I saw the dark look in her eyes that Id seen when I first met her. Then, thankfully, she smiled again. "I think that diary saved my life, you know. I wrote all m secret thoughts in there. Sometimes it seemed like my onl friend. Now I have real friends, but I still write in my diar And I still write in my own language. . It's very important that I remember my language, especially since the government tried to get rid of it. ". "So, do you still dream of being a writer?". I asked her. "I do not have to dream. I am a writer," she replied. "Here, have a copy of my new poem. You might want to put it in your book. And she was right. I do.