Birthdays in general are used to honor the person, even if only informally: a hug, a congratulations, in some cases a card and in others, a meeting or a party when the situation allows it.

It is something very cultural, in some homes no mention is made of it, but in others the house is thrown out of the window. The economic situation and my father's way of thinking had not led to any kind of gathering at home, the subject was barely mentioned.

In my fifteenth year my mom wanted to have a meeting at grandma's house, I didn't have much social interaction and I didn't really know how to behave. An aunt made me up, and I don't know for what reason she drew with crayon some abnormal, fat and grotesque eyelashes on the upper and lower part of my eyes.

Fortunately there were no social networks, no phones with cameras, not even a camera, because there was no record of that moment, so in my mind only remained my image sitting in the living room with those horrendous eyes and in front, staring at me, the young man who in those days called my attention.

He lived near my house and used to say nice things to me every time I passed by his street on my way home from school. After that day I avoided passing by and I know, for sure, that the compliments stopped.

When I turned 20, in view of a friend and a cousin's husband we happened to coincide on the same birthday. Guess what, yes, we decided to celebrate together. I don't remember the details of how we distributed food and drinks, but the place we did, it would be at my grandmother's house.

The appointed day arrived, I got up early to clean and put everything in order. A big house was ready for the celebration; the best part was that my grandmother was spending a few days at a daughter's house.

My friend's guests arrived first, her boss and other co-workers; mine were mostly family and neighbors. As we were just putting the music on the player, my grandmother arrived, stood in the middle of the room and said loudly, "ladies and gentlemen, this party is cancelled because my son's mother-in-law died".

It was a very awkward, embarrassing moment; my aunts talked to my grandmother: the deceased lived in another state, she did not know her and other allegations, the son lived far away anyway. My grandmother remained intransigent, in the end we decided to move the meeting to the place offered by a neighbor. My friend's guests left upset by the rudeness of the treatment.

Then the entertainment began again, in another house, from there what I remember was my tiredness and spending the night putting my arms in a metal barrel, full of crushed ice, where the beers were, to attend to the other guests, those of my cousin's husband were a few, who, seeing that the beer was running out, sent to buy more.

The party turned out to be a success, people ate and drank and felt well attended, I spent the night going back and forth carrying and bringing things. That birthday showed me other ways of celebrating, with less people and more self-service.