Dear Anne Frank,
I just finished reading your diary. I love it very much. Your diary makes me cry. Actually, I read the book when I was a little girl, but I did not remember why I loved your book until now. First, I admire you, Anne. You are brave. I cannot imagine how my life would be during two years of separation from society in a small space. Perhaps I would commit suicide. Second, I find myself in your character. We have many things in common. We love nature and aesthetics; you liked writing and wished to be a famous writer. Your wish was granted; your book was translated into many languages. I love writing and wish to be a famous writer too. However, unlike you, I am confused about my ability. Failure engulfs me in an ocean of depressed mud and an inferiority complex. I try to escape from the inferiority complex and the depression, but I am not successful. I fight against my enemies every minute. I am so exhausted and wish to die, but I have no choice. I am cowardly; I dare not commit suicide because I know before my breath stops, I may suffer tremendous physical pain. Oh, I am scared because I hate pain. I do not know why I cannot give up my goal. The more I suffer darkness, the more I wish to write. I write for myself. I want to improve my writing skill.
Many people have admired me and said that I was talented, smart, and remarkable. However, I was confused about my ability. If I was really talented or smart, I should be successful and not fall into failures.
Like you, I am so lonely among my family. My mother and my siblings love me very much; they are jealous of people whom I am close. However, they never know that they accidentally push me down into the canyon of dolor because of their poisonous language and their mean judgments.
Also, we have the same hobbies; we like literature and history.
I am bipolar. Two different characters are in this person: Anhthao in writing and Anhthao in a real life.
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