I am now 20 years old and this is the first time I read Anne Frank’s diary. It was a conscious choice, because I always felt that I wouldn’t be able to fully understand and appreciate her writing, her messages, her difficulties and experiences in that attic. I visited Auschwitz. I spent an entire day there. I saw the ovens, the prisons, the rooms, everything there is to see. After that I knew it was time. I couldn’t postpone it anymore. I bought the book, sat on a chair and read the whole thing in a day.
Essentially, the book is an inner journey. As a
reader, I got the unique opportunity to gain insight on another
person’s heart and mind. I met mature Anne, naughty Anne, dramatic Anne…
I met the real Anne. I saw her grow, criticize herself, change and
improve herself, make dreams and plans. I saw her happy, sad, angry,
disappointed, frustrated, desperate, in love. I saw everything: her
harsh, honest side and her sweet, innocent side. I became her friend, I
felt pain for her and with her. I have never felt like this for any
literary character. The connection is remarkable.
If she had lived
more, she would have become a great writer, I have no doubts about it.
She said it herself in one of her letters: her ability to express
herself through writing is a God given gift, an amazing charisma. I
couldn’t agree more.
Dear Anne, it’s such a pity that you suffered simply because you were Jewish and you died so young. But maybe it was your destiny to live all these things so you could write about them and leave us with something so powerful to remind us of our monstrous, inhumane mistakes. Something to urge us to take a self-knowledge and self-improvement journey, exactly like you did.

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