The room is dark, the shuffling comes to a stop, and you feel others in the room pause and collect themselves for this special occasion. There’s sudden silence and cutting through it, the click of the kitchen lighter, the kind with the long torch end. You recognize that sound from having to relight the stove’s flame one too many times. You’re sat at the head of the dining room table, and you start to recognize that all your family members are surrounding you. All eyes and cameras are on you. 

You hear the voices of family members that presumably couldn’t make it, blaring through a cell phone, their face up against the screen, leaving no more space in the frame.

The elderly and their struggles with technology. 

The family that did make it are now watching you awkwardly fiddle with your thumbs and timidly comb your fingers through your hair, pushing it onto one side of your shoulders. Your loved ones begin singing through the dimly lit room, with the only light source being the freshly lit, stubby, wax candles, the kind every birthday person must sit behind as an entire room full of people sing, waiting for them to blow the tiny flames out. From this, they’ll make a wish that will most likely be forgotten about within the next week.

 This time, it’s your special day, a day that will only happen once in your lifetime. You only turn 5, or 12, or 17, once. Each time you’ve turned these ages, you’ve been sitting above a different cake of your choosing with different numbered candles. The only thing that remains constant with every birthday person, is the name in icing. Before each cake is sliced into, the frosting is smudged and the name crossed out as an act of “preventing bad luck”. These rituals have been followed time and time again, for each and every birthday party that has occurred in the family. You’ve grown familiar with the traditions and even adopted some yourself. You cannot imagine a time in your future when you will not maintain them. 

But now, since you’re the one sitting in the chair at the head of the table, you aren’t a part of the singing crowd. Instead of singing, your eyes meet the burning flame, mind growing blank, and finally, you are free to think. 

“Ya queremos pastel, ya queremos pastel, aunque sea un pedacito, pero queremos pastel”, sung to the tune of happy birthday is a song that every child, even those not blood related to the family, have grown familiar with. It had always been solely a verbal exchange, no one was individually taught the lyrics, and not one of you would even know how to write the lyrics out on paper.  Instead, it was just something you had learned through the repetition of hearing it for every single birthday. 

You’re not fluent in Spanish, but yet it’s the only culture you’ve ever had as your own. In fact, no children in the family are fluent Spanish speakers, although some try harder than others to practice. You are a hispanic that can’t speak Spanish, instead, what you can do is sing. 

The birthday song has connected you to your culture in the least expected way. It has brought the younger generation of English speakers and children born of this country closer to grandparents, who exclusively speak Spanish. And while the older folks have attempted to learn English for you, they ultimately gave up due to the security that speaking their native tongue had given them. It’s difficult enough to communicate with them through the language barrier, and you can only share so much with what limited knowledge you have. You crave the connection with not only your culture, but your family. 

The singing has come to an end, and you see every single pair of eyes stare into yours, with anticipation. You observe all members of your family as they smile, and you look deeper to see love bubble just beneath their gaze. They’ve come to celebrate you in any way they can, even if it can only include their physical presence. 

With this, you shut your eyes and blow. 

And only after you blow out these candles do you finally feel united,

as love and happiness can be heard and recognized, regardless of language. 

You’ll remember this wish. And you’ll wait for another celebration of love, until the next birthday.