THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION ... - Fidele

I honestly don't know how to begin, I really don't, so how can I expect Peter to
when talking is so much harder for him? If only I could write to him, then at
least he'd know what I was trying to say, since it's so hard to say it out loud!
Yours, Anne M. Frank
FRIDAY, MARCH 17, 1944
My dearest darling,
Everything turned out all right after all; Bep just had a sore throat, not the
flu, and Mr. Kugler got a medical certificate to excuse him from the work detail.
The entire Annex breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everything's fine here! Except
that Margot and I are rather tired of our parents.
Don't get me wrong. I still love Father as much as ever and Margot loves both
Father and Mother, but when you're as old as we are, you want to make a few
decisions for yourself, get out from under their thumb. Whenever I go upstairs,
they ask what I'm going to do, they won't let me salt my food, Mother asks me
every evening at eight-fifteen if it isn't time for me to change into my nighty, I
and they have to approve every book I read. I must admit, they're not at all
strict about that and let me read nearly everything, but Margot and I are sick and
tired of having to listen to their comments and questions all day long.
There's something else that displeases them: I no longer feel like giving them
little kisses morning, noon and night. All those cute nicknames seem so affected,
and Father's fondness for talking about farting and going to the bathroom is
disgusting. In short, I'd like nothing better than to do without their company for
a while, and they don't understand that. Not that Margot and I have ever said any
of this to them. What would be the point? They wouldn't understand anyway.
Margot said last night, "What really bothers me is that if you happen to put your
head in your hands and sigh once or twice, they immediately ask whether you have a
headache or don't feel well."
For both of us, it's been quite a blow to suddenly realize that very little
remains of the close and harmoni- ous family we used to have at home! This is
mostly because everything's out of kilter here. By that I mean that we're treated
like children when it comes to external matters, while, inwardly, we're much older
than other girls our age. Even though I'm only fourteen, I know what I want, I
know who's right and who's wrong, I have my own opinions, ideas and principles,
and though it may sound odd coming from a teenager, I feel I'm more of a person
than a child -- I feel I'm completely independent of others. I know I'm better at
debating or carrying on a discussion than Mother, I know I'm more objective, I
don't exaggerate as much, I'm much tidier and better with my hands, and because of
that I feel (this may make you laugh) that I'm superior to her in many ways. To
love someone, I have to admire and respect the person, but I feel neither respect
nor admiration for Mother!
Everything would be all right if only I had Peter, since I admire him in many
ways. He's so decent and clever!
Yours, Anne M. Frank
SATURDAY, MARCH 18, 1944
Dearest Kitty,