English has become the language of global culture, the lingua franca, the language used as people from across oceans connect with each other through memes, academic papers, or blockbuster films. 

But “lingua franca” means “language of the Franks” or, later, “language of the French”. It’s an English phrase with Italian words about the French language. Why do we still use “lingua franca”? Because at some point someone used it, then it spread, more and more until it seeped into a vast, collective understanding that allows us to engage each other and share our experiences. The phrase has become part of our culture.

Culture can mean a shared experience, language, history, anything that allows us to engage the world together. It can be broadened across continents or localized to a handful of people. It’s the way we make sense of things– and we do this a certain way, often without question, thinking it’s the way we’ve always done so. It wasn’t, though, and it’s the same with language: Through our interactions, language is refined; it expands and evolves– the way our own experiences expand and evolve.

Language, any language, changes constantly, and over time– as is especially seen in the example of English– it can become complex, confusing, and convoluted. A drizzle is different from a sprinkle which is less than a shower and nowhere near a downpour which could intensify to become a deluge. “Ghoti” can be pronounced “fish” or “goaty”. Asking to see someone’s “pants” in England may merit a slap, when “trousers” is the more appropriate word. Once, a British friend asked a saleslady for “rubbers” when she meant “erasers”, and was met with an icy stare. And why is beef called “beef” and not “cow”? Because in 1066 the Normans Conquered England and the nobles spoke French while the peasants spoke English, and all the animal words were changed when the food was served.

Beyond the weird pronunciations and inconsistencies, English also has notoriously confusing plurals. After all, you put your boot on your foot but they don’t become beet when they go on your feet. In this case, it’s due to different etymologies: “boot” comes from Old Norse and French, while “foot” comes from Old Germanic and Dutch. Oxen means more than one ox, but one never says “foxen.” Both are Old English words; the “fox” just got updated as language moved forward and the “ox” didn’t. It kept the old Dutch plural.

Languages are full of these idiosyncrasies but English is more packed with them than most. This could be because the English stole a quarter of the world and nicked all the words they came across. Words like “jungle”, ideas like “infernal”, “schadenfreude”, and even “shampoo” were all borrowed from other cultures.

This flexibility and ability to subsume other cultures into its melting pot is what makes English such a great language for the technology age. Aside from the fact that much of the information revolution was propelled by American companies, English, like amoeba has the ability to absorb other words, concepts, and ideas. It incorporates them into a mishmash Frankenstein of a language. It’s perfect for internet culture, where everything is a reference to something else. 

In any case, no one translates “computer” to “tagabilang.” We don’t have “walang kawad”, we have “WiFi”. By the way, “WiFi” wasn’t borrowed from anything. It was invented by an ad agency that made 10 options. But as popular English-user Dan Brown once said, English is the language of science, of technology; it borrows words and messes around with them, molding them to fit its needs. 

This might, to some, feel like a different, more insidious kind of colonization. But it is, at the same time, a truly human phenomenon: Witnessing the fluidity of language in full display, tagging along for the ride as it moves and mutates and seeps through the cracks and fills them in. Falling in love with “love teams,” knowing what “okay” means. I puff and growl and speak in different tones and hushes, putting what’s in my head in your head, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch.