Anat Ghelber
Some people call me Ana

A Page From a Desperate Jew’s Diary

Here’s another day of me sitting next to a broken human expecting them to save me, pondering on life.

As if they have the answers.

Somehow I manage to laugh at myself.

Under my bedsheets, wiping my own tears.

Oh, what an aberration.

I am not only carrying the trauma of evilness and selfishness of today’s day and age and my next door neighbor.

I am also a Holocaust survivor.

I am also a Jew in denial of every single tear that streamed down my eye.

I ask God for forgiveness.

I get that I deserve whatever I have.

In the weirdest sense, I am the most religious person with the most common sense.

But there is a door that keeps shutting every time I try to get out, because I am locked in a dark, big house where I’m trying to get out, but somehow, when I get to the door, somehow, someone, manages to lock it.

When I look at my feminine nails, and my crazy love for makeup, I remember that after all I am just a lady with curves.

I am this thing that’s made of atoms that in a few years time will perish away.

I am that thing that maybe takes herself too seriously.

I sit under my covers, covered in blood and covered in troubles that aren’t mine, wanting out, but someone, somehow, keeps locking the door.

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