January 27, 1943: Today I’m in a strange mood. As if I am seized by joy, I am flooded with some kind of happiness I can’t explain. As if I was soaked with all the happiness, all the immeasurable distances, and most importantly, I am not homesick. On other days, I am completely absorbed with a longing for something beautiful, wonderful and distant. I feel I would have been relieved if I had had the opportunity to stay in a beautiful place, staring at a wonderful landscape. When I’m standing by the riverside and looking at a gushing waterfall, I feel something inside of me being lifted and taken far away …
I already had my photo taken. I wonder if it looks good. Although usually I don’t look pretty in photographs, in reality I am very beautiful. I’ll give you a detailed description of my body. I’m tall, thin, with pretty nice legs, very thin at the waist. I’ve got elongated hands but ugly, or more accurately, uncared-for fingernails. I have big black eyes, thick brown eyebrows and long eyelashes, even very long. Black hair, trimmed short and combed back, small but pug nose, nicely outlined lips, snow-white teeth – and there’s my portrait.
I would like to pour out on paper all the turmoil I am feeling inside, but I’m absolutely incapable. And now I’ll describe my spiritual side as well. They say I’m smart, educated – that could be, although I never studied, that is I didn’t do my utmost. I have my nuttiness. Sometimes I am so depressed, that when I open my mouth it’s only in order to sting someone. I love stinging people very much but I do it moderately, because as they say, physical bruises close up, but emotional wounds keep on bleeding.
Other days, like today for instance, I am bursting with joy and could laugh all day long. Besides, I’m probably eccentric because I like telling people in the face exactly what I think about them, something not recommended to do in public. I also sometimes like to dress in a crazy manner; for instance, I once went outside in pants. Basically, I couldn’t care less. I am who I am and nothing could possibly change that. See you later, my diary.
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March 7, 1943: I don’t understand why I can’t pour out my heart even on paper. It’s very difficult to self-analyze. I’m persuading myself that I’m not in love with Janek, but in the meantime I miss him, and sometimes I suffer because I don’t see him and hear his voice. Sometimes I regret I was so cold towards him. I laughed at him until he bit his lips and bled…
And what was yesterday is gone,
what was yesterday
I remained alone in the evening in the fields
My troubles suddenly disappeared.
When was it? Yesterday?
His lips kissed me,
kissed me.
Actually, I shouldn’t feel so hopeless. We didn’t even have a fight, but something went wrong that evening when I showed him my photographs with a dedication to Mietek. Then he looked at me with his ugly eyes, stood there for a while and then left. He hasn’t been here since. Why? I pretended to be indifferent, but in reality, I found it difficult without Janek. Yet, it’s not too late. I spoke with Nica and I will see him there.
I wish I could leave all this behind and run away very far from Janek, Jumek, Mietek, my house and all this grayish rottenness. Spread out wings, and fly high and far away, hear the wind howling and run wild on my face, feel its breeze. Fly to places where there are no ghettos, “shops,” no pretending. And now it’s enough, let’s go to sleep. There is nothing like sleep, as it says in the poem “The Happy House” [by] [Ch]odasiewicz…
Bitter ashes in a sad heart
Quiet sleep in a dark glass
Who hasn’t drunk from a dark glass
When bitter ashes are in your heart
And in the glass lies quiet sleep?
Janek was at my house on February 13, 1943, for the last time. I think I won’t ask him to come anymore.
