There is a saying that "paper is more patient than man";it came back to me on one of my slightly melancholy days$$$while I sat chin in hand$$$feeling too bored and limp even to make up my mind whether to go out or stay at home. Yes$$$ there is no doubt that paper is patient and as I don't intend to show this cardboard-covered notebook$$$bearing the proud name of"diary"$$$to anyone$$$unless I find a real friend$$$boy or girl$$$probably nobody cares.And now I come to the root of the matter$$$the reason for my starting a diary:it is that I have no such real friend. Let me put it more clearly$$$since no one will believe that a girl of thirteen feels herself quite alone in the world$$$nor is it so.I have darling parents and a sister of sixteen.I know about thirty people whom one might call friends--I have strings of boy friends$$$anxious to catch a glimpse of me and who$$$failing that$$$peep at me through mirrors in class.I have relations$$$aunts and uncles$$$who are darlings too$$$a good home$$$no--I don't seem to lack anything.But it's the same with all my friends$$$just fun and joking$$$nothing more.I can never bring myself to talk of anything outside the common round.We don't seem to be able to get any closer$$$that is the root of the trouble.Perhaps I lack confidence$$$but anyway$$$there it is$$$a stubborn fact and I don't seem to be able to do anything about it.