A Little Bit Better
In the cold, confined space of the Secret Annex, even a common cold could feel like a monumental event. On December 22, 1943, Anne Frank sat down to write to her diary, addressing her beloved friend Kitty. Her apology for not writing reveals a simple truth: life in the Annex, though repetitive, was still filled with the small struggles of ordinary existence.
She had been sick, confined to her bed for nearly a week. The flu, the cold, the fevers that plague us all were made all the more difficult by the circumstances. She notes her brief attempt to get up, only to be knocked down again by a “worse cold.” This is a deeply human moment. It’s a young girl feeling miserable and wanting to get back to her life, even if that life was a life in hiding.
But the most touching part of her entry is her quiet gratitude. “Daddy has tracked down another new diary for me,” she writes, a gift that was both a symbol of his love and a lifeline to her. In a world where every item was precious, a new diary was a treasure. It was a new book of blank pages, a blank canvas for her thoughts, a place to pour out all that was inside her.
Anne’s illness, like so many other moments of her life, was not just a personal struggle. It was a testament to her resilience. Even when she was weak and miserable, her spirit remained strong. Her desire to write, to record her life, and to find joy in a new diary was a quiet act of defiance. It showed that even when her body was failing, her hope for the future—and her commitment to her craft—remained unbreakable.