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op； 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。
the first is about mother。 as you know； ive frequently plained about her and then tried my best to be nice。 ive suddenly realized whats wrong with her。 mother has said that she sees us more as friends than as daughters。 thats all very nice； of course； except that a friend cant take the place of a mother。 i need my mother to set a good example and be a person i can respect； but in most matters shes an example of what not to do。 i have the feeling that margot thinks so differently about these things that shed never be able to understand what ive just told you。 and father avoids all conversations having to do with mother。
i imagine a mother as a woman who； first and foremost； possesses a great deal of tact； especially toward her adolescent children； and not one who； like momsy； pokes fun at me when i cry。 not because im in pain； but because of other things。
this may seem trivial； but theres one incident ive never forgiven her for。 it happened one day when i had to go to the dentist。 mother and margot planned to go with me and agreed i should take my bicycle。 when the dentist was finished and we were back outside； margot and mother very sweetly informed me that they were going downtown to buy or look at something； i dont remember what； and of course i wanted to go along。 but they said i couldnt e because i had my bike with me。 tears of rage rushed to my eyes； and margot and mother began laughing at me。 i was so furious that i stuck my tongue out at them； right there on the street。 a little old lady happened to be passing by； and she looked terribly shocked。 i rode my bike home and must have cried for hours。 strangely enough； even though mother has wounded me thousands of times； this particular wound still stings whenever i think of how angry i was。
i find it difficult to confess the second one because its about myself。 im not prudish； kitty； and yet every time they give a blow…by…blow account of their trips to the
bathroom； which they often do； my whole body rises in revolt。
yesterday i read an article on blushing by sis heyster。 it was as if shed addressed it directly to me。 not that i blush easily； but the rest of the article did apply。 what she basically says is that during puberty girls withdraw into themselves and begin thinking about the wondrous changes taking place in their bodies。 i feel that too； which probably accounts for my recent embarrassment over margot； mother and father。 on the other hand； margot is a lot shyer than i am； and yet shes not in the least embarrassed。
i think that whats happening to me is so wonderful； and i dont just mean the changes taking place on the outside of my body； but also those on the inside。 i never discuss myself or any of these things with others； which is why i have to talk about them to myself。 whenever i get my period （and thats only been three times）； i have the feeling that in spite of all the pain； disfort and mess； im carrying around a sweet secret。 so even though its a nuisance； in a certain way im always looking forward to the time when ill feel that secret inside me once again。
sis heyster also writes that girls my age feel very insecure about themselves and are just beginning to discover that theyre individuals with their own ideas； thoughts and habits。 id just turned thirteen when i came here； so i started thinking about myself and realized that ive bee an 〃independent person〃 sooner than most girls。
sometimes when i lie in bed at night i feel a terrible urge to touch my breasts and listen to the quiet； steady beating of my heart。
unconsciously； i had these feelings even before i came here。 once when i was spending the night at jacques； i could no longer restrain my curiosity about her body； which shed always hidden from me and which id never seen。 i asked her whether； as proof of our friendiship； we could touch each others breasts。 jacque refused。
i also had a terrible desire to kiss her； which i did。 every time i see a female nude； such as the venus in my art history book； i go into ecstasy。 sometimes i find them so exquisite i have to struggle to hold back my tears。 if only i had a girlfriend！
thursday； january 6； 1944
dearest kitty；
my longing for someone to talk to has bee so unbearable that i somehow took it into my head to select peter for this role。 on the few occasions when i have gone to peters room during the day； ive always thought it was nice and cozy。 but peters too
polite to show someone the door when theyre bothering him； so ive never dared to stay long。 ive always been afraid hed think i was a pest。 ive been looking for an excuse to linger in his room and get him talking without his noticing； and yesterday i got my chance。 peter； you see； is currently going through a crossword…puzzle craze； and he doesnt do anything else all day。 i was helping him； and we soon wound up sitting across from each other at his table； peter on the chair and me on the divan。
it gave me a wonderful feeling when i looked into his dark blue eyes and saw how bashful my unexpected visit had made him。 i could read his innermost thoughts； and in his face i saw a look of helplessness and uncertainty as to how to behave； and at the same time a flicker of awareness of his masculinity。 i saw his shyness； and i melted。
i wanted to say； 〃tell me about yourself。 look beneath my chatty exterior。〃 but i found that it was easier to think up questions than to ask them。
the evening came to a close； and nothing happened； except that i told him about the article on blushing。 not what i wrote you； of course； just that he would grow more secure as he got older。 鈥�
that night i lay in bed and cried my eyes out； all the i while making sure no one could hear me。 the idea that i had to beg peter for favors was simply revolting。 but people will do almost anything to satisfy their longings； take me； for example； ive made up my mind to visit peter more often and； somehow； get him to talk to me。
you mustnt think im in love with peter； because im not。 if the van daans had had a daughter instead of a son； id have tried to make friends with her。
this morning i