
I was 12 years old when I found an old, dusty copy of “The Diary of a Young Girl ” in my school library. That dusty old library was my childhood haven. Disneyland may advertise themselves as happiest place in the world but for a 12-year version of me that tiny library was doing the job of being the happiest place.
I borrowed the book and thus brought Anne to my home. At that time didn’t know that a book by 13 years old girl will became a classic because it was a true version of atrocities Jews had to go through in Nazi empire and to be honest that time this was not the main factor why I got attracted towards the book.
For me it was a collection of diary entries by a girl who was almost same age like me when she wrote it. I was a little jealous in starting that she got such a meaningful gift for her birthday but my appreciation for the girl overpowered the jealousy. I found Ann very brave not just because she was in hiding from Nazis, again I didn’t care about political stuff that much that time. I appreciated Anne because she had guts to write what she felt. I may have a poem, story or script of a play going on in my mind but I never felt brave enough to put it in words on paper. If I was not comfortable to write about fictional characters how could I write about emotions and real me.
As my reading proceeded in the book, I started to feel more related to Anne. Yeah, I was not in a war prone area but somehow, I felt in being hideout or in prison trying to hide from someone. I was laughing on her jokes and crying with her. In all this commotion I decided to write my diary too.
I didn’t have any fancy diary, so I got hold of one of my father’s diary of some years ago which he never used. I did start in a very cliched way “Dear Diary “ (Unlike Anne I couldn’t think of the name for my diary ) but then what, what should I write. I had a pretty normal day. woke up, went to school, came back home, had lunch, did my homework, watched TV, played with friends and pretty much that’s it. In fact, I had the same routine for almost whole year other than exams of course when TV and playing was off hands.
Now this new issue was dancing in front of me what should I write in that. If I just write boring stuff and accidentally after years if someone finds my diary, they will just laugh and maybe feel a little pity for the 12 years old girl who had a boring life. Maybe they will call my diary. “The diary of a boring girl”. This thought bothered me a lot.
Anne was also not helping . She was having her first kiss in hiding, giving tough competition to bring my life at par with hers. So, I decided to write about my friends, about my fights with them, what feelings, what was making me sad, happy. Ann was doing it, so it felt very natural.
I think I made a mistake there. One fine day when I was recovering from the trauma of Anne being captivated by Nazis. A commotion broke in my room armed with my diary and wounded me brutally with sarcastic comments about each and every word what I have written. Apparently, I too had Hitler in my life. I still don’t understand how my own feeling can become inappropriate when I mention them on paper. The bloodshed went for some time and ended with me feeling my privacy violated.
I no longer had desire to write in the diary. It was no more a secret keeper. So, I started tearing pages one by one and then making even smaller pieces of it. It gave a sense of calm, like now onward it will be always in my head and nowhere else to people to know and make fun of me.
Yes, I felt sorry that now there is no possibility of my diary to be found after years and me becoming world famous but I was ready to compromise this than feeling violated.
Hence, we still have “The diary of young girl ’’and no more “The diary of a Boring girl ’’.
