It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to

Sometimes, The Sads take over. It’s not completely true that there’s nothing I can do about it, but, sometimes, there isn’t much. For the last week or so they’ve been circling: I’m not down yet (and maybe they won’t get me this time), but from time to time a Sad pounces and I’m helpless for a few minutes, or hours, or a day.

There are also some difficult things about living in a far away place. There are the obvious things: feeling homesick, lonely, in need of a hug and no-one to give it to you. And the fact that all the time I am amongst people I have to be friendly with, to be positive, fun, good company, self-possessed – not just because they’re my colleagues, but because they’re new people, people who don’t have any existing reason to like me or excuse times when I’m miserable or grumpy. Which means instinctively showing your good sides all the time – which is very wearing. And it also seems to mean that there’s a whole load of carefully-controlled and unshed tears just lurking under he surface, waiting their moment.

Which things mostly explain why last Friday saw me outside my birthday party, round the back of the gents toilets (my sense of the beautiful and poetic unerring even in distress), sobbing into the shoulder of my friend and colleague Marcelo. I felt – feel – kind of ridiculous for pulling such a stunt as running off to cry, but I simply felt myself unravelling, like Cinderella feeling her gown turn into rags and I couldn't stop myself. I’m very grateful for that shoulder, and consoling arms around me when I needed them.

It was tiredness* and anxiety and anticlimax and all kinds of loneliness and longing. Poor Marcelo was asking me what was wrong, but there were so many things I couldn’t say in Spanish. ‘Lonely’, for a start. He understood – assumed – that I missed my family (and friends, I added – but family naturally seems the most important to a Mexican) but I don’t think I managed to convey a sadness that sometimes just is. And how do you begin to explain a sort of hunger and longing that is partly homesickness and missing people, partly nostalgia for good times you can’t go back to, and partly a yearning for happinesses that you’ve never really had?

He told me not to feel lonely, because we are here with you.

And after the tears – and some cake – things did feel better. People were awfully good to me for my birthday. It manifested itself in unexpected gifts from the colleagues I’ve come to see as friends, in the astonishing chocolate cake my boss’s wife made, in flowers and a homemade child’s card. These are things and don’t matter in themselves, but I was so touched by kindness of them, and the warmth and affection from my little group. Which sounds contradictory, but these contradictory things did coincide.

After I blew out my candles and made my wish, I danced, took photos, dance, was in photos, danced and talked. And if I hadn’t been feeling better the dancing would’ve made me happy. It was a strange feeling, enjoying the dancing, and the party, and being feted, and the company of friends, feeling more or less happy, and at the same time being aware of sadness underneath. I picked up on one of my other friends feeling the same way – sadness underneath – and it was like a secret shared between two comrades.

When the post-work party drew to a close a group of us (Mexicans and not, guys and girls, 20s to 40s) went on to town where we discovered, to our surprise and delight, a club that is actually really good to dance. We settled ourselves in a sofa curved around a grotto on one side of the dancefloor, and I ordered a piña colada (a recent discovery to add to the list of alcoholic things I actually like. Along with Czech almond-flavoured mead, another story. I can still count them on my fingers though. And no thumbs) and everyone else ordered a bottle of tequila, which came with ice and limes and lemonade to mix it with (about half-and-half) and was poured out in front of us by the waitress. (Being led to a table and waiter service seems to be normal in bars and clubs here… they carry a torch or you to squint at the menu with.)

The DJ was brilliant – lots of rip-roaring salsa tunes that we’d be up and dancing to, mixed so that they segued perfectly and you didn’t sit down for three or four songs, then a perceptible break between songs to give you a chance to change partners or sit down. There was a live band too, who did a couple of sets. I danced with my friends Marcelo, Juan and Pedro, and loved it and enjoyed each of their different styles. (Marcelo is just married, but apparently it’s OK for me to dance with him as Sara knows me now – which is just as well as he’s the best dancer I know.) I danced with a strange Mexican for four or five songs without stopping – the DJ was in his groove – and when I went down everyone cheered, and I was abashed. As the evening wore away, some reggaeton (sort of hip-hop meets reggae in Latin America… I love it), the big popular tunes that you hear everywhere. And then, lots of hugs and good wishes later, home.

I made an even more appalling mess of my apartment, strewing stuff everywhere, and ate a slice of the amazing chocolate cake and listened to the radio and was happy.

So, for those who’ve asked, that is what I did for my birthday, and even though I was sad I was happy and it was good. On my actual birthday I didn’t do anything at all. Thank you if you sent me birthday wishes; if you sent them by post I’ll probably get them sometime in May, but I’ll have a very happy unbirthday when I do.

* Significantly contributed to by me deciding it was necessary to bake layered banana and guava cakes with cream cheese icing, a FOOT wide and in total four inches high – that’s a behemoth, not a cake… what IS wrong with me?