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?br />
  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？
  w锛穡锛巟i锛sh锛祇txt。c锛痬
  JANUARY；　1944
  灏彛胯？txt？澶╁爞
  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?br />
  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。