These Filipino words challenge even the best translators

Disclaimer: This article was originally written by Mye Mulingtapang and first published on ABS-CBN Lifestyle on July 13, 2026. It is shared here for portfolio and archival purposes with appropriate attribution to ABS-CBN Lifestyle. All rights to the original publication remain with ABS-CBN. Readers may also view the original article on ABS-CBN Lifestyle.

Every translated novel asks the same question: Can an entire culture survive the journey from one language to another?

For Philippine literature, the answer is rarely straightforward.

As more Filipino novels find readers overseas, translators are discovering that the greatest challenge is not grammar or vocabulary but culture itself. Many Filipino words contain ways of thinking about family, identity, responsibility, and community that simply do not exist in English.

According to Prof. Felipe M. de Leon Jr., former chairman of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, this linguistic challenge helps explain why Philippine literature has long remained on the margins of the international literary scene.

One reason, he says, is that many Filipino writers have historically relied too heavily on Western literary models, often producing stories that sacrifice cultural specificity for broader commercial appeal.

"One important reason for the paucity of Filipino literature in the international scene is its over reliance on Western literary models and the formulaic treatment of stories, plots, and characters — often because of pecuniary motives," De Leon said.

Themes such as nationalism, poverty, corruption, family life, migration, and the Filipino diaspora frequently appear in Philippine writing, he noted. But stories become most powerful when they emerge from lived experience rather than familiar formulas.

Yet even authentic Filipino literature encounters another obstacle the moment it crosses into English.

"I think a more serious problem is the difficulty of translating any local language into English," he said.

Unlike English, many Philippine languages rely on grammatical structures and cultural concepts that have no direct equivalent.

"Focus is a distinct feature of Tagalog and other Philippine languages," De Leon explained. "But English only has active and passive forms of speech."

The difficulty extends far beyond grammar. "The more indigenous the concept, the harder it is to translate," he said.

Perhaps no example illustrates this better than "utang na loob."

Often translated as "debt of gratitude," the phrase seems familiar enough to English speakers. But De Leon argues that the translation fundamentally changes its meaning.

"Utang na loob is often misconstrued as 'debt of gratitude' or contractual obligation. It is not. It is actually inner responsibility," he stressed/

The difference is more than semantic. A debt can be repaid. Utang na loob cannot. It describes an internal moral obligation rooted in shared humanity, reciprocity, and conscience rather than obligation imposed from outside.

Another example is "paliguy-ligoy." English speakers often understand it as "beating around the bush," suggesting unnecessary indirectness.

For De Leon, that translation overlooks the cultural intention. "This actually means considerateness," he said.

What may appear indirect from one cultural perspective can instead reflect empathy, respect, and an effort to preserve another person's dignity.

The list continues with "kapwa," "kabiyak," "bahala na," "lambing," "tampo," and "hiya" — words that carry centuries of cultural meaning and resist simple English equivalents.

"Translating into English is rather risky because of this problem," De Leon said. "At best, translation is re-creation. Otherwise you lose the peculiar identity, local color, and beauty of the original."

That, he argues, is why literary translators must master not only two languages but two cultures.

"Lastly, how do you capture the predominantly verb-oriented character of Philippine languages using a noun-biased language like English?"

Where theory meets practice

Those questions become real on every page translated by Ana Margarita Nuñez, whose English translation of Genevieve L. Asenjo's acclaimed novel "Lumbay ng Dila" introduces international readers to the book as "The Melancholy of the Tongue."

Far from simply converting words into English, Nuñez found herself making hundreds of creative decisions about which parts of Filipino culture should be translated — and which should remain unmistakably Filipino.

Readers naturally celebrate authors, but translators quietly shape how another culture will be understood abroad.

One of the novel's most memorable examples appears in the fifth chapter.

"In Chapter 5, the main character meets her grandfather, who is something of a legend. It's a very important scene. I had to translate the word 'mano,' which every Filipino understands," she said.

Rendering the gesture as "asking for her grandfather's blessing" would have been technically accurate.

It also would have erased something uniquely Filipino.

"It seemed inadequate to translate it as 'asked for her grandfather's blessing.' To ask for an elder's blessing is universal across cultures, but it's done in many ways — kneeling, bowing, touching the feet. That phrase doesn't really convey what the main character actually does, which is to touch the back of the older person's hand to their forehead," she explained.

Instead of replacing the tradition with a familiar English phrase, Nuñez chose to preserve the Filipino word.

"I used 'made mano,' the same way you would use 'made a curtsey' or 'made obeisance.' During editing it became 'made mano, the sign of the cross,' which explains a bit more and emphasizes its social and spiritual significance while keeping the original word."

That single decision reflects the philosophy De Leon describes. Translation succeeds not by making Filipino culture disappear into English, but by inviting readers into it.

Nuñez encountered similar challenges throughout the novel, particularly because Asenjo's protagonist is herself a poet. Every metaphor, rhythm, and image demanded interpretation rather than substitution.

One poem proved especially difficult.

"I translated the title as 'The Plate and the Cup Become One.' 'Sukob' means to come under the same covering, to be united. 'Laman' means contents, but it can also mean viscera— the contents of the human body — and by implication, lust is called 'tawag ng laman,' a visceral impulse, a call from inside the body."

Within the poem, another phrase required equally careful judgment.

"I translated 'Ang pagsukob sa laman ng pinggan at baso 'as 'what's in the plate mingles with what's in the cup,' together with the slightly matrimonial metaphor in the title, to preserve the sense of physical, carnal union contained in the original figurative language."

The examples illustrate what De Leon has argued all along: Translation is never a mechanical exchange of words. It is an act of interpretation, recreation, and cultural stewardship.

Every retained Filipino word offers international readers an opportunity to encounter a different way of seeing the world rather than a version reshaped to fit English expectations.

As Philippine literature continues to reach new audiences, translators like Nuñez are proving that the goal is not to make Filipino culture easier to understand by removing its differences.

It is to preserve those differences — because they are precisely what make these stories worth translating.

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