MONDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1943Dearest Kitty,The closer it got to St. Nicholas Day, the more we all thought back to lastyears festively decorated basket.More than anyone, I thought it would be terrible to skip a celebration thisyear. After long deliberation, I finally came up with an idea, somethingfunny. I consulted rim, and a week ago we set to work writing a verse foreach person.Sunday evening at a quarter to eight we trooped upstairs carrying the biglaundry basket, which had been decorated with cutouts and bows made ofpink and blue carbon paper. On top was a large piece of brown wrappingpaper with a note attached. Everyone was rather amazed at the sheer size ofthe gift. I removed the note and read it aloud:Once again St. Nicholas DayHas even come to our hideaway;It wont be quite as Jun, I fear,As the happy day we had last year.Then we were hopeful, no reason to doubtThat optimism would win the bout,And by the time this year came round,Wed all be free, and s* and sound.Still, lets not Jorget its St. Nicholas Day, Though weve nothing left to giveaway.Well have to find something else to do:So everyone please look in their shoe!As each person took their own shoe out of the basket, there was a roar oflaughter. Inside each shoe was a little wrapped package addressed to itsowner.Yours, AnneDearest Kitty,A bad case of flu has prevented me from writing to you until today. Beingsick here is dreadful. With every cough, I had to duck under the blanket –once, twice, three times -and try to keep from coughing anymore.Most of the time the tickle refused to go away, so I had to drink milk withhoney, sugar or cough drops. I get dizzy just thinking about all the cures Ivebeen subjected to: sweating out the fever, steam treatment, wet compresses,dry compresses, hot drinks, swabbing my throat, lying still, heating pad, hotwater bottles, lemonade and, every two hours, the thermometer. Will theseremedies really make you better? The worst part was when Mr. Dusseldecided to play doctor and lay his pomaded head on my bare chest to listen tothe sounds. Not only did his hair tickle, but I was embarrassed, even thoughhe went to school thirty years ago and does have some kind of medicaldegree. Why should he lay his head on my heart? After all, hes not myboyfriend! For that matter, he wouldnt be able to tell a healthy sound from anunhealthy one.Hed have to have his ears cleaned first, since hes becoming alarmingly hardof hearing. But enough about my illness. Im fit as a fiddle again. Ive grownalmost half an inch and gained two pounds. Im pale, but itching to get backto my books.Ausnahmsweise* (the only word that will do here * By way of exception),were all getting on well together. No squabbles, though that probably wontlast long. There hasnt been such peace and quiet in this house for at least sixmonths.Bep is still in isolation, but any day now her sister will no longer becontagious.For Christmas, were getting extra cooking oil, candy and molasses. ForHanukkah, Mr. Dussel gave Mrs. van Daan and Mother a beautiful cake,which hed asked Miep to bake. On top of all the work she has to do! Margotand I received a brooch made out of a penny, all bright and shiny. I cantreally describe it, but its lovely.I also have a Christmas present for Miep and Bep. For a whole month Ivesaved up the sugar I put on my hot cereal, and Mr. Kleiman has used it tohave fondant made.The weather is drizzly and overcast, the stove stinks, and the food lies heavilyon our stomachs, producing a variety of rumbles.The war is at an impasse, spirits are low.Yours, AnneFRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1943Dear Kitty,As Ive written you many times before, moods have a tendency to affect usquite a bit here, and in my case its been getting worse lately. Himmelhochjauchzend, zu Tode betrubt* * A famous line from Goethe: On top of theworld, or in the depths of despair. certainly applies to me. Im on top of theworld when I think of how fortunate we are and compare myself to otherJewish children, and in the depths of despair when, for example, Mrs.Kleiman comes by and talks about Jopies hockey club, canoe trips, schoolplays and afternoon teas with friends.I dont think Im jealous of Jopie, but I long to have a really good time foronce and to laugh so hard it hurts.Were stuck in this house like lepers, especially during winter and theChristmas and New Years holidays. Actually, I shouldnt even be writingthis, since it makes me seem so ungrateful, but I cant keep everything tomyself, so Ill repeat what I said at the beginning: Paper is more patient thanpeople.Whenever someone comes in from outside, with the wind in their clothes andthe cold on their cheeks, I feel like burying my head under the blankets tokeep from thinking,When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again? I cant do that — on thecontrary, I have to hold my head up high and put a bold face on things, butthe thoughts keep coming anyway. Not just once, but over and over.Believe me, if youve been shut up for a year and a half, it can get to be toomuch for you sometimes. But feelings cant be ignored, no matter how unjustor ungrateful they seem. I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at theworld, feel young and know that Im free, and yet I cant let it show. justimagine what would happen if all eight of us were to feel sorry for ourselvesor walk around with the discontent clearly visible on our faces. Where wouldthat get us? I sometimes wonder if anyone will ever understand what I mean,if anyone will ever overlook my ingratitude and not worry about whether ornot Im Jewish and merely see me as a teenager badly in need of some goodplain fun. I dont know, and I wouldnt be able to talk about it with anyone,since Im sure Id start to cry. Crying can bring relief, as long as you dont cryalone. Despite all my theories and efforts, I miss — every day and every hourof the day — having a mother who understands me. Thats why witheverything I do and write, I imagine the kind of mom Id like to be to mychildren later on. The kind of mom who doesnt take everything people saytoo seriously, but who does take me seriously. I find it difficult to describewhat I mean, but the word mom says it all. Do you know what Ive come upwith? In order to give me the feeling of calling my mother something thatsounds like Mom, I often call her Momsy.Sometimes I shorten it to Moms; an imperfect Mom. I wish I could honorher by removing the s. Its a good thing she doesnt realize this, since itwould only make her unhappy.Well, thats enough of that. My writing has raised me somewhat from thedepths of despair.Yours, AnneIts the day after Christmas, and I cant help thinking about Pim and the storyhe told me this time last year. I didnt understand the meaning of his wordsthen as well as I do now. If only hed bring it up again, I might be able toshow him I understood what he meant!I think Pim told me because he, who knows the intimate secrets of so manyothers, needed to express his own feelings for once; Pim never talks abouthimself, and I dont think Margot has any inkling of what hes been through.Poor Pim, he cant fool me into thinking hes forgotten that girl.He never will. Its made him very accommodating, since hes not blind toMothers faults. I hope Im going to be a little like him, without having to gothrough what he has!AnneMONDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1943Friday evening, for the first time in my life, I received a Christmas present.Mr. Kleiman, Mr. Kugler and the girls had prepared a wonderful surprise forus. Miep made a delicious Christmas cake with Peace 1944 written on top,and Bep provided a batch of cookies that was up to prewar standards.There was a jar of yogurt for Peter, Margot and me, and a bottle of beer foreach of the adults. And once again everything was wrapped so nicely, withpretty pictures glued to the packages. For the rest, the holidays passed byquickly for us.AnneWEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1943I was very sad again last night. Grandma and Hanneli came to me once more.Grandma, oh, my sweet Grandma. How little we understood what shesuffered, how kind she always was and what an interest she took ineverything that concerned us.And to think that all that time she was carefully guarding her terrible secret. **Annes grandmother was terminally ill.Grandma was always so loyal and good. She would never have let any of usdown. Whatever happened, no matter how much I misbehaved, Grandmaalways stuck up for me. Grandma, did you love me, or did you notunderstand me either? I dont know.How lonely Grandma must have been, in spite of us. You can be lonely evenwhen youre loved by many people, since youre still not bddI any 0 y s onean only.And Hanneli? Is she still alive? Whats she doing? Dear God, watch over herand bring her back to us. Hanneli, youre a reminder of what my fate mighthave been. I keep seeing myself in your place. So why am I often miserableabout what goes on here? Shouldnt I be happy, contented and glad, exceptwhen Im thinking of Hanneli and those suffering along with her? Im selfishand cowardly. Why do I always think and dream the most awful things andwant to scream in terror?Because, in spite of everything, I still dont have enough faith in God. Hesgiven me so much, which I dont deserve, and yet each day I make so manymistakes!Thinking about the suffering of those you hold dear can reduce you to tears;in fact, you could spend the whole day crying. The most you can do is prayfor God to perform a miracle and save at least some of them. And I hope Imdoing enough of that!AnneTHURSDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1943Dearest Kitty,Since the last raging quarrels, things have settled down here, not onlybetween ourselves, Dussel and upstairs, but also between Mr. and Mrs. vanD. Nevertheless, a few dark thunderclouds are heading this way, and allbecause of . . .food. Mrs. van D. came up with the ridiculous idea of frying fewer potatoesin the morning and saving them for later in the day. Mother and Dussel andthe rest of us didnt agree with her, so now were dividing up the potatoes aswell. It seems the fats and oils arent being doled out fairly, and Mothersgoing to have to put a stop to it. Ill let you know if there are any interestingdevelopments. For the last few months now weve been splitting up the meat(theirs with fat, ours without), the soup (they eat it, we dont), the potatoes(theirs peeled, ours not), the extras and now the fried potatoes too.If only we could split up completely!Yours, AnneP.S. Bep had a picture postcard of the entire Royal Family copied for me.Juliana looks very young, and so does the Queen. The three little girls areadorable. It was incredibly nice of Bep, dont you think?SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 1944Dearest Kitty,This morning, when I had nothing to do, I leafed through the pages of mydiary and came across so many letters dealing with the subject of Mother insuch strong terms that I was shocked. I said to myself, Anne, is that reallyyou talking about hate? Oh, Anne, how could you?I continued to sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why I was filledwith so much anger and hate that I had to confide it all to you. I tried tounderstand the Anne of last year and make apologies for her, because as longas I leave you with these accusations and dont attempt to explain whatprompted them, my conscience wont be clear. I was suffering then (and stilldo) from moods that kept my head under water (figuratively speaking) andallowed me to see things only from my own perspective, without calmlyconsidering what the others — those whom I, with my mercurialtemperament, had hurt or offended — had said, and then acting as they wouldhave done.I hid inside myself, thought of no one but myself and calmly wrote down allmy joy, sarcasm and sorrow in my diary.Because this diary has become a kind of memory book, it means a great dealto me, but I could easily write over and done with on many of its pages.I was furious at Mother (and still am a lot of the time).Its true, she didnt understand me, but I didnt understand her either. Becauseshe loved me, she was tender and affectionate, but because of the difficultsituations I put her in, and the sad circumstances in which she found herself,she was nervous and irritable, so I can understand why she was often shortwith me.I was offended, took it far too much to heart and was insolent and beastly toher, which, in turn, made her unhappy. We were caught in a vicious circle ofunpleasantness and sorrow. Not a very happy period for either of us, but atleast its coming to an end. I didnt want to see what was going on, and I feltvery sorry for myself, but thats understandable too.Those violent outbursts on paper are simply expressions of anger that, innormal life, I could have worked off by locking myself in my room andstamping my foot a few times or calling Mother names behind her back.The period of tearfully passing judgment on Mother is over. Ive grown wiserand Mothers nerves are a bit steadier. Most of the time I manage to hold mytongue when Im annoyed, and she does too; so on the surface, we seem to begetting along better. But theres one thing I cant do, and thats to love Motherwith the devotion of a child.I soothe my conscience with the thought that its better for unkind words to bedown on paper than for Mother to have to carry them around in her heart.Yours, Anne