Observation Is Free
When silence sharpens the gaze
A Page from This Week
Observing is free, we said the other day, all together, Daniel, Martin, and I. They invited me to a cheerful afternoon in the city. I ate pastel de aniversario for the first time, and I liked it. Still, there are so many local things to try, even after two fulfilling years in Spain.
Walking all around the city, Daniel guided us with a touch of history. I felt less blind. Later, we rested on a terrace, sipping our drinks.
Daniel and Martin have one of the most wonderful father–son relationships. I love listening to their conversations. They are so different yet so familiar to each other. They truly listen, yeses and noes flying around. Cheerful, dreamy Martin, and wise, calm Daniel. I feel grateful to know them.
During one of our conversations, Daniel said that nothing in life is free. Martin immediately tried his best to give examples of things he called free, though they were not so free after all. I thought for a moment and said: Observation is free. There was a silence screaming for their approval. They thought, then nodded. I thanked them.
It’s true. Observation is free. It’s effortless. And it has become a need for me ever since I started living my life in my third language, Spanish. Now it feels like my default setting. Everything around me, every day, not every second or every minute but most of the time, happens in Spanish. To live, to continue my daily life, I need to understand, I need to observe, I need to process.
Listening to a foreign language had never been such a big deal for me before Spanish. When I was studying English in high school, listening activities and exams were my forte, right after speaking. Even when I studied German out of obligation, it was still easy to grasp the context, the speech, the people. Things changed when I started my very first Spanish class at the Cervantes Institute. I struggled terribly with listening and, most importantly, understanding what was happening around me in Spanish. I was not that bad at speaking, writing, and grammar in general, but since understanding what people were saying to me was such a difficult task, I couldn’t really use my not that bad Spanish.
I realised I needed to train my ears, to get used to Spanish sounds, the way of speaking, the rhythm of communication. So I began to observe, silently, from the corner. I observed, and I still observe.
It pushed me to become a little more silent in groups. I have never been so garrulous, but every now and then I liked to tell an anecdote, make a practical joke, be quick with a repartee. In those moments I felt smarter, perhaps even a little funnier. I have lost this, and I miss it miserably. I don’t feel dumb, but I know I look dumb when I only observe, and it is unbearable.
Yet observing has its own unique advantages, the parts I still like about it. I may look dumb, but I feel wiser, smarter, sadder, overloaded, able to write, filled with the desire to express.
Observation fills me with words I would not otherwise find.
look dumb, feel wiser.
I was reading the writings of my dearest friends, Ender and Albe, and commenting on them, feeling grateful to have the opportunity to be the one whose opinion they asked for. I am also reading two books: Bad Girls by Camila Sosa Villada, in Turkish, and Notes on Heartbreak by Annie Lord. So far, so great. Especially Bad Girls. I hope one day I can read it in Spanish and understand it fully.
I love her,
the velvet voice,
the calm,
the observer.
Notes to Self
I arrived in Istanbul last night. I felt at home, and at the same time in a different place. It is so interesting how quickly I lost my sense of belonging here, in this city that nations have fought over for years, for centuries. I will stay a little more than two weeks. This week one of my closest friends is getting married, and Isra has also come from Valladolid to Istanbul. Rediscovering with her feels joyful.
The rest of my plan: Spending time in Burgazada, writing, writing, writing.
Something to keep, something to explore.
That’s it for this week, thank you for spending a little time with Inner Pages. It means the world to me that you’re here, reading these words. If something in this letter resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Just hit reply.
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Until next time, keep wandering.
Ali Baran Y.