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whenever someone es in from outside； with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their cheeks； i feel like burying my head under the blankets to keep from thinking； 〃when will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again？〃 i cant do that on the contrary； i have to hold my head up high and put a bold face on things； but the thoughts keep ing 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 too much for you sometimes。 but feelings cant be ignored； no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem。 i long to ride a bike； dance； whistle； look at the world； feel young and know that im free； and yet i cant let it show。 just imagine what would happen if all eight of us were to feel sorry for ourselves or walk around with the discontent clearly visible on our faces。 where would that 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 or not im jewish and merely see me as a teenager badly in need of some good plain 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 cry alone。 despite all my theories and efforts； i miss every day and every hour of the day having a mother who understands me。 thats why with everything i do and write； i imagine the kind of mom id like to be to my children later on。 the kind of mom who doesnt take everything people say too seriously； but who does take me seriously。 i find it difficult to describe what i mean； but the word mom〃 says it all。
do you know what ive e up with？ in order to give me the feeling of calling my mother something that sounds like 〃mom；〃 i often call her〃 momsy。〃 sometimes i shorten it to 〃moms〃； an imperfect 〃mom。〃 i wish i could honor her by removing the 〃s。〃 its a good thing she doesnt realize this； since it would only make her unhappy。
well； thats enough of that。 my writing has raised me somewhat from 〃the depths of despair。鈥�
yours； anne
its the day after christmas； and i cant help thinking about pim and the story he told me this time last year。 i didnt understand the meaning of his words then as well as i do now。 if only hed bring it up again； i might be able to show him i understood what
he meant！
i think pim told me because he； who knows the 〃intimate secrets〃 of so many others； needed to express his own feelings for once； pim never talks about himself； 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 acmodating； since hes not blind to mothers faults。 i hope im going to be a little like him； without having to go through what he has！
anne monday； december 27； 1943
friday 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 for us。 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 for each of the adults。 and once again everything was wrapped so nicely； with pretty pictures glued to the packages。 for the rest； the holidays passed by quickly for us。
anne wednesday； december 29； 1943
i was very sad again last night。 grandma and hanneli came to me once more。
grandma； oh； my sweet grandma。 how little we understood what she suffered； how kind she always was and what an interest she took in everything 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 us down。
whatever happened； no matter how much i misbehaved； grandma always stuck up for me。 grandma； did you love me； or did you not understand me either？ i dont know。
how lonely grandma must have been； in spite of us。 you can be lonely even when youre loved by many people； since youre still not bd〃di〃 any 0 y s one an only。
and hanneli？ is she still alive？ whats she doing？ dear god； watch over her and bring her back to us。 hanneli； youre a reminder of what my fate might have been。 i keep seeing myself in your place。 so why am i often miserable about what goes on here？
shouldnt i be happy； contented and glad； except when im thinking of hanneli and those suffering along with her？ im selfish and cowardly。 why do i always think and dream the most awful things and want to scream in terror？ because； in spite of everything； i still dont have enough faith in god。 hes given me so much； which i dont deserve； and yet each day i make so many mistakes！
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 pray for god to perform a miracle and save at least some of them。 and i hope im doing enough of that！
anne thursday； december 30； 1943
dearest kitty；
since the last raging quarrels； things have settled down here； not only between ourselves； dussel and 〃upstairs；〃 but also between mr。 and mrs。 van d。 nevertheless； a few dark thunderclouds are heading this way； and all because of 。 。 。 food。 mrs。 van d。 came up with the ridiculous idea of frying fewer potatoes in the morning and saving them for later in the day。 mother and dussel and the rest of us didnt agree with her； so now were dividing up the potatoes as well。 it seems the fats and oils arent being doled out fairly； and mothers going to have to put a stop to it。 ill let you know if there are any interesting developments。 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 pletely！
yours； anne
p。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 are adorable。 it was incredibly nice of bep； dont you think？
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JANUARY； 1944
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sunday； january 2； 1944
dearest kitty；
this morning； when i had nothing to do； i leafed through the pages of my diary and
came across so many letters 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？鈥�
i continued to sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why i was filled with so much anger and hate that i had to confide it all to you。 i tried to understand the anne of last year and make apologies for her； because as long as i leave you with these accusations and dont attempt to explain what prompted them； my conscience 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 considering what the others those whom i； with my mercurial temperament； had hurt or offended had said； and then acting as they would have done。
i hid inside myself； thought of no one but 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 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。 because she loved me； she was tender and affectionate； 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 can understand why she was often short with me。
i was offended； took it far too much to heart and was insolent and beastly 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 understandable too。
those violent outbursts on paper are simply expressions of anger that； in normal life； i could have worked off by locking 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 manage to hold my tongue when im annoyed； and she does too； so on the surface； we seem to be getting along better。 but theres one thing i cant do； and thats to love mother with the devotion of a child。
i soothe my conscience 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； anne
thursday； january 6； 1944
dearest kitty；
today i have two things to confess。 its going to take a long time； but i have to tell them to someone； and youre the most likely candidate； since i know youll keep a secret； no matter what happens。