It was a typical sultry afternoon of summer vacation. Ma was sitting on the porch, cutting the mangoes. Lazily reclining on the porch swing I was devouring “The diary of a young girl” and the freshly cut mangoes.
“So how is the book?”
Startled, I looked up. Papa has returned early from work today. It was my father who had introduced me to this magical world of books and encouraged me ever since. As he always quotes, “Reading maketh a full man”.
“Loving it Papa.”
“This book has always been an inspiration. There will be difficult times in future but always remember as it says ‘Where there’s hope, there’s life. It fills us with fresh courage and makes us strong again’.”
Suddenly a deafening sound of plane and a bomb in distance disturbed our conversation.
I woke up from the dream, flabbergasted. A long forgotten dream of a normal life where we laughed and loved. The world has since changed much.
Away from my home, in search of my loved ones, surviving the nightmarish third world war in the ghastly refugee camps, I finally realize the truth of Anne Frank’s words.
“Memories mean more to me than dresses”.

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