The Birthday Party

David shares a journal entry:

It was Saturday night, and I found myself going to a birthday party with my mom, Sara. She had told me a day or two earlier that we would be going to a party, so I was prepared, or so I thought.

I had attended my uncle Richard’s birthday party the night I arrived. I assumed this party would be similar: cake, loud renditions of “Happy Birthday” and “Feliz Cumpleaños,” lots of talking and perhaps some music. And, of course, what would a birthday party be without Inca Kola.

I had been able to leave my uncle Richard’s party early because my mom knew I was tired after long days of travel and getting situated in the city. This time, however, I knew the party would go much later and I would be there longer than the hour I spent at the previous party.

So we went to Villa El Salvador Las Brisas and arrived at the home of my mom’s friend, Maria, whose birthday we were celebrating. The party proceeded more or less as I expected, though the music was louder and there was dancing this time around.

Most of the music was salsa, with an occasional rock song thrown in.  When a song in English would come on, people would ask me what they were singing or if I knew the song. Though I am a huge fan of R.E.M., trying to translate “Losing My Religion” into Spanish is easier said than done.

We danced the cumbia, which, thankfully, was fairly simple. Stepping forward and back, or side to side, with a partner, and generally just moving around, not necessarily to the beat of the music. I am not a dancer by any stretch of the imagination, so it felt pretty awkward, but everyone was having a good time.

We were there for a few hours and had already sung “Happy Birthday” and “Feliz Cumpleaños” when the music stopped, around midnight. I turned around, thinking it was probably time to go home — but was handed a huge plate of rice, onions and duck. Others were already digging in, as if to say, “It’s midnight; of course, it’s time to eat.”

Though I did not have the appetite for a midnight snack (let alone a full-blown meal), I ate and soon enough the music was turned back up. We continued dancing and talking for several hours more, until it was finally time to call it a night.

A valuable lesson of SST is to learn to adapt and go with the flow. What better time to learn than when handed a plate of roasted duck at midnight.