he household chores have been finished。
mrs。 van daan is lying in bed nursing her bruised rib。 she plains all day long； constantly demands that the bandages be changed and is generally dissatisfied with everything。 ill be glad when she gets back on her feet and can clean up after herself because； i must admit； shes extraordinarily hardworking and neat； and as long as shes in good physical and mental condition； shes quite cheerful。
as if i dont hear 〃shh； shh〃 enough during the day because im always making 〃too much〃 noise； my dear roommate has e up with the idea of saying 〃shh； shh〃 to me all night too。 according to him； i shouldnt even turn over。 i refuse to take any notice of him； and the next time he shushes me； im going to shush him right back。
he gets more exasperating and egotistical as the days go by。 except for the first week； i havent seen even one of the cookies he so generously promised me。 hes partic ularly infuriating on sundays； when he switches on the light at the crack of dawn to exercise for ten minutes。
to me； the torment seems to last for hours； since the chairs i use to make my bed longer are constantly being jiggled under my sleepy head。 after rounding off his limbering…up exercises with a few vigorous arm swings； his lordship begins dressing。
his underwear is hanging on a hook； so first he lumbers over to get it and then lumbers back； past my bed。 but his tie is on the table； so once again he pushes and bumps his way past the chairs。
but i mustnt waste any more of your time griping about disgusting old men。 it wont help matters anyway。 my plans for revenge； such as unscrewing the lightbulb； locking the door and hiding his clothes； have unfortu nately had to be abandoned in the interests of peace。
oh； im being so sensible！ weve got to be reasonable about everything we do here： studying； listen ing； holding our tongues； helping others； being kind； making promises and i dont know what else！ im afraid my mon sense； which was in short supply to begin with； will be used up too quickly and i wont have any left by the time the war is over。
yours； anne
。。
JANUARY； 1943
wednesday； january 13； 1943
dearest kitty；
this morning i was constantly interrupted； and as a result i havent been able to finish a single thing ive begun。
we have a new pastime； namely； filling packages with powdered gravy。 the gravy is one of gies & co。s products。 mr。 kugler hasnt been able to find anyone else to fill the packages； and besides； its cheaper if we do the job。 its the kind of work they
do in prisons。 its incredibly boring and makes us dizzy and giggly。
terrible things are happening outside。 at any time of night and day； poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes。 theyre allowed to take only a knapsack and a little cash with them； and even then； theyre robbed of these possessions on the way。 families are torn apart； men； women and children are separated。 children e home from school to find that their parents have disap peared。 women return from shopping to find their houses sealed； their famthes gone。 the christians in holland are also living in fear because their sons are being sent to germany。 everyone is scared。 every night hundreds of planes pass over holland on their way to german cities； to sow their bombs on german soil。 every hour hundreds； or maybe even thousands； of people are being killed in russia and africa。 no one can keep out of the conflict； the entire world is at war； and even though the allies are doing better； the end is nowhere in sight。
as for us； were quite fortunate。 luckier than millions of people。 its quiet and safe here； and were using our money to buy food。 were so selfish that we talk about 〃after the war〃 and look forward to new clothes and shoes； when actually we should be saving every penny to help others when the war is over； to salvage whatever we can。
the children in this neighborhood run around in thin shirts and wooden shoes。 they have no coats； no caps； no stockings and no one to help them。 gnawing on a carrot to still their hunger pangs； they walk from their cold houses through cold streets to an even colder classroom。 things have gotten so bad in holland that hordes of children stop passersby in the streets to beg for a piece of bread。
i could spend hours telling you about the suffering the war has brought； but id only make myself more miserable。 all we can do is wait； as calmly as possible； for it to end。 jews and christians alike are waiting； the whole world is waiting； and many are waiting for death。
yours； anne
saturday； january 30； 1943
dearest kitty；
im seething with rage； yet i cant show it。 id like to scream； stamp my foot； give mother a good shaking； cry and i dont know what else because of the nasty words；
mocking looks and accusations that she hurls at me day after day； piercing me like arrows from a tightly strung bow； which are nearly impossible to pull from my body。
id like to scream at mother； margot； the van daans； dussel and father too： 〃leave me alone； let me have at least one night when i dont cry myself to sleep with my eyes burning and my head pounding。 let me get away； away from everything； away from this world！〃 but i cant do that。 i cant let them see my doubts； or the wounds theyve inflicted on me。 i couldnt bear their sympathy or their good…humored derision。 it would only make me want to scream even more。
everyone thinks im showing off when i talk； ridicu lous when im silent； insolent when i answer； cunning when i have a good idea； lazy when im tired； selfish when i eat one bite more than i should； stupid； cowardly； calculating； etc。； etc。 all day long i hear nothing but what an exasperating child i am； and although i laugh it off and pretend not to mind； i do mind。 i wish i could ask god to give me another personality； one that doesnt antagonize everyone。
but thats impossible。 im stuck with the character i was born with； and yet im sure im not a bad person。 i do my best to please everyone； more than theyd ever suspect in a million years。 when im upstairs； i try to laugh it off because i dont want them to see my troubles。
more than once； after a series of absurd reproaches； ive snapped at mother： 〃i dont care what you say。 why dont you just wash your hands of me …… im a hopeless case。〃 of course； shed tell me not to talk back and virtually ignore me for two days。
then suddenly all would be forgotten and shed treat me like everyone else。
its impossible for me to be all smiles one day and venomous the next。 id rather choose the golden mean； which isnt so golden； and keep my thoughts to myself。
perhaps sometime ill treat the others with the same contempt as they treat me。 oh； if only i could。
yours； anne
．．
FEBRUARY； 1943
（／／小｜//说//网）
friday； february 5； 1943
dearest kitty；
though its been ages since ive written to you about the squabbles； theres still no change。 in the begin ning mr。 dussel took our soon…forgotten clashes very seriously； but now hes grown used to them and no longer tries to mediate。
margot and peter arent exactly what youd call 〃young〃； theyre both so quiet and boring。 next to them； i stick out like a sore thumb； and im always being told； 〃margot and peter dont act that way。 why dont you follow your sisters example！〃 i hate that。
i confess that i have absolutely no desire to be like margot。 shes too weak…willed and passive to suit me； she lets herself be swayed by others and always backs down under pressure。 i want to have more spunk！ but i keep ideas like these to myself。
theyd only laugh at me if i offered this in my defense。
during meals the air is filled with tension。 fortunately； the outbursts are sometimes held in check by the 〃soup eaters；〃 the people from the office who e up to have a cup of soup for lunch。
this afternoon mr。 van daan again brought up the fact that margot eats so little。 〃i suppose you do it to keep your figure；〃 he added in a mocking tone。
mother； who always es to margots defense； said in a loud voice； 〃i cant stand that stupid chatter of yours a minute longer。”
mrs。 van d。 turned red as a beet。 mr。 van d。 stared straight ahead and said nothing。
still； we often have a good laugh。 not long ago mrs。 van d。 was entertaining us with some bit of nonsense or another。 she was talking about the past； about how well she got along with her father and what a flirt she was。 〃and you know；〃 she continued； 〃my father told me that if a gentleman ever got fresh； i was to say； remem ber； sir； that im a lady； and hed know what i meant。〃 we split our sides laughing； as if shed told us a good joke。
even peter； though hes usually quiet； occasionally gives rise to hilarity。 he has the misfortune of adoring foreign words without knowing what they mean。 one afternoon we couldnt use the toilet because there were visitors in the office。 unable to wait； he went to the bathroom but didnt flush the toilet。 to warn us of the unpleasant odor； he tacked a sign to the bathroom door： 〃rsvp …… gas！〃 of course； he meant 〃danger …… gas！〃 but he thought 〃rsvp〃 looked more elegant。 he didnt have the faintest idea that it meant 〃please reply。”
yours； anne
saturday； february 27； 1943
dearest ki