# What Do You Call This in Your Language?
There is a moment most of us have experienced: you are trying to explain a feeling, a habit, a situation, or an object, and suddenly you realize that your language does not quite have a word for it. You pause. You gesture with your hands. You say, “You know… that thing when…” And the listener either nods in instant understanding or looks at you with complete confusion.
Then someone from another culture smiles and says, “Oh, we have a word for that.”
That moment—when language suddenly reveals both its limits and its magic—is at the heart of this question: *What do you call this in your language?*
This simple sentence opens the door to an extraordinary exploration of how humans experience the world, how cultures shape perception, and how language captures not just meaning, but memory, emotion, and identity.
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## Language Is More Than Translation
At first glance, languages may seem like interchangeable systems: different sounds, different scripts, but ultimately saying the same things. After all, we can translate books, subtitles, contracts, and conversations. So surely everything can be said in every language—right?
Not quite.
While translation allows us to communicate across borders, it often smooths over cultural nuances. Some words carry layers of meaning so deeply embedded in daily life, history, or shared emotion that translating them feels like flattening a sculpture into a drawing.
This is why certain words are often described as “untranslatable.” It’s not that they *cannot* be explained in another language; it’s that doing so requires a paragraph instead of a single word—and even then, something is lost.
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## When One Word Says What Others Cannot
Consider the Portuguese word **“saudade.”** It is often translated as “longing” or “nostalgia,” but anyone who speaks Portuguese will tell you that these words fall short. *Saudade* is a deep emotional state—a bittersweet longing for someone or something that is absent, possibly forever, yet still alive in the heart.
Or take the German word **“Schadenfreude.”** English speakers often enjoy the word because it fills a gap: the guilty pleasure of taking delight in someone else’s misfortune. The feeling exists everywhere, but German neatly packaged it into a single term.
Then there’s the Japanese **“komorebi”**—the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees. English can describe it, but it does not have a word that captures the image so effortlessly.
When we encounter such words, we are often struck by the realization that another culture noticed something we feel too—but they named it.
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## Naming Is Not Random
Languages don’t create words arbitrarily. They name what matters.
A culture surrounded by snow may have many words for its variations. A society built around relationships may have precise terms for family roles that others lump together. A community that values emotional restraint might lack words for certain feelings, while another celebrates them with poetic richness.
In this way, vocabulary acts like a map of cultural priorities.
When you ask, “What do you call this in your language?” you are really asking, “How do you see the world?”
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## Everyday Experiences That Reveal Linguistic Gaps
Let’s look at some everyday experiences that often spark this question.
### That Awkward Moment
You’re walking toward someone. You both step left. Then right. Then left again. For a brief second, you are locked in a silent dance of mutual politeness and mild embarrassment.
In English, we call it “awkward.” Maybe “the sidewalk shuffle.”
In Japanese, there’s **“aisatsu no zure”**—a mismatch in social timing.
In Spanish, you might simply laugh and say, *“Qué incómodo.”*
Different languages notice the same moment, but they frame it differently—some analytically, some emotionally, some humorously.
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### The Feeling After Socializing
You spend time with people. It’s fun. It’s warm. But afterward, you feel strangely tired—not physically, but emotionally.
In English, we might say, “I’m socially drained.”
In Korean, there’s **“눈치 피로 (nunchi piro)”**—fatigue from constantly reading social cues.
That single phrase acknowledges something deeply modern: the exhaustion of navigating social expectations.
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### Loving a Place You’ve Never Been
Have you ever felt a deep connection to a country, culture, or era you’ve never personally experienced?
In Welsh, there is **“hiraeth.”** It describes a longing for a home that may never have existed, or that exists only in memory or imagination.
English struggles here. We circle around the feeling but never quite land on it.
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## Words That Shape How We Feel
Language does not just describe emotions—it shapes them.
Psychologists and linguists have found that people who have specific emotional words can identify and regulate their feelings more effectively. If your language gives you a name for a feeling, you are more likely to recognize it, talk about it, and process it.
For example, the French word **“dépaysement”** refers to the feeling of being out of one’s element in a foreign place. It can be uncomfortable—but also exciting.
In English, being “out of place” often sounds negative. The French word allows for ambiguity. It can be disorienting, yes—but also transformative.
The word itself gives permission to feel both.
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## Humor and the Unspoken
Some of the most delightful “What do you call this?” moments come from humor.
In Indonesian, **“jayus”** refers to a joke so bad it’s funny—or so bad it’s not funny at all, yet still makes people groan.
In Yiddish, **“chutzpah”** describes a kind of audacious nerve—often admired, often criticized, always noticed.
In English, we borrow these words because we recognize the situations immediately. The word feels like a missing puzzle piece.
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## Borrowed Words: When Languages Admit Defeat
Languages are not proud. When they encounter a concept they cannot easily express, they borrow.
English is especially guilty of this. It has adopted words like:
* **Déjà vu** (French)
* **Karma** (Sanskrit)
* **Feng shui** (Chinese)
* **Tsunami** (Japanese)
* **Hygge** (Danish)
When English borrows a word, it is often because translating it would take too long—or sound ridiculous.
“Cozy contentment derived from simple pleasures, often involving candles and togetherness” doesn’t roll off the tongue like *hygge*.
Borrowing is not weakness; it is recognition.
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## The Question as a Conversation Starter
Asking “What do you call this in your language?” is one of the most powerful ways to connect with people.
It invites stories.
It invites laughter.
It invites cultural exchange.
Suddenly, language learners become teachers. Immigrants become experts. Elders remember expressions their grandparents used. Young people rediscover slang that never made it into dictionaries.
The question says: *Your way of speaking matters.*
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## Lost Words and Vanishing Worlds
Not all words survive.
As languages disappear, so do unique ways of understanding the world. A word for a specific wind pattern, a ritual emotion, or a relationship dynamic may vanish forever.
When a language dies, it is not just grammar that is lost—it is knowledge.
This makes the act of asking and recording “What do you call this?” quietly important. It preserves perspectives that might otherwise fade.
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## Digital Age, New Feelings
The modern world has created entirely new experiences, and languages are scrambling to keep up.
What do you call the feeling of rereading a message and overanalyzing it?
What about the discomfort of seeing someone type… and then stop?
Or the strange intimacy of knowing someone deeply through text but not in real life?
Some languages have begun naming these experiences. Others rely on memes, emojis, or shared understanding.
Language evolves because life evolves.
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## When Silence Is the Word
Sometimes, the most telling answer to “What do you call this in your language?” is silence.
There are cultures where certain emotions are not named openly.
There are languages where directness is avoided.
There are societies where some experiences are understood without words at all.
In these cases, the absence of a word is itself meaningful.
It tells you what is spoken—and what is felt quietly.
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## A Mirror of Identity
Your first language shapes how you think, but every language you learn adds a new lens.
Bilingual and multilingual people often report feeling like slightly different versions of themselves depending on the language they are speaking. A word available in one language but not another can change how easily they express humor, anger, or affection.
So when someone asks, “What do you call this in your language?” they are also asking, “Who are you when you speak?”
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## The Beauty of Not Knowing
There is something humbling about realizing your language is incomplete.
It reminds us that no single culture has named everything.
That human experience is too vast for one vocabulary.
That we need each other’s words.
Not knowing is not a failure—it is an invitation.
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## Collecting Words, Collecting Humanity
Some people collect stamps.
Others collect stories.
Some collect words.
They keep lists of untranslatable terms, jot down phrases from grandparents, or save expressions heard once in a foreign market.
Each word is a small piece of humanity—a record of what someone, somewhere, thought was worth naming.