The Celebration

Due to my family’s wonderful connections, we were given the chance to celebrate Mexican culture with a group of family friends. We steamed homemade tamales (which, despite my appearance, I am actually really good at), talked about those left behind, and sang when the host took out his guitar and began to play. He strummed several different traditional songs softly, and everyone (besides my non-Spanish-speaking family) knew the words. One of the mothers was making tamales next to me, and her eyes began to water as she hummed along to the haunting tune. There were even different parts, different voices in the songs, and you could feel the meaning through the way they sang. It was one of those moments that I’ll remember for a lifetime because all I could do is sit there and listen, try to absorb as much as I could.

I truly believe in the power of music to bring people together. A song can be a memory of a loved one passed away, a background to your first kiss, or a way for many voices to become one. Everyone knows that song in Les Miserables where the rebels join together to sing “Do You Hear The People Sing?”, and while the families at the party were singing, a couple of the lyrics kept running through my head:

“When the beating of your heart

Echoes the beating of the drums

There is a life about to start

When tomorrow comes!”

In Les Mis, the song was a way for the rebels to join together in song right before the big battle and remember that no one was alone. That the future may be scary, but they fight for a cause larger than themselves. The people fight as one. And at the party, the songs provided a way for the families to connect back home and back to their roots. The strum of the guitar matched the tap of their feet and the sway of their shoulders, and these peaceful expressions settled over most of the adults’ faces. They became lost in the music that held a special place in their hearts because it reminded them of home and why they came here.

After the songs, the mother that teared up called her family to see how they were doing, and she broke down in tears. Everyone at the party gave her space; I was quickly ushered into a different part of the house. But all I could think was how I could never be enough. How I could never tell these stories because I don’t have enough courage to face the tears. What gives me the right to try and empathize? Can I ever truly understand? Reading about stories online and in books is hard enough, but when you see the tale unfolding right before your eyes, and the person in it is someone who you hold close to your heart, what do you do? I thought I had enough courage, but it’s become apparent that I’m still too weak. Yet the only way to grow stronger is to push ahead; I will tell their stories.