Quinceñera

Last night, my host sister, Keysi, turned 15.

Turning 15 is a big deal in Latin American culture. It signifies the entering into womanhood and is usually accompanied by 15 damas, 15 cakes and a really big party.

True to her style though, Keysi decided not to make a huge deal of it. Opting instead to invite family and only a few close friends, with the family computer serving as the DJ. She had three simple cakes -- just enough to feed those present. Her best friend, Patricia, stepped in as her godmother. And she put on a fluffy pink dress just long enough to pose for pictures before changing right back into her jeans and tank top.

I stood mostly in the wings, watching my little host sister flash her cheesy popstar grin and tilt her head slightly to the right for the camera the way she always does. I couldn't believe that just two years before, she'd been this tiny middle schooler in my youth group. Now here she was, wearing lipstick and dancing with her father to the quinceñera waltz.

So grown up.

I stood next to my host mom, Norma, as she gave the traditional toast. And I took the camera from my host brother Samir so he could take his turn to dance with his big sister. I posed for pictures with Keysi behind the cake, and nearly teared up when I saw her coming down the stairs in her beautiful pink dress.

Sparkling. Vibrant. Confident and poised.

Up until that moment, every birthday, wedding, baptism I celebrated here in Peru reminded me of all the ones I was missing back home. But as I stood watching Keysi ... my Keysi ... I realized that this might be the last birthday I ever celebrate with her.

And suddenly, I felt ashamed. How could I have ever considered coming here ... sharing my life with these people, and letting them share theirs with me ... a sacrifice?