THURSDAY, JULY 6, 1944Dearest Kitty,My blood runs cold wheer talks about being a criminal or a specutor; of course, hes joking, but I still have the feeling hes afraid of his own weakness.Margot aer are always saying to me, "If I had your spunk and your strength, if I had your drive and unfgging energy, could. . .Is it really su admirable trait not to let myself be influenced by others? Am I right in following my own sce?To be ho, I t imagine how anyone could say "Im weak" and then stay that way. If you know that about yourself, why not fight it, why not develop your character? Their answer has always been: "Because its much easier not to!" This reply leaves me feeling rather disced. Easy? Does that mean a life of deceit and ziness is easy too? Oh no, that t be true. It t be true that people are so readily tempted by ease. . . and money. Ive given a lot of thought to what my answer should be, to how I should get Peter to believe in himself and, most of all, to ge himself for the better. I dont know whether Im on the right track.Ive often imagined how would be if someoo fide everything to me. But now that its reached that point, I realize how difficult it is to put yourself in someope elses shoes and find the right answer. Especially since "easy" and "money”are new and - pletely alien cepts to me.Peters beginning to lean on me and I dont want that, not under any circumstas hard enough standing on your own two feet, but when you also have to remain true to your character and soul, its harder still.Ive been drifting around at sea, have spent days searg for an effective antidote to that terrible word "easy." How I make it clear to him that, while it may seem easy and wonderful, it will drag him down to the depths, to a pce where hell no longer find friends, support or beauty, so far down that he may never rise to the surface again?Were all alive, but we dont know why or what for; were all searg for happiness;were all leading lives that are different ahe same. We three have been raised in good famthes, we have the opportunity to get an education and make something of ourselves. We have many reasons to hope freat happiness, but. . . we have to earn it. And thats something you t achieve by taking the easy way out. Earning happiness means doing good and w, not speg and being zy. Laziness may look inviting, but only wives you true satisfa.I t uand people who dont like to work, but that isers problem either.He just doesnt have a goal, plus he thinks hes too stupid and inferior to ever achieve anything. Poor boy, hes never known how it feels to make someone else happy, and Im afraid I t teach him. He isnt religious, scoffs at Jesus Christ and takes the Lords name in vain, and though Im not Orthodox either, it hurts me every time to see him so lonely, so sful, so wretched.People who are religious should be gd, si everyone is blessed with the ability to believe in a higher order. You dont even have to live in fear of eternal punishment;the cepts of purgatory, heaven and hell are difficult for many people to accept, yet religion itself, any religion, keeps a person on the right path. Not the fear of God, but upholding your own sense of honor and obeying your own sce. How noble and good everyone could be if, at the end of each day, they were to review their own behavior and weigh up the rights and wrongs. They would automatically try to do better at the start of eaew day and, after a while, would certainly aplish a great deal. Everyone is wele to this prescription; it costs nothing and is definitely useful. Those who dont know will have to find out by experiehat "a quiet sce gives you strength!"Yours, AnneM. FrankSATURDAY, JULY 8, 1944Dearest Kitty,Mr. Broks was in Beverwijk and mao get hold of strawberries at the produce au. They arrived here dusty and full of sand, but in rge quantities. hay-four crates for the offid us. That very same evening we ed the first six jars and made eight jars of jam. The m Miep started making jam for the office.At twelve-thirty the outside door was locked, crates were lugged into the kit, with Peter, Father and Mr. van Daan stumbling up the stairs. A hot water from the water heater, Margot"",went for a bucket, all hands on deck! With a funny feeling in my stomach, I entere九-九-藏-書-網d the overcrowded office kit. Miep, Bep, Mr. Kleiman, Jan, Father, Peter: the Annex ti and the Supply Corps all mixed up together, and that in the middle of the day! Curtains and windows open, loud voices, banging doors -- I was trembling with excitement. I kept thinking, "Are we really in hiding?" This must be how it feels when you finally go out into the world again. The pan was full, so I dashed upstairs, where the rest of the family was hulling strawberries around the kit table. At least thats what they were supposed to be doing, but more was going into their mouths than into the buckets. They were bound to need another bucket sooer went back downstairs, but then the doorbell rang twice. Leaving the bucket where it eter raced upstairs and shut the bookcase behind him. We sat kig our heels impatiently; the strawberries were waiting to be rinsed, but we stuck to the house rule: "No running water when strangers are downstairs -- they might hear the drains.”Jan came up at oo tell us it had been the mail- maer hurried downstairs again. Ding-dong. . . the doorbell, about-face. I listeo hear if anyone was ing, standing first at the bookcase, then at the top of the stairs. Finally Peter and I leaned over the banister, straining our ears like a couple of burgrs to hear the sounds from downstairs. No unfamthar voices. Peter tip- toed halfway dowairs and called out, "Bep!”Once more: "Bep!" His voice was drowned out by the racket i. So he ran down to the kit while I nervously kept watch from above. "Go upstairs at once, Peter, the atants here, youve got to leave!" It was Mr. Kuglers voice. Sighing, Peter came upstairs and closed the bookcase.Mr. Kugler finally came up at ohirty. "My gosh, the whole worlds turo strawberries. I had strawber- ries for breakfast, Jans having diem for lunch, Kleimaing them as a snack, Mieps bothng them, Beps hulling them, and I smell them everywhere I go. I e upstairs to get away from all that red and what do I see? People washing strawberries!”The rest of the strawberries were ed. That evening: two jars came unsealed.Father quickly turhem into jam. The m: two more lids popped up; and that afternoon: four lids. Mr. van Daan hadnt gotten the jars hot enough when he was sterthzing them, so Father ended up making jam every evening. We ate hot cereal with strawberries, buttermilk with strawberries, bread with strawberries, strawberries for dessert, straw- berries with sugar, strawberries with sand. For two days there was nothing but strawberries, strawberries, strawberries, and then our supply was either exhausted or in jars, safely under lod key."Hey, Anne," Margot called out one day, "Mrs. van Hoeven has let us have some peas, twenty pounds!”"Thats nice of her," I replied. And it certainly was, but its so much work. . . ugh!"On Saturday, youve aJI got to shell peas," Mother annou the table.And sure enough, this m after breakfast gest enamel pan appeared oable, filled to the brim with peas. If you think shelling peas is b work, you ought to try removing the inner linings. I dont think many people realize that once youve pulled out the linings, the pods are soft, delicious and ri vitamins. But an eveer advantage is that you get nearly three times as much as when you eat just the peas.Stripping pods is a precise aiculous job that might be suited to pedantitists or finicky spice experts, but its a horror for an impatient teenager like me. We started work at hirty; I sat down at ten-thirty, got Up again at eleven, sat down again at eleven-thirty. My ears were humming with the following refrain: snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pan, snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pac., 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 morn- ing, saying whatever came into my head and making everyone ugh. The monotony was killing me. Every string I pulled made me more certain that I never, ever, want to be just a housewife!At twelve we finally ate breakfast, but from twelve-thirty to one-fifteen we had to strip pods again. When I stopped, I felt a bit seasick, and so did the others. I napped until four, still in a daze because of those wretched peas.Yours, AnneM. FrankSATURDAY, JULY 15,1944Dearest Kitty,Weve received a book from the library with the challenging title What Do You Think of the Modern Young Girl? Id like to discuss this subject today.The writer criticizes "todays youth" from head to toe, though without dismissing them all as "hopeless cases." On the trary, she believes they have it within their power to build a bigger, better and more beautiful world, but that they occupy themselves with superficial things, without giving a thought to true beauty. In some passages I had the strong feeling that the writer was direg her disapproval at me, which is why I finally want to bare my soul to you and defend myself against this attack.I have ostanding character trait that must be obvious to anyone whos known me for ah of time: I have a great deal of self-knowledge. Ihing I do, I watch myself as if I were a stranger. I stand c across from the everyday Anne and, without being biased or making excuses, watch what shes doing, both the good and the bad. This self-awareness never leaves me, and every time I open my mouth, I think, "You should have said that differently" or "Thats fihe way it is." I n myself in so many ways that Im beginning to realize the truth of Fathers adage: "Every child has to raise itself." Parents only advise their children or point them in the right dire. Ultimately, people shape their own characters. In addition, I face life with araordinary amount of ce. I feel s and capable of bearing burdens, so young and free! When I first realized this, I was gd, because it means I more easily withstand the blows life has in store.But Ive talked about these things so often. Now Id like to turn to the chapter "Father and Mother Dont Uand Me." My parents have always spoiled me rotten, treated me kindly, defended me against the van Daans and done all that parents . A for the loime Ive felt extremely lonely, left out, ed and misuood.Father did everything he could to curb my rebellious spirit, but it was no use. Ive cured myself by holding my behavior up to the light and looking at what I was doing wrong.Why didnt Father support me in my struggle? Why did he fall short wheried to offer me a helping hand? The answer is: he used the wrohods. He always talked to me as if I were a child going through a difficult phase. It sounds crazy, sihers the only one whos given me a sense of fidend made me feel as if Im a sensible person. But he overlooked ohing: he failed to see that this struggle to triumph over my difficulties was more important to me than anything else.I didnt want to hear about "typical adolest problems," or "irls," or "youll grow out of it." I didnt want to be treated the same as all-the-irls, but as Anne-in-her-ht, and rim didnt uand that. Besides, I t fide in anyone uhey tell me a lot about themselves, and because I know very little about him, I t get on a more intimate footing. rim always acts like the elderly father who once had the same fleeting im- pulses, but who o longer rete to me as a friend, no matter how hard he tries. As a result, Ive never shared my outlook on life or my long-poheories with a my diary and, on a while, Margot. Ive hid any- thing having to do with me from Father, never shared my ideals with him, deliberately alienated myself from him.I couldnt have do any other way. Ive let myself be guided entirely by my feelings. It was egotistical, but Ive done what was best for my own peaind. I would lose that, plus the self-fidence Ive worked so hard to achieve, if I were to be subjected to criticism halfway through the job. It may sound hard-hearted, but I t take criticism from rim either, because not only do I never share my innermost thoughts with him, but Ive pushed him even further away by being irritable.This is a point I think about quite often: why is it that rim annoys me so muetimes? I hardly bear to have him tutor me, and his affe seems forced. I want to be left alone, and Id rather he ignored me for a while until Im more sure of myself when Im talking to him! Im still torn with guilt about the meaer I wrote him when I was so upset. Oh, its hard to be strong and brave in every way!. . .Still, this hasnt been my greatest disappoi. No, I think about Peter much more than I do Father. I know very well that he was my quest, and not the other way around. I created an image of him in my mind, pictured him as a quiet, sweet, sensitive boy badly in need of friendship and love! I o pour out my heart to a living person. I wanted a friend who would help me find my way again. I aplished what I set out to do and drew him, slowly but surely, toward me. When I finally got him to be my friend, it automatically developed into an intimacy that, when I think about it now, seems eous. We talked about the most private things, but we haveouched upohings closest to my heart. I still t make head or tailof Peter. Is he superficial, or is it shyhat holds him back, even with me? But putting all that aside, I made one mistake: I used intimacy to get closer to him, and in doing so, I ruled out other forms of friendship. He longs to be loved, and I see hes beginning to like me more with each passing day. Our time together leaves him feeling satisfied, but just makes me want to start all ain. I never broach the subjects I long t out into the open. I forced Peter, more than he realizes, to get close to me, and now hes holding on for dear life. I holy dont see any effective way of shaking him off aing him ba his own two feet. I soon realized he could never be a kindred spirit, but still tried to help him break out of his narrow world and expand his youthful horizons."Deep down, the young are lohan the old." I read this in a book somewhere and its stu my mind. As far as I tell, its true.So if youre w whether its harder for the adults here than for the children, the answer is no, its certainly not. Older people have an opinion about everything and are sure of themselves and their as. Its twice as hard for us young people to hold on to our opinions at a time when ideals are being shattered aroyed, when the worst side of human nature predominates, when everyone has e to doubt truth, justid God.Anyone who cims that the older folks have a more difficult time in the Annex doesnt realize that the problems have a far greater impa us. Were much too young to deal with these problems, but they keep thrusting themselves on us until, finally, were forced to think up a solution, though most of the time our solutions crumble when faced with the facts. Its difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. Its a wonder I havent abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I g to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.Its utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering ah. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approag thuhat, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions.A, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will ge for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that pead tranquthty will return once more. In the meantime, I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will e when Ill be able to realize them!Yours, AnneM. FrankFRIDAY, JULY 21, 1944Dearest Kitty,Im finally getting optimistiow, at st, things are going well! They really are!Great news! An assassination attempt has been made on Hitlers life, and for o by Jewish unists lish capitalists, but by a German general whos not only a t, but young as well. The Fuhrer owes his life to "Divine Providence": he escaped, unfortunately, with only a few minor burns and scratches. A number of the officers and generals who were nearby were killed or wouhe head of the spiracy has been shot.This is the best proof weve had so far that many officers and generals are fed up with the war and would like to see Hitler sink into a bottomless pit, so they establish a mthtary dictatorship, make peace with the Allies, rearm themselves and, after a few decades, start a neerhaps Providence is deliberately biding its time getting rid of Hider, sis much easier, and cheaper, for the Allies to let the impeccable Germans kill each other off. Its less work for the Russians and the British, and it allows them to start rebuilding their own cities all that much sooner. But we havent reached that poi, and Id hate to anticipate the glorious event. Still, youve probably noticed that Im telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. For once, Im not rattling on about high ideals.Furthermore, Hitler has been so kind as to annouo his loyal, devoted people that as of today all mthtary personnel are under orders of the Gestapo, and that any soldier who knows that one of his superiors was involved in this cowardly attempt on the Fuhrers life may shoot him on sight!A file of fish that will be. Little Johnnys feet are sore after a long mard his anding officer bawls him out. Johnny grabs his rifle, shouts, "You, you tried to kill the Fuhrer. Take that!" One shot, and the snooty officer who dared to reprimand him passes iernal life (or is it eternal death?). Eventually, every time an officer sees a soldier ives an order, hell be practically wetting his pants, because the soldiers have more say-so than he does.Were you able to follow that, or have I been skipping from one subject to anain? I t help it, the prospect of going back to school in October is makioo happy to be logical! Oh dear, didnt I just get through telling you I didnt want to anticipate events? Five me, Kitty, they dont call me a bundle of tradis for nothing!Yours, AnneM. Frank