Several years ago, my
wingman/stylist/partner and I went to Spanish school in Costa Rica. Home base was
the complete opposite of a tourist town. Dusty roads, roaming cattle,
cinder block houses. No English menus, not even a beach.
Rush Hour |
But here’s what I really
loved about being forced to speak a different language – it really makes you
choose your words carefully. Each syllable is precious, and stringing together a tiny sentence involves a lot of focus. The point is to get the message
across, rather then get lost in wordy drama.
This is experience came to
mind while I was at the airport. The travellers were tired and thirsty , and
nobody seemed to want to be there but me (I like airports). ‘I’m dying for a
drink,’ I heard someone say. I looked over at this seemingly healthy man and he
didn’t look remotely dehydrated, let alone dying. He just looked tired & crabby, with a little pee stain on his chinos.
Downtown |
But in our world we confuse
the word ‘dying’ with desire. And this couldn't be further from the truth. So the
one place where I don’t want to hear this coming from is my own lips. I am not
‘dying’ to do anything! After being around hospitals for the last two years, I can’t
confuse dying with being eager. Especially after hearing the word ‘dying’ in
context, and seeing the face of the person who is speaking the word in fear. And
even more especially, when you’re surrounded by people whose one single goal it
is to live.
After three weeks in Coast
Rica, Jim had only had a small arsenal of words. ‘Percha’ was one, 'AraƱa' was another. He
had to ration his words carefully, and each one had to convey something great.
So when Jim walked down the dusty
streets as the unofficial honourary mayor of our little town he would raise his arm in greeting,
and as is the Tico custom, pump is fist and call out ‘Pura Vida!’
Translation - ‘Pure Life'.
There's living, rather than dying, going on there.
There's living, rather than dying, going on there.
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