In Guatemala, I learned the true meaning of Yo soy soltera

July 21, 2024

My first Spanish class with my 20-something teacher covered the basics: my age, where I’m from, how long I’ll be in Guatemala, what I like to do for fun.

“Tu eres soltera?” she asked when I said I had no husband or boyfriend.

“Soltera?” I asked, with a puzzled expression. One dictionary simply said spinster. Another described “soltera” as independent and free.

“Sí, estoy soltera,” I confirmed, using a conjugation of the verb “estar” that conveyed a temporary condition.

No, she corrected me: Tu eres soltera, using a form of the verb “ser” that describes more permanent characteristics. You are single.

I slumped back in my chair and allowed the sentence to sink in.

I am single.

I am alone.

I am free.

Yo soy soltera.

I later learned that ser and estar — though often very distinct in their uses — can be interchangeable when it comes to a person’s relationship status.

But that didn’t matter. “Yo soy soltera” is a mantra I had been trying to embrace for a while, although with mixed results. Me and my roommate in the United States, a first-grade pen pal with whom I had reconnected as an adult, previously used #thisis30 on our social media accounts to proclaim to the world (and ourselves) that we prefer nights of wining and dining to babies, mortgages and spousal commitments.

But both of us struggled with turning 30 as single women.

I’d spent the past year in and out of unhealthy relationships or pseudo-relationships with men who liked me enough to spend time with me when it was convenient for them, but nothing more.

When the last one fizzled, I continued on my quest of trying new and exciting things and figuring out what I wanted in life. That’s how I found myself spending six weeks in Panajachel, Guatemala, a place I had never really thought about visiting. But when the opportunity arose, I jumped on it.

I should have been embracing every moment of living, working and studying in a foreign country, but instead I found myself returning to old habits — namely, thinking about the future and how and when I might find that life partner. When I got lonely, I found myself reaching out to former flames or male friends who had previously shown they couldn’t offer what I needed.

That’s when “yo soy soltera” clicked.

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I spent an otherwise boring Sunday in a rural village walking between pueblos, exploring a market in one tiny village known for its Mayan heritage. I started reading books again. I met up with fellow expats and spent a glorious morning hiking, learning about their lives and indulging in delectable food.

I went to the gym. I stayed in and watched Netflix solo, without the chill. I stumbled through Spanish class and conversations on the street with strangers. I spent a weekend pampering myself with another friend.

I lived how I wanted to — in the moment, with little regard for the future.

In one of the many tiny villages that ring Guatemala’s Lake Atitlan, indigenous women weave scarves, table runners and other handmade ornate accessories. The work is monotonous and exhausting. Then they carry their handmade items atop their heads and hawk them to tourists in and around the various villages.

A few of the women were 30 years old or nearing 30 and unmarried, very uncommon in Guatemala. (According to the Population Council, a nongovernmental organization, the median marriage age for women in rural Guatemala is 19.) One of them, a friendly woman whose wrinkled skin and thin frame belied her 30 years, told me why she remained single: Doing so allowed her to help support her family by selling her handmade textiles on the street.

If she were married, she explained, she would have to return home early in the day to take care of her home, spouse and any children they might have. Now, she said with a smile on her face, she is unencumbered and can focus on her work.

During my time in Guatemala, I often thought about that exchange and the fact that I was able to up and relocate to a foreign country for several weeks. I just might do it again soon.

Yo soy soltera.

I am single.

I am independent.

I am free.

In any language, I like the way that sounds.

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