TUESDAY, MARCH 7,1944Dearest Kitty,When I think back to my life in 1942, it all seems so unreal. The Anne Frankwho enjoyed that heavenly existence was completely different from the onewho has grown wise within these walls. Yes, it was heavenly. Five admirerson every street corner, twenty or so friends, the favorite of most of myteachers, spoiled rotten by Father and Mother, bags full of candy and a bigallowance. What more could anyone ask for?You’re probably wondering how I could have charmed all those people. Petersays It s ecause I m “attractive,” but that isn’t it entirely. The teachers wereamused and entertained by my clever answers, my witty remarks, my smthngface and my critical mind. That’s all I was: a terrible flirt, coquettish andamusing. I had a few plus points, which kept me in everybody’s good graces:I was hardworking, honest and generous. I would never have refused anyonewho wanted to peek at my answers, I was magnanimous with my candy, andI wasn’t stuck-up.Would all that admiration eventually have made me overconfident? It’s agood thing that, at the height of my glory, I was suddenly plunged intoreality. It took me more than a year to get used to doing without admiration.How did they see me at school? As the class comedian, the eternal ringleader,never in a bad mood, never a crybaby. Was it any wonder that everyonewanted to bicycle to school with me or do me little favors?I look back at that Anne Frank as a pleasant, amusing, but superficial girl,who has nothing to do with me. What did Peter say about me? “Whenever Isaw you, you were surrounded by a flock of girls and at least two boys, youwere always laughing, and you were always the center of attention!” He wasright.What’s remained of that Anne Frank? Oh, I haven’t forgotten how to laugh ortoss off a remark, I’m just as good, if not better, at raking people over thecoals, and I can still flirt and be amusing, if I want to be . . .But there’s the catch. I’d like to live that seemingly carefree and happy life foran evening, a few days, a week.At the end of that week I’d be exhausted, and would be grateful to the firstperson to talk to me about something meaningful. I want friends, notadmirers. Peo- ple who respect me for my character and my deeds, not myflattering smile. The circle around me would be much smaller, but what doesthat matter, as long as they’re sincere?In spite of everything, I wasn’t altogether happy in 1942; I often felt I’d beendeserted, but because I was on the go all day long, I didn’t think about it. Ienjoyed myself as much as I could, trying consciously or unconsciously to fillthe void with jokes.Looking back, I realize that this period of my life has irrevocably come to aclose; my happy-go-lucky, carefree schooldays are gone forever. I don’t evenmiss them. I’ve outgrown them. I can no longer just kid around, since myserious side is always there.I see my life up to New Year’s 1944 as if I were looking through a powerfulmagnifying glass. When I was at home, my life was filled with sunshine.Then, in the middle of 1942, everything changed overnight. The quarrels, theaccusations– I couldn’t take it all in. I was caught off guard, and the only way I knew tokeep my bearings was to talk back.The first half of 1943 brought crying spells, loneliness and the gradualrealization of my faults and short- comings, which were numerous andseemed even more so. I filled the day with chatter, tried to draw Pim closer tome and failed. This left me on my own to face the difficult task of improvingmyself so I wouldn’t have to hear their reproaches, because they made me sodespondent.The second half of the year was slightly better. I became a teenager, and wastreated more like a grown-up. I began to think about things and to writestories, finally coming to the conclusion that the others no longer hadanything to do with me. They had no right to swing me back and forth like apendulum on a clock. I wanted to change myself in my own way.I realized I could man- age without my mother, completely and totally, andthat hurt. But what affected me even more was the realization that I wasnever going to be able to confide in Father. I didn’t trust anyone but myself.After New Year’s the second big change occurred: my dream, through whichI discovered my longing for . . . a boy; not for a girlfriend, but for aboyfriend. I also discovered an inner happiness underneath my superficialand cheerful exterior. From time to time I was quiet. Now I live only forPeter, since what happens to me in the future depends largely on him!I lie in bed at night, after ending my prayers with the words “Ich Janke air furall das Cute una Liebe una Schone,”** Thank you, God, for all that is good and dear and beautiful. and I’m filledwith joy. I think of going into hiding, my health and my whole being as dasCute; Peter’s love (which is still so new and fragile and which neither of usdares to say aloud), the future, happiness and love as das Liebe; the world,nature and the tremendous beauty of everything, all that splendor, as dasSchone.At such moments I don’t think about all the misery, but about the beauty thatstill remains. This is where Mother and I differ greatly. Her advice in the faceof melancholy is:”Think about all the suffering in the world and be thankful you’re not part ofit.” My advice is: “Go outside, to the country, enjoy the sun and all nature hasto offer. Go outside and try to recapture the happiness within yourself; thinkof all the beauty in yourself and in everything around you and be happy.”I don’t think Mother’s advice can be right, because what are you supposed todo if you become part of the suffering?You’d be completely lost. On the contrary, beauty remains, even inmisfortune. If you just look for it, you discover more and more happiness andregain your balance. A person who’s happy will make others happy; a personwho has courage and faith will never die in misery!Yours, Anne M. FrankWEDNESDAY, MARCH 8, 1944Margot and I have been writing each other notes, just for fun, of course.Anne: It’s strange, but I can only remember the day after what has happenedthe night before. For example, I suddenly remembered that Mr. Dussel wassnoring loudly last night.(It’s now quarter to three on Wednesday af- ternoon and Mr.Dussel is snoring again, which is why it flashed through my mind, of course.)When I had to use the potty, I deliberately made more noise to get the snoringto stop.Margot: Which is better, the snoring or the gasping for air?Anne: The snoring’s better, because it stops when I make noise, withoutwaking the person in question.What I didn’t write to Margot, but what I’ll confess to you, dear Kitty, is thatI’ve been dreaming of Peter a great deal. The night before last I dreamed Iwas skating right here in our living room with that little boy from the Apolloice-skating rink; he was with his sister, the girl with the spindly legs whoalways wore the same blue dress. I introduced myself, overdoing it a bit, andasked him his name. It was Peter. In my dream I wondered just how manyPeters I actually knew!Then I dreamed we were standing in Peter’s room, facing each other besidethe stairs. I said something to him; he gave me a kiss, but replied that hedidn’t love me all that much and that I shouldn’t flirt. In a desperate andpleading voice I said, “I’m not flirting, Peter!”When I woke up, I was glad Peter hasn’t said it after all.Last night I dreamed we were kissing each other, but Peter’s cheeks werevery disappointing: they weren’t as soft as they looked. They were more likeFather’s cheeks -the cheeks of a man who already shaves.FRIDAY, MARCH 10, 1944My dearest Kitty,The proverb “Misfortunes never come singly” defi- nitely applies to today.Peter just got through saying it. Let me tell you all the awful things that havehappened and that are still hanging over our heads.First, Miep is sick, as a result of Henk and Aagje’s wedding yesterday. Shecaught cold in the Westerkerk, where the service was held. Second, Mr.Kleiman hasn’t returned to work since the last time his stomach startedbleeding, so Bep’s been left to hold down the fort alone. Third, the policehave arrested a man (whose name I won’t put in writing). It’s terrible not onlyfor him, but for us as well, since he’s been supplying us with potatoes, butterand jam.Mr. M., as I’ll call him, has five children under the age of thirteen, andanother on the way.Last night we had another little scare: we were in the middle of dinner whensuddenly someone knocked on the wall next door. For the rest of the eveningwe were nervous and gloomy.Lately I haven’t been at all in the mood to write down what’s been going onhere. I’ve been more wrapped up in myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m terriblyupset about what’s happened to poor, good-hearted Mr. M., but there’s notmuch room for him in my diary.Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I was in Peter’s room from four-thirty tofive-fifteen. We worked on our French and chatted about one thing andanother. I really look forward to that hour or so in the afternoon, but best ofall is that I think Peter’s just as pleased to see me.Yours, Anne M. FrankTHE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL 213SATURDAY, MARCH 11, 1944Dearest Kitty,I haven’t been able to sit still lately. I wander upstairs and down and thenback again. I like talking to Peter, but I’m always afraid of being a nuisance.He’s told me a bit about the past, about his parents and about himself, but it’snot enough, and every five minutes I wonder why I find myself longing formore. He used to think I was a real pain in the neck, and the feeling wasmutual. I’ve changed my mind, but how do I know he’s changed his? I thinkhe has, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we have to become the best offriends, although as far as I’m concerned, it would make our time here morebearable. But I won’t let this drive me crazy.I spend enough time thinking about him and don’t have to get you all workedup as well, simply because I’m so miserable!SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 1944Dearest Kitty,Things are getting crazier here as the days go by.Peter hasn’t looked at me since yesterday. He’s been acting as if he’s mad atme. I’m doing my best not to chase after him and to talk to him as little aspossible, but it’s not easy! What’s going on, what makes him keep me at arm’slength one minute and rush back to my side the next? Perhaps I’m imaginingthat it’s worse than it really is. Perhaps he’s just moody like me, andtomorrow everything will be all right again!I have the hardest time trying to maintain a normal facade when I’m feelingso wretched and sad. I have to talk, help around the house, sit with the othersand, above all, act cheerful! Most of all I miss the outdoors and having aplace where I can be alone for as long as I want! I think I’m gettingeverything all mixed up, Kitty, but then, I’m in a state of utter confusion: onthe one hand, I’m half crazy with desire for him, can hardly be in the sameroom without looking at him; and on the other hand, I wonder why he shouldmatter to me so much and why I can’t be calm again!Day and night, during every waking hour, I do nothing but ask myself, “Haveyou given him enough chance to be alone?Have you been spending too much time upstairs? Do you talk too much aboutserious subjects he’s not yet ready to talk about? Maybe he doesn’t even likeyou? Has it all been your imagination? But then why has he told you so muchabout himself? Is he sorry he did?” And a whole lot more.Yesterday afternoon I was so worn out by the sad news from the outside thatI lay down on my divan for a nap. All I wanted was to sleep and not have tothink. I slept until four, but then I had to go next door. It wasn’t easy,answering all Mother’s questions and inventing an excuse to explain my napto Father. I pleaded a headache, which wasn’t a lie, since I did have one. . . onthe inside!Ordinary people, ordinary girls, teenagers like myself, would think I’m a littlenuts with all my self-pity. But that’s just it. I pour my heart out to you, andthe rest of the time I’m as impudent, cheerful and self-confident as possible toavoid questions and keep from getting on my own nerves.Margot is very kind and would like me to confide in her, but I can’t tell hereverything. She takes me too seriously, far too seriously, and spends a lot oftime thinking about her loony sister, looking at me closely whenever I openmy mouth and wondering, “Is she acting, or does she really mean it?”It’s because we’re always together. I don’t want the person I confide in to bearound me all the time. When will I untangle my jumbled thoughts? Whenwill I find inner peace again?Yours, AnneTUESDAY, MARCH 14, 1944Dearest Kitty,It might be amusing for you (though not for me) to hear what we’re going toeat today. The cleaning lady is working downstairs, so at the moment I’mseated at the van Daans’oilcloth-covered table with a handkerchief sprinkled with fragrant prewarperfume pressed to my nose and mouth. You probably don’t have the faintestidea what I’m talking about, so let me “begin at the begin- ning.” The peoplewho supply us with food coupons have been arrested, so we have just our fiveblack-market ra- -, tion books-no coupons, no fats and oils. Since Miep andMr. Kleiman are sick again, Bep can’t manage the shop- ping. The food iswretched, and so are we.As of tomor- row, we won’t have a scrap of fat, butter or margarine. We can’teat fried potatoes for breakfast (which we’ve been doing to save on bread), sowe’re having hot cereal instead, and because Mrs. van D. thinks we’restarving, we bought some half-and-half. Lunch today consists of mashedpotatoes and pickled kale. This explains the precautionary measure with thehandkerchief. You wouldn’t believe how much kale can stink when it’s a fewyears old!The kitchen smells like a mixture of spoiled plums, rotten eggs and brine.Ugh, just the thought of having to eat that muck makes me want to throw up!Besides that, our potatoes have contracted such strange diseases that one outof every two buckets of pommes de terre winds up in the garbage. Weentertain ourselves by trying to figure out which disease they’ve got, andwe’ve reached the conclusion that they suffer from cancer, smallpox andmeasles. Honestly, being in hiding during the fourth year of the war is nopicnic. If only the whole stinking mess were over!To tell you the truth, the food wouldn’t matter so much to me if life here weremore pleasant in other ways. But that’s just it: this tedious existence isstarting to make us all disagreeable. Here are the opinions of the five grownups on the present situation (children aren’t allowed to have opinions, and foronce I’m sticking to the rules): Mrs. van Daan: “I’d stopped wanting to bequeen of the kitchen long ago. But sitting around doing nothing was boring,so I went back to cooking. Still, I can’t help complaining: it’s impossible tocook without oil, and all those disgusting smells make me sick to mystomach. Besides, what do I get in return for my efforts? Ingratitude and ruderemarks. I’m always the black sheep; I get blamed for everything. What’smore, it’s my opinion that the war is making very little progress. TheGermans will win in the end.I’m terrified that we’re going to starve, and when I’m in a bad mood, I snap ateveryone who comes near.”Mr. van Daan: “I just smoke and smoke and smoke. Then the food, thepolitical situation and Kerli’s moods don’t seem so bad. Kerli’s a sweetheart.If I don’t have anything to smoke, I get sick, then I need to eat meat, lifebecomes unbearable, nothing’s good enough, and there’s bound to be aflaming row.My Kerli’s an idiot.”Mrs. Frank: “Food’s not very important, but I’d love a slice of rye bread rightnow, because I’m so hungry. If I were Mrs. van Daan, I’d have put a stop toMr. van Daan’s smoking long ago. But I desperately need a cigarette now,because my head’s in such a whirl. The van Daans are horrible people; theEnglish may make a lot of mistakes, but the war is progressing. I should keepmy mouth shut and be grateful I’m not in Poland.”Mr. Frank: “Everything’s fine, I don’t need a thing. Stay calm, we’ve gotplenty of time. Just give me my potatoes, and I’ll be quiet. Better set asidesome of my rations for Bep.The political situation is improving, I’m extremely optimistic.”Mr. Dussel: “I must complete the task I’ve set for myself, everything must befinished on time. The political situation is looking ‘gut,’ it’s ‘eempossible’ forus to get caught.Me, me, me . . . .”Yours, Anne