Walls can't contain Anne Frank's spirit

I stood in Anne Frank's room today. I touched the walls that confined her and her family for more than two years while the world outside was in chaos. And I was surprised. I was surprised by the wealth of emotions I experienced as I made my way through the secret annex. The tour started on the bottom floors of the annex. These rooms were interesting, but they failed to touch me in the way that those above me soon would.

I neared the movable bookcase that hid the annex stairs from sight, and started to get nervous. What would it be like to occupy the same space that Anne Frank had lived in more than 60 years before? As I climbed the steep and narrow wooden stairs, I soon found out.

The first room I entered was shared by Anne's parents and her older sister, Margot. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a room with tan-and-white speckled wallpaper and a few glass cases holding artifacts from the time of the war.

I tried to see past the four walls in front of me, and attempted to feel the weight of the place, taking into account the windows, darkened for effect, that could never match the intense darkness Anne and her family were forced to live with day in and day out.

I stopped myself from complaining about the stuffiness of the rooms, how difficult it was to breathe and how hot it was. Instead I forced myself to realize that in minutes I'd be able to step outside and breathe the cool fresh air, feel raindrops hitting my skin and see the sun begin its nightly descent over Amsterdam — simple freedoms Anne and her family couldn't afford. I saw the small map on the wall with red, green, blue and yellow pushpins and felt Otto Frank's sense of hope as he tracked the advance of the Allied forces during the war.

My heart began to feel heavy.

A sadness overcame me as I viewed these items and felt Otto's hopefulness; I already knew what he, at that time, did not.

Farther along the wall were pencil marks that Edith Frank used to chart her daughters' growth during their time in the annex. It was here that my sorrow turned to anger. I was reminded that Anne and her sister were but children during this horrendous time. Children who should have been outside jumping rope or playing hopscotch, but who were forced into an early adulthood, one that would never be remotely normal. It was all so senseless.

It was in the room that Anne shared with Fritz Pfeffer, a family friend, where my emotions once again turned, in part due to an excerpt of Anne's diary posted on the wall:

"Our little room looked very bare at first with nothing on the walls; but thanks to Daddy who had brought my film-star collection and picture postcards on beforehand, and with the aid of a paste pot and brush, I have transformed the walls into one gigantic picture. This makes it look much more cheerful."

Cheerful? With so much to be depressed about, and in a time when so many people were emotionally broken, Anne found a way to be cheerful. I am certain she could not have maintained this disposition throughout her time in the annex, but to see it at all is amazing. These words are a testament to the spirit of a young girl, and can be a humbling lesson to all who will listen.

Annele Huckins lives in Kent.

The Travel Essay, written by readers about an adventure or insight, runs each Sunday in The Seattle Times and also online at seattletimes.com. Essays, which are unpaid, must be no longer than 600 words and will be edited for content and length. E-mail to travel@seattletimes.com or send to Travel, The Essay, The Seattle Times, P.O. Box 70, Seattle, WA 98111. Because of the volume of submissions, individual replies are not always possible.