Mi Cumpleaños 21

Just getting straight which Alex was sitting where was enough of a challenge. 


My family had put out the nice linens - the plastic table-covering and paper napkins - which draped like wrinkly skin the rusting ping-pong table, our dining room buffet. I sat on the side closest to the garden - a patch of soil boxed by concrete, spilling ivy up the fence and over the median onto the patio floor. Around the table to my right sat Alex, my 27 year old brother, who had just celebrated his most recent birthday the week beforehand. Across the table sat Axel, my 20 year old brother, who was flanked by Alexis, an older uncle and soccer enthusiast from Santiago. 


More than once, I turned to respond to a question, a request for more potato salad or cucumbers, or to pour another glass of wine, only to realize that I was never the intended party for such requests. I had enough to focus on in front of me though - the conversation revolving around the hazy events of the night before, what was the frat party of my 21st birthday, which ended in one friend being escorted home by the Chilean Police, one friend running down the middle of the boulevard trying to catch a ride to Santiago, and another friend in a fistfight on a local bus. The meal was full of laughter and full of food, so much so that I didn't know by the end which was hurting me more. I found myself gasping for breath in between bites, fearful that I might choke, trying to swallow my laughter and grilled chorizo simultaneously. 


It wasn't until the end of the meal when it happened, though - the food had been cleared, and still remaining on the table, most of a bottle of red wine. My Chilean father pushed it slowly toward me. "¿Tienes 21, no? La mayor edad en los Estados Unidos." And with a smirk, signaled international symbol for "Chug," a thumb to the lips with an extended pinky finger. The entire lunch, a group of 15, all turned their attention to me. "Fuck," I muttered, rubbed the side of my face, prickly of 3 or 4 day's beard, and put the bottle to my lips. Surrounded by chanting Chileans around me, I chugged a half-bottle of red wine at lunch on my 21st birthday. 


I had to admit I had been missing the idea of the customary 21st birthday chug. The night beforehand, as the clock ticked toward midnight, I stood alone, beer in hand, in a bar in Valparaíso. The closer the night stretched toward morning, the more uncertain I became. I was supposed to be meeting friends at 11:30, but they had yet to arrive. Never in my preconceptions of legal alcohol consumption did it cross my mind that for my first legitimate time, I would be spending it by myself. It was a truly lonely feeling. 


What I decided was what could be a better, non-generic introduction to adulthood than to approach random, latin women and introduce myself. At 11:54 I walked over to a table of Chileans and asked if I could join them. After no objections, I began the general formalities of conversation, the small-talk that translates both in English and Spanish. Yes, I was from the United States. Yeah, I'm a Study Abroad student. No, I've just arrived in August. Which bars do you guys like here in Valpo? As midnight approached, I may have casually slipped into conversation that it was about to be my 21st birthday, and that it would probably be condusive to everyone's evenings if we all took a shot at midnight. By the time my friends arrived close to 12:30, I had already befriended 6 new Chileans, and was up on the dance floor learning new steps to the Salsa. 


This is a story about information. After all, everything that happens to us, or around us - my night alone in a bar - is only information. Until I decide how to feel about it, how to interpret that information, and what I want to do with it, nothing about my outlook, nothing about my evening, has been decided. With the same amount of energy, I could have sat by myself, generally observing the rest of the bar, trying not to look conspicuously lonely and certainly feeling awkward, battling insecurities and self-deprecations. 


Instead, I chose to interpret the information that night as an opportunity - to be bold, to be confident, to be extraverted. What I found was that I could make even the worst situations - spending midnight of my 21st birthday alone - into celebrations. Maybe most people already know this. Maybe most people go to bars by themselves with the sole purpose of meeting strangers. For me, it was a first, and it was something new I learned about myself. I had the power to determine how I wanted to feel about the situation, and now, I know I have the Spanish to chat up any hispanic woman I may meet. What better a gift could I have given to myself for my 21st birthday?


All in all, what a birthday weekend.