What is Lost to Silence

October 28, 2025

Writer: Ana R. Zarate

Editor: Katherine Zubiaur

Sueño en otro idioma (I Dream in Another Language) follows the story of Martín, a linguist who travels to a rural town to document conversations between the last three speakers of Zikril, a dying indigenous language. When he arrives, he learns that two of the speakers, Evaristo and Isauro, despise each other and refuse to be in the same room. After the death of the third speaker, Jacinta, Martín faces the daunting task of reuniting the two men—who apparently quarreled fifty years ago over their involvement in a love triangle with Evaristo’s late wife.

If you have not yet watched the movie, and plan to do so, I urge you to stop reading here (spoilers ahead). It can be found on YouTube with English subtitles. 

As the film continues, we find out through a conversation between Martín and Evaristo’s granddaughter, Lluvia, that the real reason behind the men’s 50-year feud is that they were in love with each other. Evaristo, constrained by social expectations and fear, chose to marry María—the woman both men had initially pursued. Eventually, both men agree to a recorded conversation with each other, and once they start speaking in the language only they know, they are transported back to a time where they felt like the only people in the world. 

On my second rewatch it became clear that I Dream in Another Language doesn’t just refer to dreaming in Zikril—it’s about dreaming of another person, of a world where one’s feelings can exist without translation or the weight of social expectations. Isauro and Evaristo didn’t just speak Zikril; they lived in it, loved in it, and dreamed in it. It was the only language that could hold the complexity of what they felt for each other, a love that could not survive the world outside their words.

On the surface, the film seems to be about linguistic extinction—the urgency of preserving an ancient language before it disappears forever. But as it unfolds, it becomes clear that the loss at stake isn’t just linguistic, but human. Zikril isn’t simply a tool for communication; it’s the vessel of memory, desire, and emotion. Through it, the two men once shared more than words: an understanding of each other that existed beyond speech.

Even as I write this, I can’t help becoming frustrated at the lack of word choice, the impossibility of translating the meaning of te quiero, which in theory is less than loving, but oftentimes more sincere. These are the words Evaristo tells Isauro in the final scene of the film, a restrained confession spoken with such warmth and sincerity that transcends language. I have to note that Zikril is left untranslated until this final cut, as if we were outsiders finally invited inside.

It makes me wonder how many things Isauro and Evaristo were only able to say in Zikril, how many of those things would be unconveyable if translated to any other language. When I think back on my experiences, I notice that my own way of thinking jumps from one language to another. The ideas I want to write in English sometimes come to me as words in Spanish or vice versa. Sometimes, as I have mentioned, there is no word in the target language to convey what can so easily be said in another.

The movie also presents another question: what gives language value? Evaristo’s granddaughter, Lluvia, tells Martín that she wants to learn English because it is the main language to communicate with the world. And although this is true, the film tells us that the importance of a language does not rely on the number of people it connects, but the existence of the world it creates. This is why Martín goes through all the trouble to document it, and immortalize it. His insistence on recording a dialogue, rather than a monologue, emphasizes the fact that language is something to be shared, an allusion to the question If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Before dying of old age, Isauro tells Martín in Zikril:

The things that we did not have time to talk about, we will never talk about them again, but in El Encanto, I will think of these things, and then, I will also think of you. Friend, my best friend.

Whether these words spoken in Zikril are directed to Martín or Evaristo—the only person who can translate the message—remains uncertain. However, the main essence is of the things left unspoken. It urges the viewer to not repeat the characters’ mistakes. Sure, Evaristo and Isaro reunite in El Encanto —a mythical afterlife for the speakers of Zikril—, but who can assure us we will have that same opportunity?

Sueño en otro idioma is a movie about loss of language, love, and time. It portrays language as something precious that is given meaning by its speakers and the connection between them. It tells us that not speaking can be comfortable, but is ultimately a waste of time, something we can’t afford when our lives are so impermanent.