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Don’t bully me: a personal diary

Don’t bully me: a personal diary

Sunday morning 7.30
Dear Diary
Had a bad dream last night. I was running… and running. There was this huge tiger chasing me. I was running faster and faster but I couldn’t get away. It was getting closer and then … I woke up.
I held Flo in my arms. She makes me feel safe – she knows what’s going on. I can tell her. Keep having bad dreams. Didn’t use to be like that. I used to have loads of friends – like Sara and Jenny. Sara asked me to go to the shops but…
School’s been HELL since SHE came. I hate hate HATE her!!! I hate hate HATE her!!!

Sunday evening 20.15
Dear Diary
Went to Grandad’s.
Lucy came and we climbed the big tree. We played pirates. School tomorrow. Don’t think I can face it. Go to school and see HER! SHE’LL be waiting. I KNOW she will. Even when she isn’t there I’m scared she’ll come round a corner. Or hide in the toilets like a bad smell. Teachers never check what’s going on in there! If ONLY I didn’t have to go. My cat Flo thinks I’ll be ok.

A Shelter in Our Car

A Shelter in Our Car

Police cars are coming closer! The sirens hurt my ears and the lights blind my eyes. I jump up, really, really frightened.
“Shhh, Zettie, lie down,” Mama says. “We don’t want to be noticed.”
We sink between the clothes on the back seat of the car. “Mama, it’s creepy sleeping in our car,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says. “Things happen in the city. Police cars are always on some kind of chase.”
She holds me close until the sirens stop.
When all is quiet, Mama drives down Chandler Avenue and parks in front of a courtyard apartment house. Its garden is filled with flowers – bougainvilleas, roses, hibiscus – in the streetlight, their colors as bright as the flowers in the yard we left behind in Port Antonio. Mama and I love parking in this spot.
For weeks, a For Rent sign has hung in one of the windows. We asked about it last week, but the owner told us he’d only rent to someone with a steady job. And he wants the first and last months’ rent, which Mama doesn’t have.

The Cats in Krasinski Square

The Cats in Krasinski Square

The cats come from the cracks in the Wall, the dark corners, the openings in the rubble.
They know I can offer only a gentle hand, a tender voice.
They have no choice but to come.
They belonged once to someone.
They slept on sofa cushions and ate from crystal dishes.
They purred, furrowing the chests, nuzzling the chins of their beloveds.
Now they have no one to kiss their velvet heads. I whisper, “I have no food to spare.”
The cats don’t care.
I can keep my fistful of bread, my watery soup, my potato, so much more than my friend Michal gets behind the Wall of the Ghetto.
The cats don’t need me feeding them.
They get by nicely on mice.

Christmas in the trenches

Christmas in the trenches

The only thing separating the two armies on that cold December night in 1914 was a barren stretch of muddy ground called No Man’s Land. It was in this setting that the miracle began.

A faint sound of singing cut through the frosty air.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht…

Then other voices joined in.

Silent night, holy night.

For a brief time the enemies stopped fighting and behaved as friends. As many as 100,000 soldiers are assumed to have participated in what became known as the unofficial Christmas Truce.

It was a grand human moment.

Hiroshima No Pika – The Flash of Hiroshima – Toshi Maruki

Hiroshima No Pika

(The Flash of Hiroshima)

That morning in Hiroshima the sky was blue and cloudless. The sun was shining. Streetcars had begun making rounds, picking up people who were on their way to work. Hiroshima’s seven rivers flowed quietly through the city. The rays of the midsummer sun glittered on the surface of the rivers.

In Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, and many other Japanese cities there had been air raids. The people of Hiroshima wondered why their city had been spared. They had done what they could to prepare for an air raid. To keep fire from spreading, they had torn down old buildings and widened streets. They had stored water and decided where people should go to avoid the bombs. Everyone carried small bags of medicine and, when they were out of doors, wore air-raid hats or hoods to protect their heads.

Mii was seven years old and lived in Hiroshima with her mother and father.