Finding Beauty: Anne Frank

Upon starting a book as infamous and powerful as The Diary of a Young Girl (the story of Anne Frank), you tend to give yourself up to the emotions and the feelings that will envelop you over the 400 page span of the book. My first glimpse into Anne's world in the Secret Annex was when I was thirteen years old. I still remember the dingy burgundy cover with the curled up edge and the library book scent of the diary that had me engrossed from the first page all the way through to the disappointing end that left me angry at the world and confused. This second time through, ten years later, left me reliving the same emotions of hope, optimism and then eventually injustice.

Traveling to Amsterdam, we knew that we had to go to Anne Frank's house. It was one of the only things that we had planned to do before we left (we also needed to walk through the Red Light District, eat some pancakes and go on a canal cruise). Bumbling along the streets of Amsterdam, we almost missed it. Understated, it blended in with the rest of the landscape and I had to double back to enter the front door. Laid out as a self-guided tour with videos and interviews, the visit to Anne Frank's house is one that I will never forget. The minute that I walked through the ominous door behind the bookcase and stepped lightly up the steepest stairs that I've ever encountered while they were creaking with every movement, I couldn't help but to imagine myself as one of the 8 inhabitants of the Secret Annex who had to sit in silence so as to not bring attention to themselves for more than 2 years.

The mood in the dimly-lit Secret Annex was heavy and sorrowful. Strew throughout the museum was excerpts from the diary, oddly upbeat and optimistic. The juxtaposition of Anne's hopeful voice from her diary guiding you through the winding staircases and the weight of the history encased in the walls of the Annex is enough to leave you somber and pensive trying to imagine the life that was contained within. While empty of furnishings, little touches of life explode from the walls like the family growth chart which showed that Anne was much taller than in my imagination (she was taller than me!) or Anne's decorations of celebrities and postcards on her wall like any typical teenage.

The tragically short yet inspiring life of Anne Frank is one that motivates me to be the best person that I can be. Her uplifting words and optimistic attitude that rarely faltered during the unimaginable time that she spent living in an Annex inspire me to live with hope, not in fear.

"Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy."

I don't speak American...

It seems as though that the Super Bowl has inspired a lot on the Internet this week. Putting aside disappointing football, beautiful National Anthems and buffalo chicken dip recipes, the thing that is the hottest topic that I've seen from this side of the pond is the Coca-Cola ad. In this beautiful representation of happiness and America, it saddens me to think that the message of connectedness and community is inspiring so much hatred out there. "America the Beautiful" is by far my favorite patriotic song and I've never heard a more powerful and humbling arrangement of it. I am very proud of Coca-Cola and am also very disappointed by all of the bullies out there being racist and stupid.

The word "American" to describe the quality and class of English that is spoken in the in the United States is one that has always put me on edge. My usual encounter with this word has been abroad while speaking to ignorant Europeans or some smug British who would use it as a qualifier to weigh in on the "correctness" or the level of my English as if being from the United States made my language skills inferior to theirs. Personally, I've had the pleasure of someone turning down my proofreading skills for an English paper because I didn't speak English, I speak "American." (If it makes you feel better, this idiot did not pass that class). In my life experiences, whenever the word "American" is used to qualify the language that I speak, it always has a negative connotation and is used in a condescending manner, however unintentional it may be. This week, I heard and saw firsthand, other people from the United States, belittling and disrespecting themselves by filling the social media outlets with hate. To insinuate that because you are in America you should speak "American" shows the world how uneducated and intolerant you are. "American" isn't a language; it's a way of life, a mindset and an adjective. I personally try not to use it but, if you do, USE IT CORRECTLY!

As my friends know, I'm not one to let things that are unjust, unfair or downright wrong get left uncorrected. I will be the first one to stand up and defend a sexist or racist or homophobic remark without a single thought as to any consequences there may be in it for me. I really can't let someone go along unchallenged if they are spouting out hatred. I want to call out all of my friends, acquaintances and the people whose social media accounts I've seen strewn with animosity and careless words and urge you to think of all of the people that you know who identify with their heritage and are proud of their roots. These people that you know are no different than the ones featured in this advertisement singing their pride in a language close to them. There is no official language of the United States. Stop isolating people because of the color of their skin, their religion, who they love, how they identify themselves, their political choices, their gender and the language of the words that come out of their mouth. Don't hate, appreciate.

As a (temporary as of now) ex-pat, I'm going to head off into the unknown, ready to defend my homeland (both from the small-minded within and elsewhere) with my dying breath. This advertistment continues to take away my breath and leave my eyes wet with tears. I hope if this didn't open your eyes to the diversity and the beauty around you, it at least has made you think.

I'm off to enjoy a coke.