The Diary Of Anne Frank

I was in 8th standard in school. I used to like my biology teacher. She used to teach with so much clarity and enthusiasm. One day she told us all to read the book "The Diary of Anne Frank". I thought if Gurjit mam is telling then I have to read it.

In the next library period I borrowed the book from the library and spent the next 2 weeks reading it thoroughly. The book took me on an emotional journey of hope and courage during difficult times, the impact of war, adolescence and human resilience.

I wept. The ending was cruel. I went to school the next day. I stood there watching everyone. Everyone looked happy. How can they be so happy? Because they didn't read the book.

I chose to pick up the book and read it. I didn't speak about the book or that I wept to anyone. Not my friends, not my parents, not my brother. No one. That's how I behave. A silent sufferer. I endure my difficult times privately. I am not able to speak about what truly hurts me. Why am I like this? I don't know. If I feel that a person truly cares for me only then I open up. Only then I express. It's beautiful to find someone who tries to understand you for who you are. If I see someone trying to understand me that's enough for me. If I feel understood and emotionally safe with someone, that's when my feelings start to flow. That's when I start talking about it, writing and expressing. And once I start doing it there is nothing that can stop it. I can express fluently and consistently.

I was thinking about mam and her book suggestion. I remember mam had told everyone to read the book. Why did I choose to behave differently than others? Why did I take her advice? Why did I pick up the book and read it? Maybe she mentioned something about the book which caught my attention. I don't remember. But I feel proud of myself of making a good choice.

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