FRIDAY, JUNE 23, 1944Dearest Kitty,Nothing special going on here. The British have begun their all-out attack onCherbourg. According to Pim and Mr.van Oaan, we’re sure to be liberated before October 10. The Russians aretaking part in the cam- paign; yesterday they started their offensive nearVitebsk, exactly three years to the day that the Germans invaded Russia.Bep’s spirits have sunk lower than ever. We’re nearly out of potatoes; fromnow on, we’re going to count them out for each person, then everyone can dowhat they want with them.Starting Monday, Miep’s taking a week of vacation. Mr.Kleiman’s doctors haven’t found anything on the X rays. He’s torn betweenhaving an operation and letting matters take their course.Yours, Anne M. FrankTUESDAY, JUNE 27, 1944My dearest Kitty,The mood has changed, everything’s going enormously well.Cherbourg, Vitebsk and Zhlobin fell today. They’re sure to have captured lotsof men and equipment. Five German generals were killed near Cherbourgand two taken captive. Now that they’ve got a harbor, the British can bringwhatever they want on shore. The whole Cotentin Peninsula has beencaptured just three weeks after the invasion! What a feat!In the three weeks since D Day there hasn’t been a day without rain andstorms, neither here nor in France, but this bad luck hasn’t kept the Britishand the Americans from displaying their might. And how! Of course, theGermans have launched their wonder weapon, but a little firecracker like thatwon’t hardly make a dent, except maybe minor damage in England andscreaming headlines in the Kraut newspapers.Anyway, when they realize in “Krautland” that the Bolsheviks really aregetting closer, they’ll be shaking in their boots.All German women who aren’t working for the military are being evacuated,together with their children, from the coastal regions to the provinces ofGroningen, Friesland and Gelderland. Mussert* * The leader of the DutchNational Socialist (Nazi) Party has announced that if the invasion reachesHolland, he’ll enlist. Is that fat pig planning to fight? He could have done thatin Russia long before now.Finland turned down a peace offer some time ago, and now the negotiationshave been broken off again. Those numbskulls, they’ll be sorry!How far do you think we’ll be on July 27?Yours, Anne M. FrankFRIDAY, JUNE 30, 1944Dearest Kitty,Bad weather from one at a stretch to the thirty June*Anne’s English. Don’t I say that well? Oh yes, I already know a littleEnglish; just to prove it I’m reading An Ideal Husband with the help of adictionary! War’s going wonderfully: Bobruysk, Mogilev and Orsha havefallen, lots of prisoners.Everything’s all right here. Spirits are improving, our superoptimists aretriumphant, the van Daans are doing disappearing acts with the sugar, Bep’ schanged her hair, and Miep has a week off. That’s the latest news!I’ve been having really ghastly root-canal work done on one of my frontteeth. It’s been terribly painful. It was so bad Dussel thought I was going tofaint, and I nearly did.Mrs. van D. promptly got a toothache as well!Yours, Anne M. FrankP.S. We’ve heard from Basel that Bernd* Cousin Bernhard (Buddy) Elias.played the part of the innkeeper in Minna von Barnhelm. He has “artisticleanings,” says Mother.THURSDAY, JULY 6, 1944Dearest Kitty,My blood runs cold when Peter talks about becoming a criminal or aspeculator; of course, he’s joking, but I still have the feeling he’s afraid of hisown weakness.Margot and Peter are always saying to me, “If I had your spunk and yourstrength, if I had your drive and unflagging energy, could. . .Is it really such an admirable trait not to let myself be influenced by others?Am I right in following my own conscience?To be honest, I can’t imagine how anyone could say “I’m weak” and then staythat way. If you know that about yourself, why not fight it, why not developyour character?Their answer has always been: “Because it’s much easier not to!” This replyleaves me feeling rather discouraged. Easy?Does that mean a life of deceit and laziness is easy too? Oh no, that can’t betrue. It can’t be true that people are so readily tempted by ease. . . and money.I’ve given a lot of thought to what my answer should be, to how I should getPeter to believe in himself and, most of all, to change himself for the better. Idon’t know whether I’m on the right track.I’ve often imagined how nice it would be if someone were to confideeverything to me. But now that it’s reached that point, I realize how difficultit is to put yourself in someope else’s shoes and find the right answer.Especially since “easy” and “money” are new and com- pletely alien conceptsto me.Peter’s beginning to lean on me and I don’t want that, not under anycircumstances. It’s hard enough standing on your own two feet, but when youalso have to remain true to your character and soul, it’s harder still.I’ve been drifting around at sea, have spent days searching for an effectiveantidote to that terrible word”easy.” How can I make it clear to him that, while it may seem easy andwonderful, it will drag him down to the depths, to a place where he’ll nolonger find friends, support or beauty, so far down that he may never rise tothe surface again?We’re all alive, but we don’t know why or what for; we’re all searching forhappiness; we’re all leading lives that are different and yet the same. We threehave been raised in good famthes, we have the opportunity to get aneducation and make something of ourselves. We have many reasons to hopefor great happiness, but. . . we have to earn it. And that’s something you can’tachieve by taking the easy way out.Earning happiness means doing good and working, not speculating and beinglazy. Laziness may look inviting, but only work gives you true satisfaction.I can’t understand people who don’t like to work, but that isn’t Peter’s problemeither. He just doesn’t have a goal, plus he thinks he’s too stupid and inferiorto ever achieve anything. Poor boy, he’s never known how it feels to makesomeone else happy, and I’m afraid I can’t teach him. He isn’t religious, scoffsat Jesus Christ and takes the Lord’s name in vain, and though I’m notOrthodox either, it hurts me every time to see him so lonely, so scornful, sowretched.People who are religious should be glad, since not everyone is blessed withthe ability to believe in a higher order. You don’t even have to live in fear ofeternal punishment; the concepts of purgatory, heaven and hell are difficultfor many people to accept, yet religion itself, any religion, keeps a person onthe right path. Not the fear of God, but upholding your own sense of honorand obeying your own conscience. How noble and good everyone could be if,at the end of each day, they were to review their own behavior and weigh upthe rights and wrongs. They would automatically try to do better at the startof each new day and, after a while, would certainly accomplish a great deal.Everyone is welcome to this prescription; it costs nothing and is definitelyuseful. Those who don’t know will have to find out by experience that “aquiet conscience gives you strength!”Yours, Anne M. FrankSATURDAY, JULY 8, 1944Dearest Kitty,Mr. Broks was in Beverwijk and managed to get hold of strawberries at theproduce auction. They arrived here dusty and full of sand, but in largequantities. No less than twenty-four crates for the office and us. That verysame evening we canned the first six jars and made eight jars of jam. Thenext morning Miep started making jam for the office.At twelve-thirty the outside door was locked, crates were lugged into thekitchen, with Peter, Father and Mr. van Daan stumbling up the stairs. Annegot hot water from the water heater, Margot””,went for a bucket, all hands ondeck! With a funny feeling in my stomach, I entered the overcrowded officekitchen. Miep, Bep, Mr. Kleiman, Jan, Father, Peter: the Annex contingentand the Supply Corps all mixed up together, and that in the middle of theday! Curtains and windows open, loud voices, banging doors — I wastrembling with excitement. I kept thinking, “Are we really in hiding?” Thismust be how it feels when you can finally go out into the world again. Thepan was full, so I dashed upstairs, where the rest of the family was hullingstrawberries around the kitchen table. At least that’s what they were supposedto be doing, but more was going into their mouths than into the buckets. Theywere bound to need another bucket soon. Peter went back downstairs, butthen the doorbell rang twice.Leaving the bucket where it was, Peter raced upstairs and shut the bookcasebehind him. We sat kicking our heels impatiently; the strawberries werewaiting to be rinsed, but we stuck to the house rule: “No running water whenstrangers are downstairs — they might hear the drains.”Jan came up at one to tell us it had been the mail- man.Peter hurried downstairs again. Ding-dong. . . the doorbell, about-face. Ilistened to hear if anyone was coming, standing first at the bookcase, then atthe top of the stairs. Finally Peter and I leaned over the banister, straining ourears like a couple of burglars to hear the sounds from downstairs. Nounfamthar voices. Peter tip- toed halfway down the stairs and called out,”Bep!”Once more: “Bep!” His voice was drowned out by the racket in the kitchen.So he ran down to the kitchen while I nervously kept watch from above. “Goupstairs at once, Peter, the accountant’s here, you’ve got to leave!” It was Mr.Kugler’s voice. Sighing, Peter came upstairs and closed the bookcase.Mr. Kugler finally came up at one-thirty. “My gosh, the whole world’s turnedto strawberries. I had strawber- ries for breakfast, Jan’s having diem forlunch, Kleiman’s eating them as a snack, Miep’s bothng them, Bep’s hullingthem, and I can smell them everywhere I go. I come upstairs to get awayfrom all that red and what do I see? People washing strawberries!”The rest of the strawberries were canned. That evening: two jars cameunsealed. Father quickly turned them into jam.The next morning: two more lids popped up; and that afternoon: four lids.Mr. van Daan hadn’t gotten the jars hot enough when he was sterthzing them,so Father ended up making jam every evening. We ate hot cereal withstrawberries, buttermilk with strawberries, bread with strawberries,strawberries for dessert, straw- berries with sugar, strawberries with sand. Fortwo days there was nothing but strawberries, strawberries, strawberries, andthen our supply was either exhausted or in jars, safely under lock and key.”Hey, Anne,” Margot called out one day, “Mrs. van Hoeven has let us havesome peas, twenty pounds!””That’s nice of her,” I replied. And it certainly was, but it’s so much work. . .ugh!”On Saturday, you’ve aJI got to shell peas,” Mother announced at the table.And sure enough, this morning after breakfast our biggest enamel panappeared on the table, filled to the brim with peas. If you think shelling peasis boring work, you ought to try removing the inner linings. I don’t thinkmany people realize that once you’ve pulled out the linings, the pods are soft,delicious and rich in vitamins. But an even greater advantage is that you getnearly three times as much as when you eat just the peas.Stripping pods is a precise and meticulous job that might be suited topedantic dentists or finicky spice experts, but it’s a horror for an impatientteenager like me. We started work at nine-thirty; I sat down at ten-thirty, gotUp again at eleven, sat down again at eleven-thirty. My ears were hummingwith the following refrain: snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod inthe pan, snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pan, etc., etc.My eyes were swimming: green, green, worm, string, rotten pod, green,green. To fight the boredom and have something to do, I chattered all morning, saying whatever came into my head and making everyone laugh. Themonotony was killing me. Every string I pulled made me more certain that Inever, ever, want to be just a housewife!At twelve we finally ate breakfast, but from twelve-thirty to one-fifteen wehad to strip pods again. When I stopped, I felt a bit seasick, and so did theothers. I napped until four, still in a daze because of those wretched peas.Yours, Anne M. FrankSATURDAY, JULY 15,1944Dearest Kitty,We’ve received a book from the library with the challenging title What DoYou Think of the Modern Young Girl?I’d like to discuss this subject today.The writer criticizes “today’s youth” from head to toe, though withoutdismissing them all as “hopeless cases.” On the contrary, she believes theyhave it within their power to build a bigger, better and more beautiful world,but that they occupy themselves with superficial things, without giving athought to true beauty. In some passages I had the strong feeling that thewriter was directing her disapproval at me, which is why I finally want tobare my soul to you and defend myself against this attack.I have one outstanding character trait that must be obvious to anyone who’sknown me for any length of time: I have a great deal of self-knowledge. Ineverything I do, I can watch myself as if I were a stranger. I can stand cacross from the everyday Anne and, without being biased or making excuses,watch what she’s doing, both the good and the bad. This self-awareness neverleaves me, and every time I open my mouth, I think, “You should have saidthat differently” or “That’s fine the way it is.” I condemn myself in so manyways that I’m beginning to realize the truth of Father’s adage: “Every childhas to raise itself.” Parents can only advise their children or point them in theright direction. Ultimately, people shape their own characters. In addition, Iface life with an extraordinary amount of courage. I feel so strong andcapable of bearing burdens, so young and free! When I first realized this, Iwas glad, because it means I can more easily withstand the blows life has instore.But I’ve talked about these things so often. Now I’d like to turn to the chapter”Father and Mother Don’t Understand Me.” My parents have always spoiledme rotten, treated me kindly, defended me against the van Daans and done allthat parents can. And yet for the longest time I’ve felt extremely lonely, leftout, neglected and misunderstood. Father did everything he could to curb myrebellious spirit, but it was no use. I’ve cured myself by holding my behaviorup to the light and looking at what I was doing wrong.Why didn’t Father support me in my struggle? Why did he fall short when hetried to offer me a helping hand? The answer is: he used the wrong methods.He always talked to me as if I were a child going through a difficult phase. Itsounds crazy, since Father’s the only one who’s given me a sense ofconfidence and made me feel as if I’m a sensible person. But he overlookedone thing: he failed to see that this struggle to triumph over my difficultieswas more important to me than anything else. I didn’t want to hear about”typical adolescent problems,” or “other girls,” or”you’ll grow out of it.” I didn’t want to be treated the same as all-the-othergirls, but as Anne-in-her-own-right, and rim didn’t understand that. Besides, Ican’t confide in anyone unless they tell me a lot about themselves, andbecause I know very little about him, I can’t get on a more intimate footing.rim always acts like the elderly father who once had the same fleeting impulses, but who can no longer relate to me as a friend, no matter how hard hetries. As a result, I’ve never shared my outlook on life or my long-ponderedtheories with anyone but my diary and, once in a while, Margot. I’ve hid anything having to do with me from Father, never shared my ideals with him,deliberately alienated myself from him.I couldn’t have done it any other way. I’ve let myself be guided entirely bymy feelings. It was egotistical, but I’ve done what was best for my own peaceof mind. I would lose that, plus the self-confidence I’ve worked so hard toachieve, if I were to be subjected to criticism halfway through the job. It maysound hard-hearted, but I can’t take criticism from rim either, because notonly do I never share my innermost thoughts with him, but I’ve pushed himeven further away by being irritable.This is a point I think about quite often: why is it that rim annoys me so muchsometimes? I can hardly bear to have him tutor me, and his affection seemsforced. I want to be left alone, and I’d rather he ignored me for a while untilI’m more sure of myself when I’m talking to him! I’m still torn with guiltabout the mean letter I wrote him when I was so upset. Oh, it’s hard to bestrong and brave in every way!. . .Still, this hasn’t been my greatest disappointment. No, I think about Petermuch more than I do Father. I know very well that he was my conquest, andnot the other way around. I created an image of him in my mind, pictured himas a quiet, sweet, sensitive boy badly in need of friendship and love! I neededto pour out my heart to a living person. I wanted a friend who would help mefind my way again. I accomplished what I set out to do and drew him, slowlybut surely, toward me. When I finally got him to be my friend, itautomatically developed into an intimacy that, when I think about it now,seems outrageous. We talked about the most private things, but we haven’tyet touched upon the things closest to my heart. I still can’t make head or tailof Peter. Is he superficial, or is it shyness that holds him back, even with me?But putting all that aside, I made one mistake: I used intimacy to get closer tohim, and in doing so, I ruled out other forms of friendship. He longs to beloved, and I can see he’s beginning to like me more with each passing day.Our time together leaves him feeling satisfied, but just makes me want to startall over again. I never broach the subjects I long to bring out into the open. Iforced Peter, more than he realizes, to get close to me, and now he’s holdingon for dear life. I honestly don’t see any effective way of shaking him off andgetting him back on his own two feet. I soon realized he could never be akindred spirit, but still tried to help him break out of his narrow world andexpand his youthful horizons.”Deep down, the young are lonelier than the old.” I read this in a booksomewhere and it’s stuck in my mind. As far as I can tell, it’s true.So if you’re wondering whether it’s harder for the adults here than for thechildren, the answer is no, it’s certainly not. Older people have an opinionabout everything and are sure of themselves and their actions. It’s twice ashard for us young people to hold on to our opinions at a time when ideals arebeing shattered and destroyed, when the worst side of human naturepredominates, when everyone has come to doubt truth, justice and God.Anyone who claims that the older folks have a more difficult time in theAnnex doesn’t realize that the problems have a far greater impact on us.We’re much too young to deal with these problems, but they keep thrustingthemselves on us until, finally, we’re forced to think up a solution, thoughmost of the time our solutions crumble when faced with the facts. It’s difficultin times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only tobe crushed by grim reality. It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals,they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I stillbelieve, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.It’s utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos,suffering and death. I see the world being slowly transformed into awilderness, I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, Ifeel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehowfeel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end,that peace and tranquthty will return once more. In the meantime, I must holdon to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I’ll be able to realize them!Yours, Anne M. Frank