'To enhance the image of this long-awaited friend in my imagination, I don't want to jot down the facts in this diary the way most people would do, but I want the diary to be my friend, and I'm going to call this friend Kitty.
Since no one would understand a word of my stories to Kitty if I were to plunge right in, I'd better provide a brief sketch of my life, much as I dislike doing so.
My father, the most adorable father I've ever seen, didn't marry my mother until he was thirty-six and she was twenty-five. My sister Margot was born in Frankfurt in Germany in 1926. I was born on June 12, 1929. I lived in Frankfurt until I was four. Because we're Jewish, my father immigrated to Holland in 1933, when he became the Managing Director of the Butch Opekta Company. (...) My mother, Edith Hollander Frank, went with him to Holland in September (...) I followed in February.
(...) Our lives were not without anxiety, since our relatives in Germany were suffering under Hitler's anti-Jewish laws. (...) My elderly grandmother came to live with us. She was seventy-three years old at the time.
After May 1940, the good times were few and far between: first there was the war, then the capitulation and then the arrival of the Germans, which is when the trouble started for the Jews. Our freedom was severely restricted by a series of anti-Jewish decrees: Jews were required to wear a yellow star; Jews were required to run in their bicycles; Jews were forbidden to use streetcars; Jews were fobidden to ride in cars, even their own; Jews were required to do their shopping between 3 and 5 P.M; Jews were required to frequent only Jewish-owned barbershops and beauty parlors; Jews were forbidden to be out on the streets between 8 P.M and 6 A.M; Jews were forbidden to go to theaters, movies or any other forms of entertainment; Jews were forbidden to use swimming pools, tennis courts, hockey fields or any other athletic fields; (...) Jews were forbidden to sit in their gardens or those of their friends after 8 P.M. (...) You couldn't do this, you couldn't do that, but life went on. Jacque [Anne friend] always said to me, 'I don't dare do anything anymore, 'cause I'm affraid it's not allowed'.
In the summer of 1941 Grandma got sick and had to have an operation, so my birthday passed with the little celebration. (...) Grandma died in January 1942. No one knows how often I think of her and still love her. This birthday celebration in 1942 was intended to make up for the others, and Grandma's candle was lit along with the rest'.
in The diary of a young girl, Anne Frank.
Hoje, dediquei o meu dia à Anne e à leitura das suas páginas - fico moída por, até aqui, não ter tido oportunidade (ou iniciativa?) de pegar neste manuscrito. Encontrei-o no Dubai, à venda por uns míseros tostões numa feira de antiguidades. Trouxe-o comigo precisamente por achar que era obrigatório falar nele. Conhecê-lo, saber-lhe os detalhes (não, não é igual a saber a estória). Gostei da companhia da Anne. Gostei das palavras, que traduzem a consciência, racionalidade e força de uma miúda de apenas quinze anos. É com livros como este que percebo como, hoje, crescemos tanto e tão pouco naquilo que é verdadeiramente essencial. A guerra, e até mesmo a dor proveniente dela ou de outras ocasiões na vida, são más, chatas, indesejáveis. No entanto, com elas (mais com a última provavelmente) ganha-se uma perceção e clareza muito profunda, uma tolerância inigualável. Aos quinze anos, a Anne já sabia disto. E por isso era uma miúda extraordinária.
Um livro para ler, passar e recomendar.
ps - será que a Hello Kitty sabia que a Anne chamou o seu diário precisamente de... Kitty? (lembrei-me)