Yes

Let us hope for a time of striving to understand each other right now and in the future. Presently, there seems to be a great deal of discussion around what was meant, what is truthful and what is respectful as well as based in intelligence. We need to remember there are valid differences between each of us, practice listening and asking openly framed questions. There is a lot to discover out there, not just protect.

Yes                                                                              Denise Duhamel

According to Culture Shock:

A Guide to Customs and Etiquette

of Filipinos, when my husband says yes,

he could also mean one of the following:

a.) I don’t know.

b.) If you say so.

c.) If it will please you.

d.) I hope I have said yes unenthusiastically enough

for you to realize I mean no.

You can imagine the confusion

surrounding our movie dates, the laundry,

who will take out the garbage

and when. I remind him

I’m an American, that all his yeses sound alike to me.

I tell him here in America we have shrinks

who can help him to be less of a people-pleaser.

We have two-year-olds who love to scream “No!”

when they don’t get their way. I tell him,

in America we have a popular book,

When I Say No I Feel Guilty.

“Should I get you a copy?” I ask.

He says yes, but I think he means

“If it will please you,” i.e. “I won’t read it.”

“I’m trying,” I tell him, “but you have to try too.”

“Yes,” he says, then makes tampo,

a sulking that the book Culture Shock describes as

“subliminal hostility . . . withdrawal of customary cheerfulness

in the presence of the one who has displeased” him.

The book says it’s up to me to make things all right,

“to restore goodwill, not by talking the problem out,

but by showing concern about the wounded person’s

well-being.” Forget it, I think, even though I know

if I’m not nice, tampo can quickly escalate into nagdadabog

foot stomping, grumbling, the slamming

of doors. Instead of talking to my husband, I storm off

to talk to my porcelain Kwan Yin,

the Chinese goddess of mercy

that I bought on Canal Street years before

my husband and I started dating.

“The real Kwan Yin is in Manila,”

he tells me. “She’s called Nuestra Señora de Guia.

Her Asian features prove Christianity

was in the Philippines before the Spanish arrived.”

My husband’s telling me this

tells me he’s sorry. Kwan Yin seems to wink,

congratulating me–my short prayer worked.

“Will you love me forever?” I ask,

then study his lips, wondering if I’ll be able to decipher

what he means by his yes.

 

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