To know my sister is to love her.
Or hate her.
No one has ever been neutral toward Joanna.
My sister is a wild, friendly, compassionate, adventurous and terrified kaleidoscope of fire and curry. She can forgive anyone of anything. This is both a blessing and a curse.
You see, like most people, my sister is breakable. And she has a bad habit of loving too much, too passionately, too indiscriminately. She loves and forgives the heartbreaker, the abuser, the liar, the quitter. And sometimes they end up breaking her heart, abusing, lying or quitting. But unlike most people, she mends readily. And, much to my chagrin, she loves and forgives again. And again. And again. And I wouldn’t ask for anything different because this is what makes Joanna who she is.
To know my sister is to love her.
My sister is tender.
She will cry when she sees this.
She always cries.
Joanna gives the impression that she is tough because the whole world knows she can survive anything. Surviving is something we’re just good at. She survived being told she was crazy. As far back as I can remember I’ve been told my sister is a little crazy. And I think that’s just because she is untamable. She doesn’t often fit nicely in society’s cake-mix boxes—she makes her world from scratch: a cup of artistic expression, a tablespoon of rocking the boat and a dash of unwavering courage. And guess what? Her cakes are pretty tasty too.
To know my sister is to love her cooking. She has a gift in the kitchen. From Lebanese chicken to Indian Matar Paneer to poppy seed muffins, her food is to die for. She makes magic with curry and cures heartbreak with sugar. The dishes pile up in the sink and the floor gets sticky with spicy splatters and every minute of it is delightful.
To know my sister is to know tenacity. The 15-year-old girl who was too smart for high school and too scared for college grew up and married, had children, divorced, moved, married, divorced, moved and after 20 years returned to college. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks? I guess you haven’t met my sister yet.
To know my sister is to know that the towheaded little brother and sister she carted around with her when she was 15 will never be able to understand why she loves them so unabashedly. Joanna often included the youngest two siblings on her adventures and I think we will forever be including her in ours.
I cannot take back all the pain and confusion that swirled around my family growing up, but I can always make my sister smile. What she never knew is that I learned that trick from her.
To know my sister is to love her.
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