The Dangers of Piñatas and Friend-Making

For my 24th birthday my roommates and I had a giant fiesta. We invited a million people (very uncharacteristic of an antisocial, introverted, misanthropic wallflower like me). We made tacos (very characteristic of a Tex-Mex addict like me). We dressed Mexican style (in honor of Cinco de Mayo being the day prior) and we danced bachata and merengue (in honor of the country where we live).

Mexican Style Roomies

We also had a piñata and, being the birthday girl, I was first up to bat. I was rather disoriented from being tossed around in circles and, being a perfectionist, did not want to embarrass myself with a nothing-but-air swing. So I did what is only natural for a competitive player tramposa- I flailed my arm around trying to find sign of the piñata before I resorted to lifting my blindfold. Some referees swarmed in to prevent me, but they didn’t flee fast enough because when I got back to the business of swinging I nearly took off two of my friends’ heads.

Oops.

That really got the audience worked up. They spun me again for a second turn and, thanks to the laughter that cheered me on amidst my dizzy dark hole of blindfolded oblivion, this time I was spot on. I whacked that piñata so good… it sort of ended the game. I felt a little bad. Especially since a couple of guests barely escaped decapitation in the process.

Piñata fun

As my two years in the Dominican Republic comes to a close, I’m feeling dizzy and psyched up about all the fun and memories. But as the reality hits me that the date of my departure is approaching, I’m realizing I’m not going to be able to escape decapitation goodbyes. Although all my gringo friends have known about my move to Spain, I’ve slowly begun breaking the bad news to my Dominican friends and my students. It’s an awkward thing to bring up and the announcement generally doesn’t end with cheering and dancing (which would actually be more depressing, so I guess I’m okay with that). I’m dreading the final adioses as much as I am looking forward to my future plans.

When I weighed the pro’s and con’s of moving to a foreign country there were plenty of things on the list. I knew what sacrifices to expect (mostly). Yet somehow the thought that I’d develop deep, significant friendships and eventually have to leave them behind never occurred to me.

It leaves me simultaneously demanding, “Why in the world did you let these friendships happen?” and regretting, “Why in the world did you not pour more into them?” Bueno, I don’t really lament forming these meaningful relationships. As dangerous as it is to risk your heart on making friends, when it comes time to part I’d rather it be marked by mourning. I can talk all day about how I fell in love with the flowers and mountains and chinola juice of this island, about how I lived for motorcycle rides and waterfall hikes, but if I erase the people that I shared these experiences with, they would lose all meaning.

Festive gringos

By the time the last guest left, my friends had already cleaned up the majority of the fiesta mess and I was still wound up with party giddiness. I had spent the day in one of my favorite places in the world, doing some of my favorite things in the world, with some of my favorite people in the world. I was both grateful for the two years I’d spent doing life with them and apprehensive about how I’d fare without them.

In merely three weeks I’m going to get on a lonely airplane and watch through the window as I speed up and over palm trees and the Caribbean Sea. I’ll probably occupy myself with lame American Way articles and Sudoku until they announce, “You are now free to use electronic devices.” Then I’ll put on Juan Luis Guerra and reflect on the best and most difficult two years of my life as I scroll through the photos that only minimally captured the memories of my biggest birthday bash. I’m probably going to sob.

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