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

