part 1: The Hardest (but most fun) language lessons

The language lessons one can never learn. One of the funnest, but perhaps one of the most difficult, parts of learning a new language occurs at the busy intersection between cultural values and language. Because of this confusing mangle of words that carry alternative meanings, words that mean one thing but might imply another, and words that have simple English translation that fail to capture the true sense of the word in Spanish, even the fluent foreign language speaker can be left rather confused, or even angry. There are words that I knew before I took my first Spanish class that I am still trying to figure out.

A well known example of this frustrating (but fun) part of language learning is Gordo(a). A good friend of mine, Jake Harder, came back from Guatemala when I was young and started calling me Gordo (instead of Jordo). Gordo means ¨fat.¨ It was ok because we were good friends, I was just a kid and not worried about physical appearance, and I was defiantly not fat. He explained however, as I am sure many of you know, that in much of the Latino culture calling someone Gordo or Gorda isn´t really taken as a insult like in the states. I am sure there are a lot of very weight conscious people in the Latino world who would be up set to be called Gorda, but the word is just not applied or received with the same manacing intentions or with the same sensitivity as in the US. Sometimes it is a simple statement of acceptable fact, and sometimes it is just used in a more friendly manner.

In the United States we are taught that being fat, or just a little chubby, is horrible. Admitting that one was fat or chubby would be like admitting to oneself that they were justly looked down upon by the rest of society, that there was something that everyone (including themselves) knew that they should do in order to make his or herself more acceptable to the rest of society. Allowing oneself to be identified as ¨fat¨ in Latino culture does not carry with it the same social death wish that popular culture in the states suggests that it is.

But that ´s an easy one.

“Are you sad?” “huh?.. no I am not SAD, I just want to sit alone for a bit.” How many times have I been asked if I am sad here? Triste means sad in Spanish, and it is such an easy, perfect translation, that is easy to forget that triste might encompass a far wider range of emotions than sad does. It seems to, at least where I am in the Q´ekchi´ culture in which I live. After being asked so many times whether I am triste, I have finally begun to realize that maybe those around be could be right. Maybe I can be triste and not be sad.

How could that be?

Let´s look at myself first. A general part of US culture is that we do not admit to what we think of as negative emotions. If I were back at school I would site some article by a sociologist that we read once in a history class about this aspect of American culture. We are always, “fine, thank you “ (as all the English learners at Bezaleel learn to say). If you would argue that this is not true of US culture, I can at least say that it is true for me. Sort of. I am not going to get into weather sometimes I think maybe I am sad or angry without admitting it to myself, if I am sad, but don´t realize it, am I actually sad? The end result is, anyhow, that when I am sitting on my own reading (something few Q´ekchi´do) while others are playing soccer and my host father asks me if I am triste, I invariable heartily deny this proposition.

On the other hand, however, Q´ekchi´are much more ready to admit that they are ra sa´ lin ch´ol “sad in my heart.¨ Ra also means pain.

Many Q´ekchi´ children grow up sleeping in the same bed as their siblings. My host brother of 26 years has never had his own room. Latino families are known for cuddling up, the whole family, on one big bed to watch the TV. People don´t leave their parents until they are married, sometimes not even then. The US is well known to be the opposite. The individualism that arose from single male pioneers going out to conquer the wilderness, or individual immigrants in whatever stage of history going out to make a name for themselves has made us into a culture that values striking out by oneself. The grandiose picture of individual hardiness, whether true or not, is a centerpiece to our societies self image. Catholicism (dominant religion in Latin America, if not where I live) stresses society salvation through the mediating Unniversal Church, while Protestantism (as in the states) stresses an individual relationship with God.
So when I openly sequester myself a little bit, my behavior is quite abnormal. And at least in the limited vocabulary of Q´ekchi´ Spanish speakers (using the easy and direct translation between ra and triste) I seem rather triste.

Am I right then, to deny this?

My actions, according to their cultural definitions of normal human behavior, most defiantly mark me as being triste. In the states, I would say that I am not sad, I just want to be alone for a little bit. And this is the point where the seemingly perfect translation between triste and sad fails. Where I am living, the emotion of “wanting to be alone” can be conveniently shortened and jammed in with the other meanings of triste. I am not sad because in English we do not like taking an emotional state and applying a negative label like sad. More importantly, wanting to be alone is extremely respected. Here, this is weird, possibly disrespectful, and certainly indicates an unhealthy state of being.

hopefully there will be more to come.

Jordan