Nicaraguans, at least those of the Sanjuaneno variety, do not like to say "no." They seem to think that a direct refusal of an offer or request, no matter how well justified, is rude or unkind. So if someone asks you to go out to a party, for example, rather than saying "I prefer to stay home" or--heaven forbid--"I don't want to go out with you", the more common response is to make up some other commitment or simply defer the question by saying "another time," "maybe next week" or the like. If someone asks you why you didn't call, the usual culprit is the bad telephone lines, a discharged cell battery...you get the picture. White lies, we call them--but here, such excuses or equivocations are not considered lies of any color.
This phenomenon rubs me a bit the wrong way. While I don't claim to be some paragon of virtue or honesty, I do make a conscious effort to be as straightforward as possible in the way I speak and interact with others, unless it will cause the other person unnecessary or lasting harm. This was not always so. For many, many years, I was a conflict-avoider par excellence. Too often, I suffered some resentment, anger or hurt in silence simply because it seemed easier. Not so good for long-term emotional health, and I sometimes ponder what effect all that internalizing might have had on my organs.
But then I spent two years in the Dominican Republic, where the m.o. is to let it all hang out--the stereotypical Latino "passion" leading to loud and sometimes vehement public arguments, commentaries, or other kinds of hoopla. Not coincidentally, during this time I began my relationship with E., who is of course Latina, and--to her credit--unusually forthright for a Nicaraguan, although she does equivocate once in a while when it's convenient. Under the stress of a long-distance relationship trying to bridge multiple cultural and social barriers, plus a very intense job I detested, plus absence from friends and family and almost all things known, my facade started to crack.
Instead of crying alone in my room, I cried in public (embarrassing, and not recommended except in very rare circumstances). Rather than avoiding fights, I sometimes picked them. My "nice girl" persona became, well, a bit more bitchy. In short order, I felt I had cried and screamed more in a year than in the previous 30. Obviously, I was going through some kind of transformation, and I wasn't sure if it was good or if I liked it, but it was often extremely cathartic. I also didn't know if it was a temporary or a lasting change. Yes, I did seek counseling during this period, but it ended up being for only a couple of months, and I stopped taking the meds I was prescribed once I got out of the D.R. and started feeling more in control of my life.
Long story short, after swinging 180 degrees over to the "let it all hang out" approach I started to move back to center, but with the goal of hanging on to those elements of emotional and relationship management that I found helpful. Ask my family, for example, if they've noticed a change in the way I speak with them; I guarantee they'll all say yes. They don't always like what I have to say, and I still hold some things back, but boy, do I feel better. And it's not just about self-gratification. I really do think that in almost all cases it's better to be brutally honest, even if it causes bad feelings in the short term, than to placate and stay silent and potentially create long-term problems. (That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it!)
Yesterday, I violated my self-imposed honesty principle not once, but twice. First, one of the relatively trustworthy taxi drivers I know here asked me for a loan of $22 to buy a new cell phone. Instead of saying no, I am not an ATM, I don't make loans just because I'm a gringa and because you've occasionally given me a ride (though I would have said it a little more politely than that), I said something to the effect that I was waiting for payday and that I had virtually no cash in my pocket. Mind you, those two things were actually true. However, the truth is that if I had wanted to make the loan, I could have gotten the money. But I didn't want to, and I didn't say so. Shame on me!
Later, around 9:30 p.m., E. and I were getting ready for bed when I heard a knock on the door and a familiar voice asking if we were home. It was Amanda, an acquaintance who was coming to collect a second payment for some Avon perfumes we'd ordered from her. We'd known since the beginning that the second half would be due on the 30th; we'd set aside the exact amount we owed, and I had been expecting Amanda to show up or accost me on the street any time yesterday. So the logical thing would have been to go downstairs and just take care of it. But no. In true Nicaraguan style, I quickly turned out the lights, and "made myself deaf" until she gave up and went across the street. Afterwards, I felt pretty stupid, perhaps even cowardly. The truth was, it was late, we were tired, and I just didn't feel like dealing with her. Even so, it was the wrong choice.
Could it be that I'm adapting a little too much to the culture here? I will have to keep an eye on this...
But then I spent two years in the Dominican Republic, where the m.o. is to let it all hang out--the stereotypical Latino "passion" leading to loud and sometimes vehement public arguments, commentaries, or other kinds of hoopla. Not coincidentally, during this time I began my relationship with E., who is of course Latina, and--to her credit--unusually forthright for a Nicaraguan, although she does equivocate once in a while when it's convenient. Under the stress of a long-distance relationship trying to bridge multiple cultural and social barriers, plus a very intense job I detested, plus absence from friends and family and almost all things known, my facade started to crack.
Instead of crying alone in my room, I cried in public (embarrassing, and not recommended except in very rare circumstances). Rather than avoiding fights, I sometimes picked them. My "nice girl" persona became, well, a bit more bitchy. In short order, I felt I had cried and screamed more in a year than in the previous 30. Obviously, I was going through some kind of transformation, and I wasn't sure if it was good or if I liked it, but it was often extremely cathartic. I also didn't know if it was a temporary or a lasting change. Yes, I did seek counseling during this period, but it ended up being for only a couple of months, and I stopped taking the meds I was prescribed once I got out of the D.R. and started feeling more in control of my life.
Long story short, after swinging 180 degrees over to the "let it all hang out" approach I started to move back to center, but with the goal of hanging on to those elements of emotional and relationship management that I found helpful. Ask my family, for example, if they've noticed a change in the way I speak with them; I guarantee they'll all say yes. They don't always like what I have to say, and I still hold some things back, but boy, do I feel better. And it's not just about self-gratification. I really do think that in almost all cases it's better to be brutally honest, even if it causes bad feelings in the short term, than to placate and stay silent and potentially create long-term problems. (That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it!)
Yesterday, I violated my self-imposed honesty principle not once, but twice. First, one of the relatively trustworthy taxi drivers I know here asked me for a loan of $22 to buy a new cell phone. Instead of saying no, I am not an ATM, I don't make loans just because I'm a gringa and because you've occasionally given me a ride (though I would have said it a little more politely than that), I said something to the effect that I was waiting for payday and that I had virtually no cash in my pocket. Mind you, those two things were actually true. However, the truth is that if I had wanted to make the loan, I could have gotten the money. But I didn't want to, and I didn't say so. Shame on me!
Later, around 9:30 p.m., E. and I were getting ready for bed when I heard a knock on the door and a familiar voice asking if we were home. It was Amanda, an acquaintance who was coming to collect a second payment for some Avon perfumes we'd ordered from her. We'd known since the beginning that the second half would be due on the 30th; we'd set aside the exact amount we owed, and I had been expecting Amanda to show up or accost me on the street any time yesterday. So the logical thing would have been to go downstairs and just take care of it. But no. In true Nicaraguan style, I quickly turned out the lights, and "made myself deaf" until she gave up and went across the street. Afterwards, I felt pretty stupid, perhaps even cowardly. The truth was, it was late, we were tired, and I just didn't feel like dealing with her. Even so, it was the wrong choice.
Could it be that I'm adapting a little too much to the culture here? I will have to keep an eye on this...
1 comment:
Well said. Holding on to silent resentments for years can destroy relationships, ahem, and never pays off. ; ) But as for the latter example, we all do avoidance once in a while. You get to be in control of when you want to open your door to your house. You have to keep your boundaries. Go easy on yourself girl!
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