I
learned the true meaning
of benevolence in a flea
market.
As
a
16-year-old
American
traveling in a place like Costa
Rica, I didn’t know much about
the culture, the way of living or
its people. While there, I learned
of the immense fighting the
Costa Rican natives, called Ticos,
had to suffer through for their
independence. I learned of the
consistent poverty the majority of
Costa Rican communities battle
every day. I had truly entered a
universe unknown to me.
“¿520 años y dónde está la paz?”
Translation: “520 years and
where is the peace?”
These words were spray-painted
on a cement wall in the center of
San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica.
As I stopped at a flea market in
the city, I looked in many of the
corners and crevices of the tent. I
looked at wooden jewelry boxes
for my best friend and wine holders
for my parents. I found homemade
candles and oddly shaped purses; I
did my best to bargain prices with
the Ticos.
But as I tried to lower prices, I
was ignorant to the reality of these
people. They sold handmade items
for a living
–– they stood every
day in the heat trying to sell some
sort of material, material they
re-crafted with their bare hands.
It wasn’t materialistic; it wasn’t
bogus or cheap. It was someone’s
precious work, their creation —
their child, in a sense.
Strolling through, a ring maker
caught my eye. He sat at a wooden
table with a burning, iron rod in
one hand, wrapping and twisting
metal to shape rings. There was
a pre-made ring in the shape of a
treble clef that laid on the table.
“¿Cuánto?” I asked the man.
He proposed a price in colones
(Costa Rican currency) that was
equal to about five American
dollars. Before I left the tent with
the newly bought ring, the man
told me to wait one moment.
He held up long piece of copper
and cut it with pliers. He began to
wrap the copper around the hot,
iron wand.
“In Costa Rica, our motto is ‘Pura
Vida’ or ‘Pure Life’ in English,” he
said to me in broken English. He
did not look up.
When he finished, he cupped his
hands around the ring. Lifting it to
my eyes, he showed me a hidden
P in the middle of a V. The letters
represented the words “Pura” and
“Vida.” Sun rays filtered through
the tapestry ceiling of his shop,
and the copper ring illuminated
slightly. I smiled, and once again
asked how much.
“No, no. No money. It’s for you,”
he answered. “Enjoy your time in
Costa Rica, and remember, if the V
points
towards you, you give yourself the
energy of pure life. If you point
it towards others, you give them
the energy to live pure and to live
happy.”
My mind raced back to “¿520
años y dónde está la paz?” I thought
of the suffering the people of Costa
Rica have faced. I looked at this
man who wrapped metal for his
life. This man had given me more
than a free ring — in a sense, he
gave me hope.
Pura Vida is more than a lesson;
it’s a greeting, a healer and an
overall way of life.
The piece of metal wrapped
around my finger reminds me
each day that I am grateful for
my own life –– it reminds me
to be fearlessly optimistic and
continuously thankful. It reminds
me
that
impoverished,
kind-
hearted people live in this greedy
world, but are still fighting for Pura
Vida.
In that instance, I placed the ring
on my finger with the V facing the
ring maker.
I offered the man even the
smallest tip. With a bright smile,
he refused. He sat on his throne of
creations in his kingdom of hope.
2B
Magazine Editor:
Lara Moehlman
Deputy Editors:
Matt Gallatin
Yoshiko Iwai
Design Editor:
Katie Spak
Photo Editor:
Claire Abdo
Editor in Chief:
Emma Kinery
Managing Editor:
Rebecca Lerner
Copy Editors:
Danielle Jackson
Taylor Grandinetti
the statement
Wednesday, Janurary 11, 2017 / The Statement
Little Things: Pura Vida
B Y E R I K A S H E V C H E C K , DA I LY A R T S W R I T E R
the
tangent
ILLUSTRATION BY EMILIE FARRUGIA