The thought processes of the human mind manifesting in written and oral language is a complex mystery that one cannot get tired of should they choose to fall down its rabbit hole. For one thing, not everyone thinks the same way, with some having a constant stream of inner monologue of sentences and words, while others may think in visual images or even in abstract forms that outsiders might not be able to make sense of.

The very act of speaking one language already involves translation from thought, so what more if we speak more than one language? Translation allows people to explore just how vastly different and similar all the languages in the world are, and it offers a glimpse into what shapes the collective human consciousness. It is more than just bridging the gap between different cultures — it also bridges the gap between each unique human experience.

There was a study that piqued my interest in how language, as a product of culture, shapes the way we think, which eventually solidified my desire to know more languages than just two. When German speakers are asked to describe a bridge, they are more likely to use traditionally feminine adjectives like “beautiful,” while Spanish speakers are more likely to use traditionally masculine adjectives like “strong.” This is a result of the grammatical gendered characteristics of the languages, and the word “bridge” in German is grammatically feminine (die Brücke) and grammatically masculine in Spanish (el puente) (Boroditsky).

In a study like this, awareness of the effect of language on a large-scale level can prompt us to ask and reflect on the effects on a more intimate level. What language are we speaking to ourselves, and how do we assess the effect these words have? Once we identify any problems, how do we translate them into something different, something beyond their problems?

As a multilingual with varying levels of fluency, I still find myself absorbing my other languages by constantly comparing them to my native Quezon-Tagalog and my strong English. The more fluent you are in a language, you begin to adapt it as routine, embrace its familiarity — almost to the point of decreasing mindfulness.

In English, I don’t think twice about saying “I miss you” to my long-distance friends, but speaking French makes me pause. In his article Art as Technique, Viktor Shklovsky writes about how habitual perception becomes automatic until something is rendered almost as nothing. I habitually tell my best friends that I miss them, until the words lose their meaning and become simply a sound that connects to a vague sentiment.

What is missing someone? What does it entail? Nothing. But with defamiliarization, a technique in both art and literature, we remove something from the automatism of perception and begin to see anew.

So in my French exercises, when I was suddenly faced with the prompt to write a letter to a friend I haven’t talked to in a while, translating “I miss you” transcended being simply a straightforward act of finding the equivalent words in this new language — it became an experience that brought out the color and warmth of my connection with my own mind and the world around me.

I write it down on the paper: Tu me manques. It is “I miss you” in French, but at the same time it is not. The literal translation of these words is “you are missing from me.” And suddenly, “I miss you” is not waving goodbye as my friend and I walk in opposite directions home. It isn’t late-night video calls that happen unplanned because one of us has some news to share that can’t be conveyed through simple text messages. Suddenly, “I miss you” is looking at a ball of glowing light in my chest that shines a bit brighter in the presence — physical or not — of a part of me in the form of another person.

How else could I have had that experience, if not for the languages that allow me to explore what the human mind is capable of perceiving? How can I access the portals of different consciousnesses if not for the ability to translate?

Translation isn’t just a tedious job of finding words with roughly equivalent meanings. There is no definitive standard on how we can assess why translation is worth our time, nor what sentences and words are worthy of being translated.

In the professional field, translation is often applied to masterpieces and literary classics deemed deserving of world circulation. But translation does not have to be so mundanely capitalistic. It is less a job and more an expression — one could argue it is as innate to humans as breathing, no matter if you are mono- or multilingual.

The very act of translation is connection, and it seeks to meet people where they want to be met. The quality of “translatedness,” as suggested by Stromberg, is something that can be applied to almost everything.

If Germans and Spaniards can look at one object and think of two different things, then an experience shared by two people can have different translations in their psyche and memory. “I miss you” can mean “hey, let’s meet up for coffee sometime,” or it can mean “I cherish the role you played in my life, but that’s in the past.”

How do you decide what it means? Then be a translator and take up the job yourself.

References:
Boroditsky, Lera. “How Language Shapes the Way We Think.” TED Talk, Nov. 2017.
Shklovsky, Viktor. “Art as Technique.” Modern Criticism and Theory: A Reader, 1988, pp. 16–30.
Stromberg, David. “Translation: The Problem of Literature and Art.” Asymptote Journal, 2023.