Yesterday at 7AM, I found myself standing outside the Anne
Frank Huis.. I was there early in anticipation of a long line and because, for
me, her home was the most important thing for me to see on my trip.
When I was in middle school, I read The Diary of Anne Frank
twice. I had been so fascinated that a girl my own age had spent two years of
her life in hiding, struggling with constant fear of discovery, all the while
dealing with the same adolescent struggles I faced. As I myself was a young
girl who loved writing, I related to the way Anne used the written word to tell
her own story. I even remember auditioning for a theater competition by reading
monologues from the stage adaptation of her diary. Her story stuck with meas I
got older. When I was a senior in high school, I read The Fault in Our Stars by
John Green. In the novel, two terminally ill teenagers kiss for the first time
while visiting the Anne Frank Huis. I felt called to see this place for myself
and to understand how one tiny building could stand so firmly on both fear and
hope.
At 9AM, the doors finally opened (we were the first people
there) and we entered the museum (my toes were frozen). The museum’s first
floor set the scene and provided an
introduction to Anne’s life, death, and legacy through videos and pictures. I
then began to make my way through the house itself. I had always imagined that
it would be like stepping into Anne’s house as it was before her death, but
instead, the rooms were empty. Just after her family was found, their furniture
was cleared out. When they turned the house into a museum, Otto Frank (Anne’s
father) decided that the furniture shouldn’t be returned. My guidebook
explained that this was to represent all that the family lost during the
Holocaust. It was jarring and haunting, but it helped touch upon the emptiness
and desperation the family and countless others must have felt losing
everything.
The attic space had been turned into a museum. There were
videos from survivors who knew Anne Frank and talked about what she was like.
It was interesting to hear first-hand accounts, and especially testimony from her
father who remarked that her diary revealed thoughts they never knew she had. It made me think
about people I know, and I wondered if we all have secret stories inside of us that
we keep from the world. The last room in the museum was a collection of Anne
Frank’s actual diaries. This was one of the most fascinating parts, to see up
close her actual writing- her girly cursive letters about everything from her
crushes at school to horror toward the current situation and her hopes and
ambitions for the future.
The final part of the Anne Frank Huis was a movie of people
discussing the legacy of her life. This was perhaps the most poignant part of
the experience. The movie contained so many different perspectives. Nelson
Mandela discussed how he read Anne’s diary while in jail to give himself
strength. Natalie Portman discussed what it was like to play Anne in the stage
adaptation. John Green read passages from The Fault in Our Stars that were set
there (just like me the people in charge of the Anne Frank Huis are huge fans
of this book). But there were also quotes from random visitors to house, including
Anne’s middle school boyfriend and literature
professors and countless others to show the way her story has touched so many.
It was here that I began to cry, in awe of the way a young girl’s writing had
inspired people all around the world.
It made me think of my own story. I have such privilege to
be able to write to you, my loyal and wonderful blog readers, each week. I get
to tell my stories and share my thoughts, fears, and hopes. Furthermore, I have
the even richer privilege of getting feedback in the emails, comments, and
conversations that stem from my blog each week. Tragically, on Earth, Anne
never got to see the way her writing would challenge and change the world. The
way her own house would go on to be the setting for a new generation of readers
to remember to love deeper and treasure each moment. But I believe, that somewhere,
Anne is watching. And I hope that she is seeing the way her words have rippled
across the world and transformed the lives of others.
