My family never made a big deal about New Year’s Eve. Sometimes, we were allowed to stay up to midnight (which, to my 7-year-old self, was insanely cool). My mom would make Red L Hot Assorted Puffs, a pastry we only ate once a year. We sat on the couch, and at 11:59 PM, we counted down—like clockwork—until it was New Year’s. We wished each other a Happy New Year and went to bed.
That was it.
Now, there’s something to be said for a quiet and calm New Year’s, which is why I’ll never forget the first one I spent with my husband and his family. For one thing, there were a lot of people. Like, a lot. It took 20 minutes just to say hello to everyone. The house itself felt alive. Tias cooked in the kitchen, Tios drank and debated whether Presidente Fujimori would get re-elected, and cousins came in and out of the door. Music played and loud laughter filled the air
Coming from a quiet home, it was overstimulating, but also very exciting. It was fun to see las mujeres go from making causa de atún one minute to disappear and suddenly re-emerge in dresses, ready to celebrate.
Those childhood puff pastries didn’t compare to the feast we were about to eat… at 11:00 p.m. Platters and plates were loaded with flavorful Peruvian food, and as we ate, everyone talked about Peru.
Although I was close with Michell’s family, the person I loved most was my mother-in-law, Eurfe. She cared for me and always made me feel included, even when others often tried to exclude me. Eurfe would often tell me, “Tu eres, para mía, una hija más” (“You are another daughter to me”). She meant it, and more importantly, I felt it.
Once we finished eating, Eurfe gently hugged me and tied a yellow ribbon around my wrist to welcome good luck. I gave her a big hug back.
Then, the countdown started. Bowls of grapes came out, and I just assumed they were dessert. Each person receives 12 grapes—one for every month of the year. As the clock strikes midnight, you’re supposed to eat them one at a time while making a wish.
The house, boisterous to say the least, suddenly became very still. I opened my eyes and looked around. Family members were eating steadily and calmly, holding the grapes to their hearts, almost whispering to themselves. It was like a religious experience, and I felt so honored to witness it.
I was so in awe that I didn’t realize the clock was running out and I still had a bowlful of grapes in front of me. My husband finished his quickly, saw me, and warned I had 30 seconds left. To beat the clock, I wound up just shoving them in my mouth and praying I wouldn’t choke—probably wasting a whole bunch of wishes.
Once the grapes were gone, the chaos began.
My mother-in-law—who stands all of 4 feet 9 inches tall—suddenly jumped up and returned with a broom. She was obsessive about cleaning, and I felt badly that she felt she had to sweep at the start of the New Year. When I went to help, she started to yell. Startled, I thought she was upset, but she wasn’t.
She was essentially sage-ing the house with every stroke. We aren’t talking about regular sweeping; we’re talking about Olympic-level sweeping. She threw open the front door, began furiously sweeping toward it, and swung the broom like she was trying to hit a home run with her escoba. The closer she got to the door, the louder she became, yelling, “¡Pa fuera! ¡Sal de aquí!” over and over. The goal wasn’t just getting rid of dirt, but ridding the house of all bad energy from the previous year and welcoming fresh energy into the new one.
Once the broom was put away, my mother-in-law disappeared and returned carrying a suitcase. Then everyone else showed up carrying luggage too. Suitcases. Duffel bags. Carry-ons. Backpacks. Confused, I asked my husband, “Are they all going to Peru right now?”
My husband shoved a bag into my hands and said, “Take this. Hurry.” I had absolutely no idea what was happening until he said one word:
“Run.”
So I ran.
Have you ever seen a surge of people racing through one doorway, only to trip or get stuck? That’s what happened. In the dead of a NYC winter, we ran outside clutching empty suitcases, sprinting down an alleyway alongside the apartment, up metal stairs, through the lobby, down another set of steps, onto the street, and around the building.
At one point, I wondered whether the rickety stairs were built to support more than twenty excited Peruvians and one confused white girl running at full speed with empty luggage.
When we finally piled back inside, completely out of breath, I learned the meaning behind the madness. According to tradition, running around your home—or the block—with a suitcase encourages travel and adventure in the coming year. You can walk it, but running is better. Maybe it was because it was cold, or maybe sprinting showed more effort? I made a mental note to wear sneakers next New Year’s.
Everyone was laughing, breathless, and full of joy. Sure, it seemed a little ridiculous to run through the cold carrying empty luggage while screaming “¡Feliz Año Nuevo!” but it was the first of many memorable celebrations with my husband’s family. I looked forward to it every year, and it never got old. New family members always visited from Peru, and in many ways, the family just kept growing.
So, did I travel after that run?
Not immediately.
But I took flight in other ways. My dreams grew bigger. My goals expanded. My husband and I built a life together. Even when I didn’t physically fly somewhere, I allowed myself to imagine a life that wasn’t just a boring ball drop. I embraced the unexpected and found myself taking the biggest trip of them all—a trip back to myself.
And it has been the greatest journey of all.