After breakfast this morning, Rita, Lily and I climbed onto
a combi and went into Lima. We
packed into a car full of family members, and drove to Rita’s brother’s
house. The occasion was my
“uncle’s” birthday party. I met
countless sisters, brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews, and we all sat down
for a meal. Half way through, I
realized that I had been transported to my real aunt’s house in DC. The faces looked different, and they
spoke a different language, but the setting was shockingly similar. Various family members filtered in and
out of the house, coming hungry and leaving full. Children ran around while their grandmothers and great aunts
chased them with spoonfuls of rice, in an endless quest to feed them. They spoke of family members who are
missing, how big the latest batch of kids is getting, and how they don’t get to
see each other enough. And
although I understand much more Spanish than Korean, the occasional switch into Quechua gave me a familiar feeling
of knowing the conversation topic, but missing the details. As the wine came out and the
celebration began in earnest, I took a few moments to sit back and appreciate
the comfort of being very far from home, but in an environment that is
incredibly familiar.
I was dragged back to Peru when something happened that
almost never happens in my real family.
Suddenly, all the couches and tables were pushed back to make space for
a large dance party. Music
blasting and feet stomping, everyone (young and old) spent hours dancing in
circles around the small living room.
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