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It's 5 o'clock of a sunny afternoon, I'm at the airport of Lima, waiting to board the plane to Puno. I'm feeling a mix of anxiety, nervousness and excitement, and realize one more time: I'm going to perform at one of the biggest religious manifestations in my country. I've never been really religious. I come from catholic parents who used to told me about the story of Jesus Christ, some passages from the Bible as well as the importance of faith. I developed a strong connection with God from the time of my childhood and it was on August 2019 that I found a beautiful coincidence of joining a folkloric dance group with the addition of being introduced to the "Mamita Candelaria". Not long afterwards I started to address her in my prayers while I also felt that God and her were being with me. Then I got a retribution presented as little things that will lead me towards my objectives, such as finding networking opportunities with people from other countries. That's why I decided to thank her throughout the dance. But the fear was big enough considering that the last time I was in a place that was located 4,000 meters above the sea level I got a severe altitude sickness. Anyways, once I got to my destination I got distracted by my friends. First day was good. On the second day I caught a cold along with a headache. There was only one day left for the big event and I still couldn't believe I was about to do it. Puno had became a magical destination for me. In fact, I'd say that it's the best place in Peru where you can live a wonderful experience interacting with native communities. I was surprised by how much professionalism they have regarding the tourism sector, for instance, once we arrived to the floating islands each one of them greeted us smiling and exclaiming a "Kamisaraki!", which means "Hey, how are you doing?", and we were supposed to reply with a "Waliki!", that means "Great! Thank you!", both expressions in aymara, the language they fight for in order to preserve it forever, or at least for a long time. They also have such a kind attitude that makes us be part of their family: Sharing their knowledge, traditions, welcoming us inside their houses, letting us wear their typical clothes and yet the kids make efforts to connect with visitors through songs in different languages. They live from tourism. They love tourists. They care about their heritage. On a hot Sunday of February 9th at 9:00 am we were all dressed up, waiting outside the stadium for the sign to get in. "Oh my God, is this real?", I told myself, and then it all started: People screaming, clapping, the bells of the men's boots started to sound and suddenly the music went on. Eight minutes later we were going out totally satisfied and finally sighed happily, as a sign of "We did it". However, there was a parade coming next... and was my first one, ever. After half an hour of waiting for the band it begun. There were probably three or more hours of dancing, not all the time over the same concrete but there was also soil, rocks and potholes. After one and a half hour I could feel how the tip of my feet was hitting the soil really hard and that made me lose some balance. I tried to ignore it and keep flowing with the music, although suddenly tears started coming out my eyes. The pain was intense, but my smile was stronger. I felt like quitting but this was a thanksgiving to Mamita Candelaria for all of the blessings she gave me, so at that moment I prayed with all my heart to get much more strenght. I just needed to have faith in my capability. At the end I can say proudly that I made it and danced in front of her sanctuary. Besides, despite all the pain I won't regret that, especially the energy spread by all tourists and the power of devotion, which was unmeasured. That made me confident.