As a child, I often struggled to find the right words. Sometimes, I knew phrases in one language but not in another. This wasn’t because of a developmental delay; it was on account of moving between two different worlds with little overlap. For the first ten years of my life, I could say “braid” in Creole (très) but not in English. And for the first twenty-five years, I could say “I’m sorry” in English but not in Creole (Mwen regrèt). (There’s no need to consult a linguist to understand that the main reason for that was that I never heard my elders express remorse or regret.) Still, the uncertainty, though embarrassing, was part of my process of growing up bilingual with two languages that suited different roles in my life. Eventually, I noticed that my pacing, tone, and volume changed depending on which language I was using. For those who know me well, I am an arctic mortal in English and a jovial jester in Creole, a modern-day Janus-faced creature who is understood by a cherished minority.

The Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein once famously noted, “Think of the tools in a tool-box: there is a hammer, pliers, a saw, a screwdriver, a rule, a glue-pot, nails and screws. The function of words is as diverse as the functions of these objects.” For most of my life, this toolbox has been filled with many instruments, often working towards building a small structure, thinking in a way that allows others to understand, which may not always be the case. Not being able to translate some words is part of the challenge of existing alongside and within extraneous cultures whose paths run parallel with each other, and yet rarely intersect. (US Vice President JD Vance and President Donald Trump have repeated false claims that people from my parents’ country of origin consume cats and dogs.)

Thinking, dreaming, and now speaking with my son in Haitian Creole is a reminder that words are not the only entities that cannot be translated. There is another layer to sitting between various languages: it is a way to discern how much I understand about myself. At times, even if I have the gadget to gather my thoughts, after a friend and I have a falling out or I try to comfort my parents after one of our relatives has died, I fail at capturing the events or emotions through prose. Words are not only untranslatable between languages; emotions and feelings can be too. Some sentiments simply do not align with the languages we have developed, and I am not alone in professing this thought.