Read Online Not Without My Sister by Kristina Jones, Celeste Jones, Juliana Buhring - Free Book Online
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thought to myself. He was my hero. No one and nothing could touch him. But that made it hard for me to acknowledge anyone else's authority.
The monsoon.season in the central hill country where we lived falls from September to November, so to escape the wet and cold, we packed up and moved to the Northeast coast of the island where the weather was warmer. The holiday resort we moved to was a collection of bungalows and a swimming pool five minutes away from the beach. Our little family stayed in our own small bungalow. Juliana—who by now was two years old—did not react well to the hot weather and suffered terrible heat rash. She was constantly itching and scratching at herself and making herself bleed. Serena covered her in pink calamine lotion to soothe her. I felt so sorry for her as she also had a bad case of cradle cap on her head. It was no wonder the she learned to swim early.
Three-year-old Mariana had a fear of water and refused to go in, but Juliana loved it. I often joked that she was like a fish, bobbing up and down in the water.
Every day was like a holiday—even school was fun as we sat round on Patience's bungalow's balcony and she showed us the shells she had collected and made into a collage. But we never had a chance to settle in our new hideaway. A few months earlier, the story had spread around that a Family member had spotted Mo sitting by the swimming pool of a hotel in Colombo. His cover had been blown, and immediately, Mo and his personal entourage left the island. In the endless reams of rambling letters he wrote to us, he always said that the Family was his biggest security risk, as they could not keep quiet. He was supposed to be our shepherd, our prophet who loved us and yet he showed such mistrust of his own followers and ran away from them. I wondered why.
Mo also frequently changed his views and opinions and yet we were supposed to obey his every word. We had fled the West to escape an atomic war and then, hardly a year later, Mo said his interpretation of scripture was wrong. An atomic war would not come before the Antichrist's rise to power. Instead, Jesus would return first to rescue the saved to heaven. I was still worried, though, about what we might have to suffer in the Great Tribulation.
"I don't want to die as a martyr, Dad, or be tortured." He sought to reassure me. "It's okay, honey, God will give us powers to defeat the Enemy."
As if it were a state secret, he winked at me, then quietly opened his dresser drawer, pulling out a sock. "Look—this is our Flee Money to use to get us out of danger," he said, as he showed me two gold coins he'd hidden in the sock. Every family had been given a stash of gold to hold on to, under strict orders that it was not to be spent under any circumstance other than an emergency.
Just after my eighth birthday, in January 1983, civil war broke out between the Tamil Tigers, who were fighting for independence, and the Singhalese. Our resort was right in the middle of the fighting zone and we had to pack up the camp within days and evacuate. Over one hundred of us were divided into small traveling teams and flown out in an eight-seater military plane to the airport and tickets were bought for everyone. Our gold coins were cashed in to get out of the country to safety. Those who were crucial to Music with Meaning, were to go to the Philippines. The others went to India and other neighbouring countries. I had no idea where I was headed to—I had never heard of the Philippines—but I was happy that I didn't have to say goodbye to any of my friends: Armi and Mene, and Renee and Daniella. Whatever happened, we would be in it together and that made the journey into the unknown just a little less scary for me.
Chapter 4
Our new house was not unusual for a well-to-do neighbourhood in Manila, with twelve bedrooms, a swimming pool and basketball and tennis court. Eight-foot walls surrounded the rented property with jagged glass on top to keep out
The monsoon.season in the central hill country where we lived falls from September to November, so to escape the wet and cold, we packed up and moved to the Northeast coast of the island where the weather was warmer. The holiday resort we moved to was a collection of bungalows and a swimming pool five minutes away from the beach. Our little family stayed in our own small bungalow. Juliana—who by now was two years old—did not react well to the hot weather and suffered terrible heat rash. She was constantly itching and scratching at herself and making herself bleed. Serena covered her in pink calamine lotion to soothe her. I felt so sorry for her as she also had a bad case of cradle cap on her head. It was no wonder the she learned to swim early.
Three-year-old Mariana had a fear of water and refused to go in, but Juliana loved it. I often joked that she was like a fish, bobbing up and down in the water.
Every day was like a holiday—even school was fun as we sat round on Patience's bungalow's balcony and she showed us the shells she had collected and made into a collage. But we never had a chance to settle in our new hideaway. A few months earlier, the story had spread around that a Family member had spotted Mo sitting by the swimming pool of a hotel in Colombo. His cover had been blown, and immediately, Mo and his personal entourage left the island. In the endless reams of rambling letters he wrote to us, he always said that the Family was his biggest security risk, as they could not keep quiet. He was supposed to be our shepherd, our prophet who loved us and yet he showed such mistrust of his own followers and ran away from them. I wondered why.
Mo also frequently changed his views and opinions and yet we were supposed to obey his every word. We had fled the West to escape an atomic war and then, hardly a year later, Mo said his interpretation of scripture was wrong. An atomic war would not come before the Antichrist's rise to power. Instead, Jesus would return first to rescue the saved to heaven. I was still worried, though, about what we might have to suffer in the Great Tribulation.
"I don't want to die as a martyr, Dad, or be tortured." He sought to reassure me. "It's okay, honey, God will give us powers to defeat the Enemy."
As if it were a state secret, he winked at me, then quietly opened his dresser drawer, pulling out a sock. "Look—this is our Flee Money to use to get us out of danger," he said, as he showed me two gold coins he'd hidden in the sock. Every family had been given a stash of gold to hold on to, under strict orders that it was not to be spent under any circumstance other than an emergency.
Just after my eighth birthday, in January 1983, civil war broke out between the Tamil Tigers, who were fighting for independence, and the Singhalese. Our resort was right in the middle of the fighting zone and we had to pack up the camp within days and evacuate. Over one hundred of us were divided into small traveling teams and flown out in an eight-seater military plane to the airport and tickets were bought for everyone. Our gold coins were cashed in to get out of the country to safety. Those who were crucial to Music with Meaning, were to go to the Philippines. The others went to India and other neighbouring countries. I had no idea where I was headed to—I had never heard of the Philippines—but I was happy that I didn't have to say goodbye to any of my friends: Armi and Mene, and Renee and Daniella. Whatever happened, we would be in it together and that made the journey into the unknown just a little less scary for me.
Chapter 4
Our new house was not unusual for a well-to-do neighbourhood in Manila, with twelve bedrooms, a swimming pool and basketball and tennis court. Eight-foot walls surrounded the rented property with jagged glass on top to keep out
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