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Who Are We In The Mix of So Many People?
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Who Are We In The Mix of So Many People? Who are we to ourselves? Who are we to others? Who are we in the community, and the world? I think it is really difficult to ask such questions of oneself. How can we reach and agree to an objective answer when we are so close to the subject? I suspect we are probably many things, and perhaps we are different things to many people. We may even be different people inside our mind depending on whether it is day or night. Who are we at our own dinner table compared to who we are on the street, or at a party, or visiting a friend in the hospital, or all the other places we inhabit? Such is the confusing nature of how we may think about ourselves when we are among so many others. I was reminded of something yesterday as I watched the news on television. The news feed played a clip describing our former President making a statement of how he thought “Hitler did some good things,” unfucking quote. After I recovered from the horror of the statement and the sheer stupidity of a President of the United States to actually say such a thing, I remembered something I read not long ago, and I will show it below. Ann Frank was a girl, a , a young woman, who was a very smart, vibrant, Jewish girl with a wonderful talent for writing at her young age, and who was obviously having a hard time hiding in the Nazi gulag of Warsaw Poland near the end of the big war, WWII. In the last entry of her dairy she was obviously searching for… herself, trying to find the correct perception of herself in such terrible conditions that obviously confused her young mind. The diary entry below was the last one Ann Frank made before she and her family were discovered in their hiding place and were made to march off to the truck or the train that took them to the gas chambers, and then to the ovens. The first time I read this, and understanding the history of what was about to happen to her, I couldn't help it, and I cried all the way through it. See below. Ann Frank's Last Diary Entry Tuesday, 1 August, 1944: Dearest Kitty, “A bundle of contradictions” was the end of my previous letter and is the beginning of this one. Can you please tell me exactly what “a bundle of contradictions” is? What does “contradiction” mean? Like so many words, it can be interpreted in two ways: a contradiction imposed from without and one imposed from within. The former means not accepting other people’s opinions, always knowing best, having the last word; in short, all those unpleasant traits for which I’m known. The latter, for which I’m not known, is my own secret. As I’ve told you many times, I’m split in two. One side contains my exuberant cheerfulness, my flippancy, my joy in life and, above all, my ability to appreciate the lighter side of things. By that I mean not finding anything wrong with flirtations, a kiss, an embrace, an off-colour joke. This side of me is usually lying in wait to ambush the other one, which is much purer, deeper and finer. No one knows Anne’s better side, and that’s why most people can’t stand me…. Oh, I can be an amusing clown for an afternoon, but after that everyone’s had enough of me to last a month. Actually, I’m what a romantic movie is to a profound thinker – a mere diversion, a comic interlude, something that is soon forgotten: not bad, but not particularly good either. I hate having to tell you this, but why shouldn’t I admit it when I know it’s true? My lighter, more superficial side will always steal a march on the deeper side and therefore always win. You can’t imagine how often I’ve tried to push away this Anne, which is only half of what is known as Anne-to beat her down, hide her. But it doesn’t work, and I know why. I’m afraid that people who know me as I usually am will discover I have another side, a better and finer side. I’m afraid they’ll mock me, think I’m ridiculous and sentimental and not take me seriously. I’m used to not being taken seriously, but only the “light-hearted” Anne is used to it and can put up with it; the “deeper” Anne is too weak. If I force the good Anne into the spotlight for even fifteen minutes, she shuts up like a clam the moment she’s called upon to speak, and lets Anne number one do the talking. Before I realize it, she’s disappeared. So the nice Anne is never seen in company. She’s never made a single appearance, though she almost always takes the stage when I’m alone. I know exactly how I’d like to be, how I am… on the inside. But unfortunately I’m only like that with myself. And perhaps that’s why-no, I’m sure that’s the reason why I think of myself as happy on the inside and other people think I’m happy on the outside. I’m guided by the pure Anne within, but on the outside I’m nothing but a frolicsome little goat tugging at its tether. As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.” Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world. Yours, Anne M. Frank  |
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I read the diary Anne Frank in high school and it left me with an indelible & lasting impression. This is an wonderful & poignant story, thanks so much for sharing Tallie!
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I read the diary Anne Frank in high school and it left me with an indelible & lasting impression. This is an wonderful & poignant story, thanks so much for sharing Tallie! 
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My friend. I am me. No more, no less. Three dimensional and complete unto myself. With time and patience, you may see all sides of me as I revolve around my axis; but never all at once. But there are depths and layers that uphold the surface. And as to the depths, you will likely never see those, but you can guess at them based on the contours of the surface. This is how I learned to describe myself over the years. For a young teenager, Anne Frank had a profound insight to the human condition. By the way, and sorry to be sticky about the facts, Frank was born in Frankfurt, Germany and moved to Amsterdam after the Nazis came to power. Sadly, she was captured only months before the Allied liberation, transported to Auschwitz in Poland, then transferred to the Bergen-Belsen camp in southern Germany, where she died. Tragically, the war and the German death camp system seemed to keep her one step away from being liberated. “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” ― Oscar Wilde
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My friend. I am me. No more, no less. Three dimensional and complete unto myself. With time and patience, you may see all sides of me as I revolve around my axis; but never all at once. But there are depths and layers that uphold the surface. And as to the depths, you will likely never see those, but you can guess at them based on the contours of the surface. This is how I learned to describe myself over the years. For a young teenager, Anne Frank had a profound insight to the human condition. By the way, and sorry to be sticky about the facts, Frank was born in Frankfurt, Germany and moved to Amsterdam after the Nazis came to power. Sadly, she was captured only months before the Allied liberation, transported to Auschwitz in Poland, then transferred to the Bergen-Belsen camp in southern Germany, where she died. Tragically, the war and the German death camp system seemed to keep her one step away from being liberated. Thank you for the extended and fuller history. I think history is a wonderful thing from which the world could learn a lot, not to mention the dumbest of dumbasses in the U.S. legislative branch, as well as other places. At the end of the day... watch out, because Mata Hari is still alive and well, but now she lives in Hawaii. LOL
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Hmmmm. A mystery man. One who steps forth, but still in the forest shadows. That's cool, and ok, because... the woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep Thank you for the extended and fuller history. I think history is a wonderful thing from which the world could learn a lot, not to mention the dumbest of dumbasses in the U.S. legislative branch, as well as other places. At the end of the day... watch out, because Mata Hari is still alive and well, but now she lives in Hawaii. LOL  “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” ― Oscar Wilde
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I have often thought about what kind of woman Anne Frank would have been if she had survived that terrible war. Would she have been a famous writer? A political figure?
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Interesting, I am the opposite of Anne - and most comedians for whom humor was a way of dealing with adversity. For me, the serious side is the shield and mask for the world to see. If I make a joke, or you see me having fun, that is my vulnerable side. I'm tougher than I was when I was young, so it shows more often, but my fun side is still something I offer only with care. Nothing changes faster than the speed of love. - Rush
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