Diary of a Young Girl A Legacy Reborn
March 07, 2025
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Dear Kitty,
My name is Hanna, and I’m sixteen years old. I live in Amsterdam, in a flat overlooking the Prinsengracht, just a stone’s throw from the house where Anne Frank once hid. I found her diary in my school library two years ago, tattered and yellowed, and it changed me. She called you Kitty, didn’t she? I hope you don’t mind me borrowing you as my confidante too. Today, I’m starting my own diary, inspired by hers, because the world feels heavy again, and I need a place to put my thoughts.
It’s 2025, and Amsterdam is a mix of old and new—canals still shimmer under bicycle bells, but drones hum overhead delivering packages, and solar panels glint on rooftops. I’m a student at a tech-forward school, learning coding alongside history. But history isn’t just in books anymore; it’s alive, whispering through the streets. The Anne Frank House is a museum now, and I volunteer there on weekends, guiding visitors through the narrow stairs and hidden rooms where she wrote to you. Her words are etched into my bones.
This morning, I stood in the Annex, reading aloud from a digital copy of her diary projected on the wall. A group of tourists listened, some with tears in their eyes. One girl, about my age, asked me what Anne would think of the world today. I said I think she’d be amazed—by the internet, by how we’re connected across oceans in seconds—but she’d also be worried. There’s so much noise, Kitty: wars in distant places, people shouting online, climates shifting faster than we can fix them. I wonder if she’d still believe in the good of people, like she wrote once. I want to.
My family’s story echoes hers a little. My grandmother fled Syria a decade ago, hiding in a cramped apartment in Lebanon before making it here. She tells me about it sometimes—how she kept a journal too, scribbling by candlelight. Maybe that’s why Anne’s diary feels like a mirror. I’m lucky, though; I’ve never had to hide. But I feel this pull to do something, to write, to make sure no one forgets.
There’s a boy at school, Lukas, who’s been helping me with a project. We’re building an app to share stories from kids in conflict zones—little digital diaries, like Anne’s, but with voices and videos. He’s got curly hair and a laugh that makes me forget the news for a while. Yesterday, we sat by the canal after class, eating stroopwafels, and he said my ideas could change things. I blushed and told him he’s crazy, but secretly, I hope he’s right.
Today, I added a new entry to the app—my own. I recorded it in the Annex, whispering about how the world feels big and broken, but also full of cracks where light gets in. I want to be that light, Kitty, like Anne was. Maybe I’ll be a journalist one day, or a coder who tells stories through tech. The future’s wide open, and it scares me, but it excites me too.
I’ll keep writing to you, Kitty. You’ve been a friend to Anne, and now to me. Together, we’ll figure out what comes next.
Yours,
Hanna
