μλ€ νλν¬μ μ¬μΉμ νκΈ°μ°¬ μ±κ²©μ΄ μΈμ κΉλ€. βChatterboxβ μ¬κ±΄μ μ§κΈ μκ°ν΄λ μμμ΄ νΌμνΌμ. μλ€μ€λ¬μ΄ λ§λ₯μ΄ μλ€λ, κ·Έ μΈμ μΈ λͺ¨μ΅ λ€μ λλλ€λ³΄λ€ ν¨μ¬ κΉμ μ¬μμ λΉ μ§λ λ©΄μ΄ μλ€. μ΄λ ΅κ³ 무μμ΄ μν© μμμλ μΆκ³Ό μ¬λμ λν λ―Ώμμ μμ§ μλ κ·Έλ
λ₯Ό 보며, κ·Έ μμνκ³ λ§μ μνΌμ κ°λνλ€. κ·Έλ
μ ν¬λ§μ μμ§λ κΈ μμ μ΄μ μκ³ νμ¬κΉμ§ μ°λ¦¬μκ² ν¬λ§κ³Ό μ©κΈ°λ₯Ό μ€λ€. ββ
λΉλ° μμ μ²μμ μλ€μ ν¨κ» μλ μ΄λ₯Έλ€μ λ μΉ΄λ‘μ΄ λ§κ³Ό νλμ 보μλ€. μ μ μ κ·Έλ€μ΄ κ²ͺμμ μ€νΈλ μ€λ₯Ό κ³ λ €νλ©΄ μΆ©λΆν μ΄ν΄ν λ§νλ€. κ·Έλμ λλμ± μλ€μ λκ΄μ μΈ μκ°κ³Ό μΈνλ€μ΄ λ보μ΄λ κ² κ°λ€. μ΄λ₯Έλ€μ΄ ν¬λ§μ μμμ λλ, μλ€λ κ³μν΄μ ν¬λ§μ λμ§ μμκ³ , μ½μ§ μμ μ¬λλ€κ³Ό μν©μ λνλ λ°©λ²μ λν΄ λμμ΄ κ³ λ―Όνλ€. λ¨μ λν λλ μμ§ν¨κ³Ό μΉμ μ κ· ν μκ² μ§ν€λ λ², κ·Έλ¦¬κ³ μμ λ§μ κ²½κ³λ₯Ό μ§ν€λ©΄μλ λ€λ₯Έ μ¬λλ€μ κ²½κ³λ₯Ό μ‘΄μ€νλ λ² λ±μ λ 골λν μκ°νλ€. ββ
μΌκΈ°μ λ§λ°μ§λ‘ κ°μλ‘ μλ€μ λκ΄μ£Όμλ νΌν¬μ λ¬νλ€. 1944λ
6μ λλ°μ΄ 침곡μ μμ μ² μ¬λλ€μκ² ν¬λ§μ μκ²¨μ€¬κ³ μλ€λ κ³§ λ€μ νκ΅λ‘ λμκ° λ μ κΈ°λνλ€. κ·Έ μ¬λ¦, SSκ΅°μ΄ μμ μ²μ μ³λ€μ΄μμ λ μλ€κ° λκΌμ 좩격과 곡ν¬λ.. μ λ§ μμν μκ° μλ€. μλ€μ μΌκΈ°κ° κ°μκΈ° λλκ³ μμ μ²μ μλ μ¬λλ€μ μ΅νλ₯Ό μμ ν μΆνμ¬μ νκΈ°λ₯Ό μ½μΌλ©΄μ λ§μμ΄ λ무 μν λ€. κ·Έλ€μ΄ ν λ¬λ§, μλ μΌμ£ΌμΌλ§ λ λ²ν
Όλ€λ©΄, μμ©μκ° ν΄λ°©λλ κ²λ λ³΄κ³ λ°λ‘ μΉλ£λ λ°μ μ΄μμ μλ μμμ ν
λ°. ββ
μλ€μ μΌκΈ°λ₯Ό μ½μΌλ©΄μ νλ‘μ½μ€νΈμ λν΄ λͺ¨λ₯΄λ κ² λ§λ€λ κ±Έ κΉ¨λ«κ² λλ€. λ§€ νμ΄μ§λ₯Ό λκΈΈ λλ§λ€ κ·Έλκ·Έλ κΆκΈν κ²λ€μ κ²μνλ€. μΈμ κ° μμ°μλΉμΈ , λ² λ₯΄κ²λ²¨μ , κ·Έλ¦¬κ³ μλ€μ μ§μ λ°©λ¬Έν΄ λ³΄κ³ μΆλ€. κ·Έ μμμ μ°½λ°μ λ°λΌλ³΄λ©° μλ€μκ² ν° μλ‘κ° λλ λ°€λ무λ κΌ λ³΄κ³ μΆλ€.
Father began to talk about going into hiding. […] He sounded so serious that I felt scared. […] Oh, may these sombre words not come true for as long as possible. The doorbell’s ringing, Hello’s here, time to stop.
μΌκΈ°λ μ¬λ μ¬μΆκΈ° μλ μ νλ²ν μΌμμΌλ‘ μμνλλ° ν λ¬λ μ λΌμ μμ μ² μνμ΄ μμλλ€λ κ² μ°Έ.. μ΄κ±΄ λ¬΄μ¨ μ΄λͺ μ μ₯λμ΄λ. κ·Έλμ κ·Έλ°μ§ κ·Έ 첫 ν λ¬μ μΌκΈ°κ° λ무λ무λ무 νλ²ν΄μ κΈ°λΆμ΄ μ΄μνλ€. μ리 λΉμ €μ΄ λ§νλ―, λ μλ βκ·Έκ²βμ΄ λ€κ°μ¨λ€λ κ±Έ μκ³ μμ΄μ λλμ±.
Margot and I started packing our most important belongings into a satchel. The first thing I stuck in was this diary, and then curlers, handkerchiefts, schoolbooks, a comb and some old letters. Preoccupied by the thought of going into hiding, I stuck the craziest things in the satchel, but I’m not sorry. Memories mean more to me than dresses.
νΌλκΈΈμ μ·λ³΄λ€ κΈ°μ΅μ μ±κ²Όλ€λ 13μ΄ μλ

μ΄ μ± μ μ½κΈ° μ μλ λ€λλλμ 건물 ꡬ쑰μ λν΄ μκ°ν΄ λ³Έ μ μ΄ μλ€. λ΄κ° μ ν΄λ³Έ λ€λλλμ 건물μ μ΄λ¦΄ μ KLM ν곡μμ μ λ¬Όλ‘ λ°μ λΈννΈνμ°μ€κ° μ λΆ. μ΄ νλ‘μ΄ νλμ λ³΄κ³ λ μ΄λκ° μ λ©΄μΈμ§ μ μ μμκ³ (μΌμͺ½μ΄ μ λ©΄μΌ κ±°λΌκ³ 무μμμ μΌλ‘ μκ°ν¨) μ μλ€κ° μ¨μ κ±΄λ¬Όμ΄ ‘Secret Annexe’μΈμ§ μ΄ν΄νμ§ λͺ»νλ€.

κ·Έλμ μ°Ύμλ΄€λλ°, λ€λλλμ μ§λ€μ΄ μ΄λ κ² κΈΈμκΈΈμνκ² μκ²Όλ€λ! 거리μμ 보μ΄λ 건물μ μΈκ΄μ νμ΄ μ’μ§λ§, λ΄λΆλ κΈ΄ 볡λλ μ¬λ¬ λ°©μ΄ μ΄μ΄μ Έμ μμͺ½μΌλ‘ κΉμμ΄ λ»μ΄ μλ ꡬ쑰λΌκ³ νλ€.

μλ€μ μ§ νλ. μ± μμ νλ‘μ΄ νλκ³Ό λͺ¨μμ΄ λ§λ€. μλ€μ κ°μ‘±μ΄ μ¨μ΄ μ§λΈ 곡κ°μ 거리μμ 보μ΄λ λ³Έ κ±΄λ¬Όμ΄ μλ κ·Έ λ΄λΆ κ°μ₯ μμͺ½μ λΈλ € μλ λ³μ±λ€(νλ λ³ν). μ΄ κ³΅κ°μ μΈλΆ μΆμ μ΄ λΆκ°λ₯ν΄ (λ³Έκ΄ 2μΈ΅μμ 컀λ€λ μ± κ½μ΄λ‘ κ°λ €μ§ λ¬Έμ΄ μΆμ ꡬ) μμ μ²λ‘ μ ν©νλ κ²μ΄λ€.
The house shook and the bombs kept falling. I was clutching my ‘escape bag’, more because I wanted to have something to hold on to than because I wanted to run away.
Mrs van Daan does have one good point, though: you can talk to her. She may be selfish, stingy and underhanded, but she’ll readily back down as long as you don’t provoke her and make her unreasonable. This tactic doesn’t work every time, but if you’re patient, you can keep tying and see how far you get.
All the conflicts about our upbringing, about not pampering children, about the food – about everything, absolutely everything – might have taken a different turn if we’d remained open and on friendly terms instead of always seeing the worst side.
The two of us looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so moved and entranced that we couldn’t speak.
But I also looked out of the open window, letting my eyes roam over a large part of Amsterdam, over the rooftops and on to the horizon, a strip of blue so pale it was almost invisible.
‘As long as this exists,’ I thought, ‘this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?’
The best remedy for those who are frightened, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere they can be alone, alone with the sky, nature and God. For then and only then can you feel that everything is as it should be and that God wants people to be happy amid nature’s beauty and simplicity.
As long as this exists, and that should be for ever, I know that there will be solace for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances, I firmly believe that nature can bring comfort to all who suffer.
Oh, who knows, perhaps it won’t be long before I can share this overwhelming feeling of happiness with someone who feels the same as I do.
At such moments I don’t think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains. This is where Mother and I differ greatly. Her advice in the face of melancholy is: ‘Think about all the suffering in the world and be thankful you’re not part of it.’ My advice is: ‘Go outside, to the country, enjoy the sun and all nature has to offer. Go outside and try to recapture the happiness within yourself; think of all the beauty in yourself and in everything around you and be happy.’
I don’t think Mother’s advice can be right, because what are you supposed to do if you become part of the suffering? You’d be completely lost. On the contrary, beauty remains, even in misfortune.
I don’t have much in the way of money or worldly possessions, I’m not beautiful, intelligent or clever, but I’m happy, and I intend to stay that way! I was born happy, I love people, I have a trusting nature, and I’d like everyone else to be happy too.
When he lays his head on his arms and closes his eyes, he’s still a child; when he plays with Mouschi or talks about her, he’s loving; when he carries the potatoes or other heavy loads, he’s strong; when he goes to watch the gunfire or walks through the dark house to look for burglars, he’s brave; and when he’s so awkward and clumsy, he’s hopelessly endearing.
Our chestnut tree is in full bloom. It’s covered with leaves and is even more beautiful than last year.
It’s not just my imagination – looking at the sky, the clouds, the moon and the stars really does make me feel calm and hopeful.
[…] yet religion itself, any religion, keeps a person on the right path. […] How noble and good everyone could be if, at the end of each day, they were to review their own behavior and weigh up the rights and wrongs.
It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.
It’s utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering and death. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruel too will end, that people and tranquillity will return once more. In the meantime, I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I’ll be able to realize them!
In memory of Anne Frank ποΈ
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