WP2: The Lost Art of Phrases/Sayings
Introduction:
I’m a very classic person when it comes to reflecting upon life. Every time something impactful happens to me, I like to associate it with a common saying or phrase. This short association would be written on paper and stored in a drawer. For instance, I often use the phrase “Vive la vida y no dejes que la vida te viva” as a means to encourage myself to try new activities. The direct translation to this saying is “Live life, don’t let life live you”. It argues that life is too short and so one should keep an open mind when trying out new life experiences. So far this saying has motivated me to try parachute jumping and scuba diving- activities that I have never imagined engaging with.
Despite sayings being regarded as archaic and old-fashioned, I believe it is those labels that make them valuable. Sayings are often propagated by middle-aged people, people who have been on Earth long before young adults. Those sayings are often packed with life lessons and allegories. Thus, I believe that, if paying close attention to the meaning and intention of the saying, then people’s views about the world could potentially be different. For my writing, I have included some visual representations to engage the audience and have a reference of what’s been discussed. For this project, I have decided to write two main posts: one that challenges the saying “sitting on the fence” and the other one that explains how the saying “el que llora no mama” helped me beat my diffidence.
Hope you enjoy it!
Sitting on the Fence
It was in my senior year of high school when one of my teachers eagerly introduced me to the concept of “sitting on the fence”. He argued that “sitting on the fence means to avoid giving your opinion on something. The classic response, “To some extent… but on the other hand…” is an example of this. Even though life is structured to allow you to consider both sides of an argument or issue, you should try to have a clear position on what the situation is asking- so you should not sit on the fence.” As words started to come out of my teacher’s mouth, I quickly pointed out several instances where I was sitting on the fence. One of the memories I remembered the most was that of my relationship with my IB politics teacher. He’d always “complain” that my way of interacting with people was too politically correct or that my essays were too neutral. Startled, I refused to believe this. I had no other choice but to giggle and look away, not knowing how to handle my emotions.
I was in denial. The more I thought about it the more it hurt me to realize that he was right. I’m a very diplomatic person. I like to think of myself as someone who is willing to say and do things that are meant to please people. Hurting or offending people makes me uncomfortable so I avoid engaging in verbal fights or disagreements. So why is sitting on the fence seen as cowardly?
Below I have written a short piece that defies the dilemma of sitting on the fence. This writing draws on multiple sources about my life in Peru, specifically regarding how sitting on the fence can be beneficial when exploring your identity, self-worth, and values.
“Where do you think you belong to, Lima or Amazonas?”. Regardless of the time of the day or location of the reunion, this was the most frequently asked question I encountered during family reunions. Stuffing myself with a mouthful of whatever was served on the dinner table was my go-to strategy to avoid the following awkward silence. Wiping away the Lomo Saltado sauce that was dripping down my chin, I struggled to give an answer under the gaze of relatives: their eyes brimming with anticipation. “Why is this a huge deal to you all? I… I have no idea” I said, trembling.
I wasn’t lying though. Having thoroughly visited both departments, I couldn’t decide on which one I liked the most. My family is a peculiar composition featuring two different colors. During my stays in Amazonas, I have been enchanted by the tight-knit, vibrant community of Chachapoyas (Amazonas’ capital city). Surrounded by sprawling trees and the humming of birds in unison, I felt eager to embrace my Amazonian side. In Lima, however, my life consisted of adopting a fast-paced cosmopolitan lifestyle. Either way, I have learned both cultures by heart and grown used to the colors of both cities. The two cities have been so intertwined in my memories that I can hardly tell which one I belong to. Yet this is not the case for my parents since their rooted cultural backgrounds have given them distinctive accents, temperaments, and different tastes of food.
As I walked through the streets of Lima, I stumbled upon a split pot in Plaza Vea. This pot was divided by a copper slice in the middle, perhaps resembling a “yin-yang” symbol. Drawn by its design, I decided to take it home and show it to my parents. After bringing the pot home, I cooked a traditional “Juane” on one side and a Lomo Saltado on the other. Both plates coexisted perfectly inside this pot, one weird-looking and cold dish, the other hot and dense. I pointed out to my parents that my identity can be expressed through this “ying-yang” pot, with my Amazonian and Limeño dad living in perfect harmony all while maintaining their unique cultural traits. Having experienced the values and traditions from both cities, I like to think of myself as the copper slice in a split hotpot.
Ever since my mom and dad have grown comfortable with this pot, I have gorged myself with food from both halves. This is the point where I know how to answer the where-I-belong-to question. I belong to neither half, yet I have direct and indirect experiences from both. Over the past years, I have been enriched by the different, yet vibrant lifestyles of my parents. It is my existence that allows the two sides to coexist peacefully. My identity has now become tangible through the copper slice. I have helped each broth preserve its unique flavor. Bombarded by the constant flavor from both sides, my copper slice absorbs both tastes. As I dip a spoon into one half, my taste buds explode: resembling the vibrant and welcoming community of Amazonas. I did it on the other side of the pot and my taste buds transported me to the hectic city of Lima. Being the copper slice in the middle means that I am able to regulate how much of a culture I want to absorb when it suits me the most. Sometimes I feel entirely Amazonian so I absorb my mom’s side of the pot and vice versa. I have multiple entry permits to each side and I plan to make the most out of it.
“I belong to neither side” — I answered with a firm voice the next time I was asked the so-called question. My relatives shrugged and expressed discontent through their downturned mouths and eyebrows. “I like being the copper slice between Amazonas and Lima. Why should I only relish the taste of one of the two worlds? What is wrong with being stuck in the middle? From now on, I’d never let myself be pulled into a situation where I’m forced to pick a side. Sometimes it’s more than enough to be sitting on the fence. In my case, it helped me embrace my diverse cultural background.
El Que No Llora No Mama
The ticking of the clock was undeniably slow as I sat with my legs tightly crossed and downturned mouth- all while squirming at my desk. “You just need to raise your hand. It’s not a big deal. It’s not as if the teacher is gonna bite you” my inner voice pleaded. No matter how much I wanted to go to the bathroom, I remained seated, begging time to go faster. You see during middle school I was one of those kids who wouldn’t dare to raise their hand when having a question. If the teacher were to ask if any of the students had any questions or concerns then you’ll probably witness me say “Everything’s fine. I understood the material” even when the opposite happened. I was also the type of kid to eat saltless popcorn because I couldn’t confront the cashier to fix my order. In other words, I voluntarily chose to struggle through a problem, especially when the solution involved having the initiative to speak out against it.
My shyness frustrated me, especially in times where I was surrounded by acquaintances and friends. You see my thought process was that diffidence cannot be hidden. It’s already ingrained inside me. I knew that my relatives would eventually realize my struggle to communicate with others, thus making me feel vulnerable and inferior. When traveling abroad, my parents relied on my English-speaking skills. As the only English-speaking person in my family, I was the one to carry the weight for my family. Whenever we got disoriented, the only person who could help us out was me. I just needed to approach a stranger and say “Hey. I’m heading to x street but I got lost. Could you help me out?” Not a single word came out of my mouth. Yet I decided to use google maps to get away with my shyness. For me, the fear of being in an uncomfortable situation outweighed the possibility of speaking up, of being triumphant. This translated to not taking action and choosing to silently suffer under pressure.
Concern rose when this side of my personality affected other members of my family. My diffidence would often leave us unoriented in a foreign country. Near meltdown, I knew something needed to be done so I started looking for ways to break out of my shell. Joining the school orchestra, karate club and gardening club yielded nothing but dissatisfaction with myself.
Hopeless and out of ideas, I took the advice of my dad to join the debate club. My dad argued that the debate team will push me into being comfortable with speaking and interacting with people from different backgrounds. He also said that “el que no llora no mama” which translates to “the squeaky wheel gets the grease”.
This saying resonated with me since it argues that someone who is able to speak up is more likely to get attention or help. With moderate-to-low expectations, I attended the first meeting on a Monday night. As expected, the meeting only reaffirmed my self-doubt. Time-consuming speeches? Eye contact? Eloquence? Hard pass.
However, what motivated me to keep going was the saying my father told me about. Eventually, the club moved on from “how to deliver a good speech” lesson to understanding the art of persuasive speaking and self-confidence.
By high school I joined the school debate team: started to socialize more, changed ideas, and kept an open mind. I was even elected to lead some social and academic activities hosted by the team. This environment further allowed me to interact with a diverse group of people all while finding my own voice. Over time, I developed critical thinking skills and learned how to master the lost art of eloquence.
Eventually, I became proud, confident, and eloquent. I became eager to engage in deep conversations with relatives and friends. I now see these family reunions as an open space for me to express my ideas and experiences- without being judged or looked down upon. Because of this, family relations strengthened.
Two-to-three years with debate and I’m now the kid who constantly raises his hand, the one who offers himself to go up at the whiteboard to solve a mathematical problem, the kid leading discussions. Even better, I’m the kid who believes that his voice is relevant to society. I now confront problems instead of avoiding them. I’m like a newborn who starts to cry when something is wrong- constantly requesting to be nursed or, to the very least, heard. I find it rewarding to see how one’s life can have a 360 degrees turn around just by improving their communication skills.
Having lived by the saying “El que no llora no mama” or “the squeaky wheel gets the grease” has unraveled the unkindled/unknown sides of my personality. Now more than ever, whenever I see someone struggling with speaking confidently, I suggest they join any public-speaking club. I’d also introduce the saying and explain its importance, specifically how it transformed me from being highly diffident to confident. I hope this saying continues to transcend over time and touch on the life of thousands of introverted people who have low confidence when speaking out.
