As I am desperately trying to keep up with my new-found blog, and as I am having so much time to just sit and do nothing, it’s becoming more and more difficult to write even the shortest of sentences. I almost feel bad about not doing anything (talking about panopticism here) therefore, I have to do something.
And what better way than writing some lame posts? Read on.
About a week ago or so, I have decided to visit Anne Frank’s house. For those of you who are not yet acquainted with Anne Frank, she was a small Jewish girl who went into hiding for two years along with her family and some other family friends/relatives. If memory serves, there were 8 people in total.
And so, while hiding from the Germans in World War II, Anne Frank, a girl of only 13 years old, started a journal depicting her daily experience. Ranging from themes such as social and cultural identity to sexuality, Anne Frank’s journal is a strong piece of writing, especially for a girl her age. Months before the war ended, she and her family were captured during a morning raid, and sent to the concentration camps. Only her father, Otto Frank, survived.
It is easily understandable that her diary is a remarkable piece because, like many others, it offers a more hands-on, often romanticized image of what it meant to live in such horrific conditions. And if, like me, you believe that reading a book is not enough to fully understand its dimensions, being able to visit and experience a small part of Anne Frank’s biography is nothing short of spectacular.