Taken outside of the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam. It's eyre to think of the beauty that this photo has knowing that Anne would have hardly ever of seen the outside of her building. Free birds flying over the canals, over worn rooftops, over the tree partly shading the warm evening sun. This intensifies the sadness you feel when you reach the boarded room where Anne and sister Margot Frank resided, exiled in her fathers office building. The three of us walked around the house, reading the innocence in Anne's quotes on the walls, watching and listening to projector screens of the people involved in the ordeal and watching people move in a lifeless sadness that such a darkness the rooms set on every one. The quote that hit me most said by a sullen faced Otto Frank (father) on the projectors, went along the lines of "A parent will never be able to know the real feelings of their child". This quote on the screen as mothers and fathers pushed their young children along through the rooms. It occurred to me then that even the people who know us best, are still clueless to how we feel. You could hear nothing, maybe some faint sobbing or a child too young to be engaged running around in another room. Their was a board game set up on a small table. She Wrote of the excitement she felt when she received the board game. The final room showed Anne's release forms to the concentration camp. The form reading 'Anne Frank; status: Deceased' 10 metres further on. People couldn't hold back the tears, or never wanted to. The tears came mostly from the jewish, reading these forms, one man barely able to hold himself up. I didn't tear. I watched the heart felt emotion of those most affected, the jewish older men and women apart of the war, deserve to cry over me. We are all humans though and I should have cried. I felt nothing but sadness and hate for the cowardice acts carried out by the nazis. If only someone had driven a bullet into that combover fuck when he was growing up, writing letters, playing in the open fields. Being a kid. Anne Frank dreamed of riding a bike on the streets outside. You really gain a perspective when you think of your dreams. A young girl and her family, sent to a camp, set to do hard labour. Anne and her sister worked in the fields until nightfall, where their hell continued in crowded bunks, where disease ran rampant. Anne and her sister were badly covered in sores from scabies. Their mother stopped eating to feed her weakened girls. She died of starvation. Margot fell off a bunk bed and died. A weakened Anne soon followed. Her death, only two weeks before the liberation of the camp by British troops.
Everyone deals with sadness differently, but we all should have cried in that room.
