The Subtle Art of Naming Light and Feeling
There is a bench outside my building in Bangkok, beneath a tree I couldn’t identify even if you paid me. Late in the afternoon, the sun filters through the leaves in shifting patches, and for about ten minutes, the pavement becomes a scene worth badly photographing on a phone.
I sat on that bench for two years before learning there was a word for this moment. Japanese calls it 木漏れ日, komorebi: sunlight leaking through the gaps between leaves and branches. English, by contrast, lacks a single word and requires an entire sentence to describe the same phenomenon.
What struck me most is that once I knew the word, I started noticing that light more often.
When a Dictionary Recognizes the Need
This realization isn’t unique to me. In its March 2025 update, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) introduced a batch of borrowed words to fill gaps in English vocabulary. Komorebi was highlighted as a perfect example of a concept English lacks a single word for: dappled light through leaves. Similarly, Norwegian’s utepils—a seven-letter word for sitting outside enjoying a beer—illustrates how other languages pack complex ideas into concise terms.
The OED rightly points out that no word is truly untranslatable. A skilled translator can render komorebi into English, but the value lies in how one language compresses a concept into a single word while another has not. This subtle difference reflects linguistic priorities and cultural attention rather than an insurmountable barrier between languages.
This “compression” is a useful linguistic tool and something other languages can adopt.
Gigil: A Word From the Philippines That Captures a Universal Feeling
In the same update, the OED included eleven words from the Philippines, among them gigil. Growing up in Manila, I knew gigil well: the overwhelming urge to squeeze something unbearably cute, like a chubby baby or a feisty kitten. This sensation manifests physically—clenched fists, gritted teeth—a compelling, almost uncontrollable impulse. The OED traces its use in Philippine English back to at least 1990.
I recall trying to explain gigil to a group of Australian boarding school classmates at thirteen. Without the word, I resorted to miming the feeling, only to be mistaken for describing a cramp. The sensation was universal, yet only one language had succinctly named it.
Does Language Shape Perception?
This question is complex and often oversimplified. The best evidence comes from studies on color perception, particularly the Russian language’s differentiation between lighter blues (goluboy) and darker blues (siniy), a distinction English speakers don’t linguistically mark.
A 2007 study published in PNAS demonstrated that Russian speakers were faster at distinguishing blue shades that crossed their language’s boundary, while English speakers showed no such effect. Crucially, when participants were distracted with an eight-digit number task—effectively tying up their internal verbal resources—the advantage disappeared, suggesting language influences cognition in real time rather than rewiring perception permanently.
A 2020 replication study in Cognition reinforced this finding, showing the effect has limits. Thus, language nudges what we notice but does not create new sensory hardware.
Even a slight nudge in attention is valuable.
Naming Emotions: A Tool for Managing Feelings
Another important line of research explores how labeling emotions affects our experience of them. A 2007 UCLA fMRI study (published here) showed that when participants looked at angry or frightened faces without labeling their feelings, the amygdala—the brain’s threat detector—lit up intensely.
However, when participants named the emotion, amygdala activity decreased while areas of the brain associated with deliberate thought became more active. This process, known as affect labeling, essentially “turns down the volume” on emotional distress.
While fMRI studies require cautious interpretation due to small sample sizes, this finding aligns with everyday experience. For example, the vague feeling of “I feel awful” often feels overwhelming, but specifying “I am embarrassed about how I handled that phone call” narrows the experience and opens the door to constructive action. Precision in language shrinks emotional overwhelm.
How to Borrow Words Meaningfully
Psychologist Tim Lomas has spent years collecting words that capture nuanced feelings and states of wellbeing. His 2016 paper cataloged 216 untranslatable terms related to feelings, relationships, and character, and his list has since grown to over 600 terms. This resource is a treasure trove for anyone looking to enrich their emotional vocabulary.
My personal rule for adopting such words is simple: they must name a feeling I already experience but struggle to express. For instance, Thai has sabsung, the uplifting feeling from something that revives you. I use this word because it fills a genuine gap. Conversely, I have discarded many pretty but unused words—collecting without applying is merely a hobby, not a practice.
Two habits help cement borrowed words: saying them aloud in conversation, which clarifies meaning and fosters connection, and inventing words when none fit. Families do this naturally, creating private terms for specific domestic irritations that function as effectively as any dictionary entry.
Back to the bench: the tree remains unidentified, and the light still arrives around 4:30 PM. The difference now is that I look up.
