The American taught me the Protestant work ethic, the rags to riches tale, ambition, and the appreciation of diversity.

The Spaniard taught me to siesta, to buy a baguette if broke, that beauty might mean bullying a bull for some, and the flamenco flair.

The Argentine taught me to dine, drink, and discuss with friends until sunrise, the art of Fernet and coke on porteno doorsteps, to tango and to let go.

The Taiwanese taught me to eat often and to eat passionately, where the ancestors’ ashes are scattered, and the way of the Buddha.

The Chinese taught me to read between the lines, to delve into the classics, and that Confucius neglected to mention the twenties in milestones of human development.

The Korean taught me to spice it up morning, afternoon, or night, to work tirelessly, and that some traditions are worth carrying on while some are worth ditching.

The Japanese taught me to gaman, self-sacrifice, appreciate each morsel, conserve, and thank my ancestors.

The Balinese taught me to adorn with fresh flowers, to baste with coconut milk, and to dance in trance.