It’s another gloomy day.

The sisters have been attending Pioneer School, H for the second time now and J the first. They’ve been studying diligently for the past month but it’s starting to wear them down.

How did I do this previously, they wonder. It has been a while since either of them has had to study.

After all, H graduated from college 3 years ago and J withdrew from her studies 2 years ago.

But still they grit their teeth, armed with an arsenal of glittery and colorful pens, cute animal post-its, and computers playing soothing music.

The Korean congregation my family attends has been assigned lunch duty for the first three days.

Day one the menu was 비빔밥 and my mother spent the morning getting the 고사리 나물 ready.

Day two was by a different service group and they made 2 kinds of curry.

Day three and the sisters are making 콩나물 밥 and 부추전 and my mother has spent all of yesterday afternoon and this morning frying the little Korean pancakes.

The smell of fried dough and vegetables permeate the whole house, the sizzling sounds of the oil crackles through the walls.

It’s familiar and comforting and I have a little tasting.

The crunch of the golden crust followed by the soft Korean chives and onions and a hint of ocean brininess from the squid melds together on my palate.

They’re delicious, I tell her.

My mother smiles. She’s proud. She knows they’re good, the entire hall has said she makes them the best.

I am envious of my sisters as they get to enjoy both the wonderful foods lovingly prepared for by the sisters as well as the spiritual upbuilding by Brother J, the cute Korean CO who can’t even finish a joke he’s laughing too hard.

At his own joke.

It’s endearing and the Korean circuit loves him, loves his humble and sweet wife. They’re sad to see them go.

I’m saddened as well, they’ve stayed during the C/O visits before and were the most gracious of guests.

I’ve started reading the new convention releases, and appreciate once more how Jehovah brings his organization together.

The rain fell pitter-patter against the windshield.

It had started as a light drizzle; it was now a deluge.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as the cars inched along, their drivers hunched over, gripping the steering wheel tightly as they tried to peer through the thick curtain of rain.

Maybe I should have pulled over, she mused to herself as the roar of the water hitting the roof of her car thundered over the music, just until the storm passed.

She wouldn’t have stopped. She knows this, knows herself.

Her impatience would never have allowed it.

A steady stop and go pattern formed as the cars gradually eased into driving in the storm and her mind started to drift.

Drifted to a secret place, where she could fantasize about her ideal world, where she was thin and beautiful, where she didn’t have to work, where love came easily and where she felt secure, safe.

In this ideal world, she didn’t have to worry about being a disappointment. No need to simmer over past mistakes, no time to dwell over lost regrets.

She wished she could be like her alternate self in real life.

But truth was, her insecurities plagued her and the complex defense mechanisms she’d set up made her impenetrable.

In real life, she was skittish like a wounded animal only the wounds were inflicted internally.

If someone felt too close, if they seemed too intimate, she would block them out, fortify the already massive walls and retreat behind the relative safety of the unknown.

Maybe it was pride, maybe it was fear of being hurt.

She was her own toxic relationship, intentionally sabotaging every and any semblance of intimacy.

I’m having a gathering at my place, he’d say.

Sorry, I have to drive my sister somewhere, she’d say.

My family is coming over for the week, maybe we can have dinner?

She’d nodded and smiled assent but when the time came, she’d ignored his calls and texts.

I’m getting married.

Congratulations, and she’d truly meant it.

The one time she felt she was ready-he’s the one, this is it- he ended up marrying a different girl.

And she was beautiful.

A bitterness so acrid it made her eyes water had welled up from somewhere deep down in her viscera.

A hard lump dwelled in the back of her throat for a couple of days, and it had refused to be swallowed. It had demanded to be felt.

Dull, aching emptiness had followed thereafter.

She spent her days in prayer. It got better, eventually.

But she became bitter, angry almost and was ashamed.

There will be other boys, other brothers.

They only served to irritate her and she became indignant. How dare they try, she thought.

And when people would introduce her to new brothers, she would pray that they would stop calling.

And they did. She was relieved.

She could retreat back into this ideal world, where she was loved by someone she loved.

Sometime during her drive, the rain had ceased causing the water to rise from the heated black asphalt they way steam rises from a freshly made pot of rice.

She wondered what he was doing briefly before pushing him out of her thoughts. It was by habit although she had promised Jehovah she’d stop.

It will get better. I will meet someone else.