I finished reading your diary a few weeks ago in my literature class. That seems like such an awful thing to say. Just proclaiming to the world that I read something so private like that. However, it’s been published for the world to see, and it was assigned to read in class. <\/p>\n
The most of the time I read your diary, I thought you were a spoiled brat who didn’t know how to be content. But one day I stopped and was thinking about things you had said. I thought about some of the things you had done.
\nThen I realized you were like me, and that I was like you.
\nNot a spoiled brat, but something more. <\/p>\n
We’re both just teenage girls trying to live.
\nAfraid and full of big dreams.
\nBut our fears won’t stop us, no.
\nThose are the things that keep us going.
\nBecause we want to win.<\/p>\n
I wonder how scared you actually were while staying in the Annex. I mean, did you think being raided was inevitable? Or were you not expecting it?
\nI can’t imagine the anger that blazed inside you went you found out that someone had ratted you and your family out.
\nI don’t think I would have been able to forgive them. Were you able to do so?<\/p>\n
One thing, amongst a lot of other things, that you said has stuck with me.
\n“I don’t want followers, but friends, admirers who fall for a flattering smile but for what one does and for one’s character.”<\/p>\n
You had boys like crazy. You were such a pretty girl, with such a bright smile. How could they not like you?
\nI don’t have boys like that. However I feel that people never try to see the real me. I’m just the smart girl who will give you the answers to everything. The truth is, I don’t give them the answer.
\nI help them through it without cheating like that. Sometimes, when I get annoyed, I just straight up give them the wrong answer. I know it’s not good for me to do so, but I can’t help it. I get so annoyed just being the smart girl with straight A’s. I want to be the smart girl that people come to for advice. <\/p>\n
I don’t have all the answers that they are looking for, why can’t they see that?<\/p>\n
Last night, I was talking with one of my friends. She said something like, “if I can’t put what I’m feeling into words, then what’s the point of feeling it?” However I don’t think that’s right.
\nSometimes emotions are cut short by the limitations of the English language. That’s something that I learned. That’s why we still use old latin phrases: to strive for a clearer picture. But in the end, spoken words are never enough. It’s the emotions themselves. The emotions peak through the words and show what you really mean. Even if the words themselves don’t seem to be good enough. <\/p>\n
I feel so overwhelmed with all of this inside of me. There’s so much I want to say, but no one is hearing me. They’re just seeing me. <\/p>\n
You were so brave, Anne, and I thank you for sharing your story with the world.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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