Funny how words in one language get used in another language. For

In the reflective and lighthearted words of Sunita Williams, “Funny how words in one language get used in another language. For example, ‘scotch’ in Russian is tape and ‘pampers’ means diapers,” there lies more than mere amusement — there lies the profound rhythm of human connection through language. Her observation, though simple, touches upon the ancient dance of communication, where tongues and cultures intertwine, borrow, and reshape meaning. It is a marvel that through the centuries, words have become travelers — wandering beyond borders, carrying with them traces of the lands and hearts that first spoke them.

Williams, an astronaut who has seen the Earth not from one nation’s soil but from the vast expanse of space, understands perhaps better than most that humanity is one family of many voices. Her remark about language is more than linguistic curiosity; it is a glimpse into how deeply our civilizations are intertwined. Even in the smallest details — in the words we borrow, in the phrases we repeat — we are reminded that no culture stands alone. Words are like rivers: they begin in one place, but as they flow, they merge with others, nourishing new lands, new minds, new meanings.

This phenomenon is not new; it is as old as civilization itself. Consider the story of Alexander the Great, whose conquests spread the Greek tongue across vast empires. From Egypt to India, local languages absorbed Greek words, transforming them into their own. The Greek “philosophia,” meaning love of wisdom, gave birth to “filosofía,” “filosofie,” “philosophie” — all bearing the same soul, but clothed in different accents. In this way, words became ambassadors of thought, bridging people across time and empire.

What Sunita Williams finds “funny” is not mockery, but wonder — the joyful recognition of how language reveals our shared humanity. It is a gentle laughter at the irony of communication: that what is foreign at first becomes familiar, that even the humblest word may carry an entire culture’s echo. A word like “scotch,” born in the land of Scotland, crosses oceans and becomes “tape” in Russia — a symbol of repair, of connection. And “pampers,” once a brand name, becomes a universal word for care and nurture. It is as though words themselves seek to serve humanity, adapting their purpose to the needs of the people who adopt them.

There is wisdom in this — the reminder that language is alive. It evolves as we evolve; it changes as we change. It defies control, flowing beyond the borders of politics or pride. Empires have risen and fallen, but their words remain — carved not in stone, but in the living breath of those who speak them. The mingling of languages reflects the mingling of hearts. When we borrow words, we also borrow stories, humor, and emotion. We weave a shared tapestry of meaning, one thread from each corner of the world.

Think of Latin, once the voice of the Roman Empire. Though the empire crumbled, its tongue became the root of many others — Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese. The conquerors vanished, yet their words live on in songs, in prayers, in the whispers of love and the cries of birth. This is the legacy of language: that no word truly dies, but transforms, finding new life in the mouths of future generations. So too, Sunita Williams’ observation reminds us that even the smallest linguistic quirks are monuments to this eternal cycle of renewal.

Thus, the teaching is clear: do not mock the way others speak — learn from it. Each accent, each borrowed word, is a story of survival and exchange. Listen carefully to the words around you, for they carry the footprints of travelers, the laughter of children, the lessons of ancestors. To study how words move is to study how people unite — not through force, but through understanding.

And so, let this truth echo through the ages: language is the living bridge between worlds. In every borrowed word, in every accent or translation, there is proof that the human spirit cannot be divided. We may speak in many tongues, but we share the same longing — to be heard, to be understood, to belong. As Sunita Williams teaches through her simple observation, even in something as “funny” as a word, there lies the profound humor of creation itself — that the universe delights in reminding us how close we truly are, how every syllable carries within it the heartbeat of the world.