One Language, One Vision of the World

In Arabic, you don’t begin with yourself.

You begin with what’s happening — the action, the world.

The verb often comes before the subject, as if to remind us that humans do not command reality — they participate in it.

The language is built on roots. Three letters, and an entire universe opens up: nouns, verbs, adjectives…

Each word is connected to others beneath the surface. It’s a language of depths. A subterranean language.

Even the writing is fluid, undulating, almost alive.

It doesn’t cut — it connects.

It doesn’t impose capital letters or periods — it breathes.

Arabic doesn’t think in straight lines. It thinks in circles, in spirals, in echoes.

It speaks without freezing meaning. It allows meaning to bend, to multiply.

It’s not a language of identity — it’s a language of connection.

And those who speak it often have the ability to see the world as a fabric, not as a chart.

It’s no coincidence that poetry is a daily art form in Arabic.

What if thinking in Arabic meant learning to listen to the world differently?

Episode 2: Chinese – how to think in images.

Is it possible to think without conjugating? To reason without an alphabet? To express without saying “I”?

Chinese challenges our usual reference points.

No conjugation, no gender, no alphabet.

Each word is an ideogram — an image, a condensation of meaning and history.

To write in Chinese is to draw your thoughts.

Each character is a miniature world, often composed of several interwoven ideas: man, fire, mountain, mouth…

The language becomes a mental landscape.

And what about the grammar?

It allows for space, vagueness, ambiguity.

In this language, the subject isn’t always named. The “I” is often absent.

Meaning relies on context, implication, and intention.

Chinese teaches flexibility, attentiveness, and a relationship with silence.

It doesn’t impose — it suggests.

It doesn’t divide the world into subject and object, but weaves it together in a logic of relationships.

What if learning Chinese also meant learning to think of the world in networks, rather than in categories?

Episode 3: German

What if a language didn’t just serve to speak… but to structure thought?

German is a language of architecture.

Each sentence is a construction, patiently assembled.

You often begin without knowing exactly where you’re going, and it’s only at the final word — often the verb — that everything makes sense.

It’s a language that requires you to think ahead, to grasp the whole before speaking.

A language that trains the mind to anticipate, to organize, to prioritize.

But it would be a mistake to reduce it to rigor or discipline.

German is also the language of buried emotions, of unclassifiable concepts, of the poetry of the unspeakable.

Where else do we find words like Fernweh (the ache for far-off places), Weltschmerz (the melancholy of the world), or Geborgenheit (the feeling of being safe, of belonging)?

It’s a language that names the soul with surgical precision.

And you — have you ever felt the vertigo of a German sentence, suspended until its final word?

Which language forces you to think differently?

Episode 4: Japanese

What if speaking Japanese also meant learning to say less?

In this language, silence carries meaning, the unspoken is a mark of respect.

Assertions are made gently. One steps back to better connect. The subject is often omitted. The “I” is implied.

Speaking Japanese is speaking in the spaces, in the gaps between words.

And the grammar? It starts with context, the verb comes last. You must wait to understand. And listen between the lines.

The word order becomes a social dance.

And what about the writing systems?

Kanji (Chinese), hiragana (pure Japanese), katakana (foreign words)…

Three layers of thought stacked upon each other.

A visual, sensory language, where each word can be read like a landscape.

It’s the language of tsundoku (buying books you’ll never read), wabi-sabi (the beauty of imperfection), or komorebi (the light filtering through leaves).

A language of connection, context, and respect.

A language that doesn’t just teach you to speak… but to perceive.

And you, which language has taught you to listen differently?

To understand what isn’t said?

Episode 5 – Farsi (or Persian): the language that thinks in poetry

Speaking Persian isn’t just about learning words.

It’s about entering a way of seeing the world through images, feeling before speaking, suggesting rather than declaring.

In Farsi, you don’t say “I’m sad,” you say: “my heart is narrow.”

You don’t say “I miss you,” but: “I have your empty place in my heart.”

A millennia-old language, woven by Rumi, Hafez, or Khayyam, Persian carries the art of expressing the inexpressible.

Everything is metaphor, music, codified politeness—yet never cold.

A “no” is rarely direct.

An emotion is often sung rather than explained.

What does this language teach us?

To value the elegance of the indirect.

To cultivate the gentle strength of nuance.

To understand that silence can speak, if you know how to listen.

In a world eager to name everything, Persian invites us to feel before translating.

What if this were another way to build connection?

Episode 6 – American English: the language of action and optimism

Some languages explain.

Others act.

American English doesn’t aim to charm.

It wants to move the needle.

👉 Let’s go.

👉 Think big.

👉 Make it happen.

A language of pragmatism, simple ideas, sentences that often start with a verb.

A language of networking, embraced soft skills, and relentless energy.

And above all… the language of “yes, you can.”

What it teaches us:

• Get to the point, no detours or pretense.
• Value action over perfection.
• Encourage rather than criticize.
• Simplify without impoverishing.

No wonder it’s become the language of global leadership.

What if, sometimes, thinking in American English could help us move forward with more clarity, more boldness?

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