Yo Soy o Yo Estoy…o Yo Oy?

I love that Spanish has different existential verbs: “ser” mean “to be” in a permanent sense, so “Yo soy” is how one expresses a defining characteristic about oneself (e.g., “Yo soy corto / bajo”...“I’m short”). “Estar,” on the other hand, is used for temporary, transient moments (e.g., “Yo estoy cansado”...“I’m tired”) [would be good to be have funnier examples] 

When I first studied Spanish, I never thought about a related underlying philosophical question: Are who we are and what we do permanent or temporary? Are we always the same person?

More and more people seem to be embracing the myriad dimensions of their personality. 

Brands have become more comfortable doing this, too. They’ve recognized their elasticity, that they mean different things to different people. I point to GEICO. Regardless of what you think of the gecko, GEICO is a brand that tries to reach various constituencies with its myriad different executions of advertising that still has a common feel. [OTHER EXAMPLES???]

And let’s not forget, “Yo Soy, Yo Dije,” one of my favorite Neil Diamond songs (“I Am I Said”). (Yes, I have a few Neil Diamond favorites. Great songwriter and performer. Aurally flooded with Diamond as a child (of the 70s) because my Mom was infatuated with him. (Barbra Streisand, too. I may have been the only person to buy Barbra Streisand and Bruce Springsteen CDs at the same time.) And, I do a decent impression of him, though I’m no Jimmy Fallon in terms of musical impressions—Fallon is masterful!)) 

“Yo Oy” is an interesting juxtaposition of Spanish and Yiddish meaning, “I worry” (a permanent condition for most Jews). It’s another palindrome, too. Spanish and Yiddish have many connections, and not just the unfortunate intersection during the Inquisition. (Okay, how many of you just sang in your head, “What a show!”? All you Mel Brooks fans, that’s who.)  In Spanish, when you want someone to listen to you, you say, “Oye,” which basically means, “Listen up.” In Yiddish, when you want someone to listen to you, you say, “Oy…” It’s actually more “kvetch” than “say.” 

“Kvetch” is where I tie in Yiddish with Zulu (???) because of the cool consonant blend. When we read, Cry, the Beloved Country, about South Africa, the main character lived in a (fictional) town called “Ndotsheni.” ’N’ followed by ‘d’ is as hard to say in English as the ’K’ and ‘v’ of ‘kvetch’. 

I never promised I’d finish a thought, did I?