? But then the male and female ones have different names.”"I know that.”"The female one is a vagina, that I know, but I dont know what its called in males.”"Oh well," I said. "How are we supposed to know these words? Most of the time you just e across them by act.”"Why wait? Ill ask my parents. They know more than I do and theyve had more experience.”We were already oairs, so nothing more was said.Yes, it really did happen. Id never have talked to a girl about this in such a normal tone of voice. Im also certain that this isnt what Mother meant when she warned me about boys.All the same, I wasly my usual self for the rest of the day. When I thoughtback to our talk, it struck me as odd. But Ive lear least ohing: there are young people, even those of the opposite sex, who discuss these things naturally, without crag jokes.Is Peter really going to ask his parents a lot of questions? Is he really the way he seemed yesterday?Oh, what do I know?!!!Yours, AnneFRIDAY, JANUARY 28, 1944Dearest Kitty,I weeks Ive developed a great liking for family trees and the genealogical tables of royal families. Ive e to the clusion that once you begin your search, you have to keep digging deeper and deeper into the past, which leads you to even more iing discoveries.Although Im extremely diligent when it es to my schoolwork and pretty much follow the BBe Servi the radio, I still spend many of my Sundays s out and looking over my movie-star colle, which has grown to a very respectable size. Mr. Kugler makes me happy every Monday by bringing me a copy of ema Theater magazihe less worldly members of our household often refer to this small indulgence as a waste of money, yet they never fail to be surprised at how accurately I list the actors in any given movie, even after a year. Bep, who ofteo the movies with her boyfriend on her day off, tells me on Saturday the name of the show theyre going to see, and I then proceed to rattle off the names of the leading actors and actresses and the reviews. Moms retly remarked ; that I wouldo go to the movies ter on, because !I know all the plots, the names of the stars and the reviews by heart.Whenever I e sailing in with a new hairstyle, I I read the disapproval on their faces, and I be sure someone will ask which movie star Im trying to imitate. My reply, that its my own iion, is greeted with ~ skepticism. As for the hairdo, it doesnt hold its set for ~ more than half an hour. By that time Im so sid tired i of their remarks that I race to the bathroom aore my hair to its normal mass of curls.Yours, AnneFRIDAY, JANUARY 28, 1944Dearest Kitty,This m I was w whether you ever felt like a cow, having to chew my stale news over and ain until youre so fed up with the monotonous fare that you yawn aly wish Anne would dig up something new.Sorry, I know you find it dull as ditchwater, but imagine how sid tired I am of hearing the same old stuff. If the talk at mealtime isnt about politics ood food, then Mother or Mrs. van D. trot out stories about their childhood that weve heard a thousand times before, or Dussel goes on and on about beautiful racehorses, his Charlottes extensive wardrobe, leaky rowboats, boys who swim at the age of four, ag muscles and frightened patients. It all boils down to this: whenever one of the eight of us opens his mouth, the other seven finish the story for him. We know the punch line of every joke before it gets told, so that whoevers telling it is left to ugh alohe various milkmen, grocers and butchers of the two former housewives have been praised to the skies or run into the ground so many times that in our imaginations theyve grown as old as Methuseh; theres absolutely no ce of anything new or fresh being brought up for discussion in the Aill, all this might be bearable if only the grown-ups werent in the habit of repeating the stories we hear from Mr. Kleiman, jan or Miep, each time embellishing them with a few details of their own, so that I often have to pinch my arm uhe table to keep myself from setting the enthusiastic storyteller on the right track. Little children, such as Anne, must never, ever correct their elders, no matter how many bluhey make or how often they let their imaginations run away with them.Jan and Mr. Kleiman love talking about people who have gone underground or into hiding; they know were eager to hear about others in our situation and that we truly sympathize with the sorrow of those whove been arrested as well as the joy of prisoners whove been freed.Going underground or into hiding has bee as routine as the proverbial pipe and slippers that used to await the man of the house after a long day at work. There are maance groups, such as Free hernds, that fe identity cards, provide financial support to those in hiding, anize hiding pces and find work for young Christians who go underground. Its amazing how much these generous and unselfishpeople do, risking their own lives to help and save others.The best example of this is our own helpers, who have mao pull us through so far and will hopefully bring us safely to shore, because otherwise theyll find themselves sharing the fate of those theyre trying to proteever have they uttered a single word about the burden we must be, never have they pihat were too much trouble. They e upstairs every day and talk to the men about business and politics, to the women about food and wartime difficulties and to the children about books and neers. They put on their most cheerful expressions, bring flowers and gifts for birthdays and holidays and are always ready to do what they .Thats something we should never fet; while others dispy their heroism in battle ainst the Germans, our helpers prove theirs every day by their good spirits and affe.The most bizarre stories are making the rounds, yet most of them are really true. For instance, Mr. Kleimaed this week that a soccer match was held in the province of Geldernd; oeam sisted entirely of men who had gone underground, and the other of eleven Military Poli. In Hilversum, new registration cards were issued.In order for the many people in hiding to get their rations (you have to show this card to obtain your ration book or else pay 60 guilders a book), the registrar asked all those hiding in that district to pick up their cards at a specified hour, when the dots could be collected at a separate table.All the same, you have to be careful that stunts like these dont reach the ears of the Germans.Yours, AnneSUNDAY, JANUARY 30, 1944My dearest Kit, Another Sunday has rolled around; I dont mind them as much as I did in the beginning, but theyre b enough.I still havent goo the warehouse yet, but maybe sometime soon. Last night I went downstairs in the dark, all by myself, after havihere with Father a few nights before. I stood at the top of the stairs while German pnes flew bad forth, and I knew I was on my own, that I couldnt t on others for support. My fear vanished.I looked up at the sky and trusted in God.I have an intense o be alone. Father has noticed Im not my usual self, but I t tell him whats b me. All I want to do is scream "Let me be, leave me alone!”Who knows, perhaps the day will e when Im left alone more than Id like!Anne Frank
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