The Boy Who Loved Anne Frank by Ellen Feldman

What if Peter Van Pels were to survive to tell the tale? Feldman's historical projection in her novel, 'The Boy Who Loved Anne Frank' answers this historical "what if" in a realistic, novel and a profound way.

Peter (known as Peter Van Daan in Anne Frank's diary) survives the war but hides the fact he is Peter Van Pels, even from his wife. In living his new life, he strives to build all the vestiges of stability and security around him but the ghosts of his past soon comes to haunt him which manifests in the strange occurrence of him losing his voice. This is finally broken when he confronts the only living document that details his past; The Diary of Anne Frank. This triggers a complex journey for Peter as he tries to make sense of his past while being constantly reminded of those dark times with the ongoing hype about the endeavours surrounding the diary.


What makes this a gripping read is Feldman's faithfulness to the psyche of Peter in which she breaks the mould of the naivete of Anne Frank's portrayal and induce it with a strong modern sensibility. Her skillfulness in blurring the lines between what is happening, Peter's thoughts as well as his memories of the war produces a surrealistic landscape that enhances our understanding of Peter's viewpoint and the horror of his past that keeps haunting him. In the course of the exploration of Peter's psyche, certain truths become incredibly evident which is why this offering is such a gem. Firstly, the novel addresses the modern treatment of horrific events such as the Holocaust in which it appears that it has become more of a fascination that a grieving remembrance. Such a truth is enhanced by Feldman's wonderful gift of imagery and I was choking with grief when I read the following lines:

'I was crying for the innocence of that father walking home through the blushing Amsterdam evening, for the hope of that woman scrubbing a new flat for a new life, for the boy who thought he was safe. I was crying for a world that saw a war coming, that feared the worst, but had no inkling how bad the worst could be.'

Truly, who would have thought that such a thing will happen? And it is sad truth that no matter how hard we try, we can never truly understand what it was like to have been there. Therefore, rather than belittling the experiences of the victims, the greatest tribute we can give to them is our sincere grievance, respect and to open our eyes to similar events happening in our time and try to stop it. What a profound truth and it certainly takes a gifted writer to present it to us in such an impactful way.


To all who have passed on,
Rest in Peace.

Appreciating the Boring Days

The problem with being forced to serve the nation is that it is an unpopular option where one loses one's identity, freedom, and often, intelligence. The regimentation of it all equates to having every single day repeating itself with negligible variance for 22 to 24 months of one's life. Hence, it is common to feel bored and dread as one wait for time to pass, and hopefully, quickly. Isn't that part of the Singapore story? Yet, a cultural exchange with the US soldiers brought home a very sobering lesson.

We were taught personnel and vehicles check to our dismay for such an activity has been haunting us for the past year as part of my vocation. This meant that we were bored to tears and would grab anything to stab ourselves to get away from it all. Sensing our boredom, disinterest and at times disrespect, Hill (one of the instructors) decides to share an anecdote that rings true.

He told us that in his line of duty, he has checked countless of cars and personnel. It is a tiring and boring job because the level of checks there is so thorough due to a much higher possibility of an attack there than it is in Singapore. This meant that at any moment, he and his comrades may lose their lives and the thought of that spurs him to ensure that each check is as thorough as possible. As such, he enjoys the utter boredom of his work because being bored means that nothing has happened. At the end of the day, everyone returns to their loved ones safe and sound. In this light, he told us to appreciate the boring days and he hoped that everyday will be as boring as possible for us.

Touched by his "blessing", I realised that Memorial Day was a couple of weeks ago and the passing of this commemoration certainly made what he said utterly sobering. As such, let us offer a prayer to those who have served and passed on as the proverbial rose upon their graves.

A Difficult Question

How are you today, my dear readers? Hands up for those who said, "I'm fine. Thank You." Sometimes, the simplest questions are the most difficult ones. Why is that so? How many of us are really interested in another's well-being when we enquire about them? On the flip side, how many of us ever gave thought to this simple question and answer our friends sincerely rather than preparing "ready-made" answers? I'm sure most of us will take the easy answer, "I'm fine." I'll admit that I'm no exception in my answers. But on hindsight, it really bothers me that I did not answer this question sincerely especially to people I love and care about.

After some reflection, I came up with three possible reasons for such an answer. Firstly, we are not close to the enquirer and the most appropriate thing to do is to give a polite answer. Secondly, even if the enquirer is someone that we are close to, we do not want to burden them with our problems. Lastly, we are neither euphoric nor melancholy and for a lack of an adjective so using the word 'fine' is the easiest way out.

For the first situation, I do not have a better alternative and would definitely like whoever who has generously taken their time to read this to comment on this post should they have one.

With regards to the second situation, while we should not expect anything of our friends, I'm sure that if I were to enquire about someone I would definitely love to catch up with that person. By extension, I will take an interest in their well-being. Hence, I feel that we should be honest when our well-being is enquired of. That said, one must still exercise some tact in unburdening ourselves as we should try not to make our friends uncomfortable in the process of doing so.

As for the last situation, I feel that since someone we care about took the effort to enquire of us, we should pay back in kind with putting some thought and depth in our replies.

The track by which my train of thoughts travels on is actually the need to recommit to our relationships and to take time and effort in investing in them for this are the things that truly matter in life.

With that said, how are you today?

Something I've Written a While Ago

Here's something that I found lying in my room. It is a poem written on 30th October 2005 in the dead of the night when I could not go to sleep. While I do not profess it to be any good, I thought it would be interesting to feature a literary fragment from my past.

Dreams of Past Pursuits

Flashes of dreams
in an unfortunate time,
that haunts and gave
me its worth of dime.

I rendered it as a hopeless
pursuit and sobered.
Yet it still haunts me
with intentions of a pervert.

Tell me now, O sickening things!
I aborted you and yet
you still leeched.

So tell me now, what
do you want from me!

Admit It, We Are Like Our Parents

Think about this: we are really like our parents. While we may rebel, start a new trend or consciously choose to be the opposite of the character of our parents, there is an essence of what they are in us.

My mum has this interesting habit of wrapping her books with cut-outs from magazines or newspapers when she was younger. This meant that all the great novels of hers are adorned with numerous pictures of her favourite celebrities. I used to resent that because this habit is odd and I do not want people to question me when I read the book in public. As such, I asked my mum if I could remove all the cut-outs and keep it neatly in a folder but she refused and told me if I am uncomfortable with it, I should not read the book. This stubborn refusal from her certainly made me cross and I had to be contented with reading the book at home.

As I am always ready to dismiss her as being a stick in the mud, today certainly proved that I am not much different either; I am as odd as my mother! As I was looking through my collection of books to pick my next read, I inevitably grimace at the old cut-outs that adorns my mother's books. However, after choosing a book that I wanted, the next thing I knew I was browsing a magazine sometime back and I instinctively took a scissors and cut out some of the pictures! While I do not adorn my books with the pictures, I cannot help but realising that I have the same habit as my mum of cutting stuff out that interest me!

Upon this realisation, I grinned to myself in full knowledge that a couple of decades later, when we are advanced enough that our cars can fly in the sky, my children will think that I am odd and an ancient relic to do so when I can get everything online.

So mum, if you ever happen to chance upon this post, I take my words back and I do wish you a very Happy Mother's Day!