New Years (or: doll burning 101)

Becca’s New Years was...well, it was weird. Much in the same manner as Christmas Eve, Becca waited around most of the evening while everyone drifted in and out of sleep (including her). By 11, she’d had it and went off to the park where there was some kind of show.

When she arrived, Lily and some of their local friends were waiting, she greeted them all.

“You didn’t miss much, I can’t understand the woman at all and they just made fun of me for being the only gringa in the crowd. Welcome to the party!” Lily said with a big fake smile.

Becca looked to the stage and saw a man and woman dancing and drinking beer, however she quickly realized the woman was in fact a man in a dress and wig. He was indeed talking in a voice that Becca couldn’t understand at all. Feeling a little confused, Becca turned to their friend Karina who quickly explained.

“El es el año viejo y a las doce el va a morir por que el año viejo ha terminado,” she said. (He is the old year and at midnight he’s going to die because the old year has ended.)

“Y ella?” Becca asked. (And her?)

“Su esposa, estan hablando que ella esta ebarazada pero es una broma,” Karina said. (His wife, they’re saying that she’s pregnant, but it’s a joke).

“Por que?” (Why?)

Karina shrugged and laughed a little before turning back to the show. The “couple” danced around a few more times.

“They said that the old man was going to run away with me because I’m a gringa,” Lily added.

“Well of course,” Becca agreed. 

“Hola Rebecca!” startled, Becca turned to see her thirteen year old cousin, Alex grinning at her.

“Hola, que haces aqui?” she grinned back. (What’re you doing here?)

He didn’t answer, instead put his hand in his pocket and, his grin extending even further than she thought possible, he pulled it out showing her a hand full of small fireworks. He tossed one toward the stage and it went off with a loud crack startling several people. He grinned again and waved a quick wave,

“Chao,” he said and ran off.

Just before midnight, they all parted ways and headed home, agreeing to meet up later at the concert in the park. When Becca arrived home, her mom was passing out grapes, to be eaten for good luck, her dad was finishing dressing up the life-sized doll he had made for the family, and her sisters were preparing the silly string and spray snow. And as the clock struck 12 (or the cell phone blinked 12 as the case may be), the grapes were eaten, the doll was set aflame in the street, and silly string and fake snow flew through the air.

“Feliz Año,” he sister said and hugged her tightly. She was followed by Becca’s other sister, her brother, her mom, her dad, her aunt, her uncle, her cousin, her other cousin, her neighbors...and so on.

Becca gazed down the street, now littered with color and burning dolls and wondered just what the year might bring her.

Stirring

Becca felt a stirring inside her, something was happening in there. For the first time in a long time though, this stirring did not trigger a call to the Peace Corps doctors or a sprinting sort of dance to the latrine. This was different, this wasn’t an illness but a slow cure. Things were changing.

This was after all, part of why she had joined the Peace Corps, why she had left behind family, friends, opportunities, and running water to live in the desert and misunderstand 75% of what is said. It wasn’t all of it, but change was a part of the reason. She wanted a growing up experience, a lesson in humbleness, a chance to appreciate the smallest things (like a loving hug from her two year old niece who mostly just screams, cries, and hits people - usually Becca). It was all well and good, the growing and the changing, except for one thing. She’d somehow forgotten that change is no easy process; that all of those gears and cranks inside her, constantly shifting around and transforming was going to hurt a little. It simply couldn’t be avoided.

She’d been told a million times that this experience wouldn’t always be fun, and in fact sometimes it would seem downright unbearable. There would be times when she sat in her room and cried, feeling like she simply wouldn’t survive two years of it and times when she would be frustrated, angry, and exhausted to a point of near madness. But every last bit of it, every second of pain, tears, excitement, happiness, hope, and change was important. Important in ways she understood and a lot more she didn’t yet, but eventually would.

For now, Becca sat back and tried to keep in mind that two years was a long time, plenty of time to let the gear grind until she came out the other side.