Diary of Anne Frank

The first time I read The Diary of Anne Frank, I was in the fourth grade.  It was right after I started to keep a diary of my own.  It was also the age when I began to dream of being a writer, just as Anne had done.  I believed that the most wonderful thing I could do with my life would be to write stories.  I wanted to have a voice, to make other people listen and hear what I so desperately needed to tell them.  To speak freely, tell any story I wanted, seemed like the best possible way of being in the world.  It was such a monumental thing in my mind that I was almost afraid to wish it, and yet couldn’t help wanting it. 

I was devastated by the final outcome of Anne Frank's story.  It was not lost on me that she was a child much like myself, who wanted the same things—to grow up, fall in love, be a writer—but  because of circumstances beyond her control, for her those things were not to be.  I felt such a sense of loss reading that book.  She was so hopeful, had so many dreams and expectations.

© Salahub 2003