Lumpia, nasi lemak, and More: Southeast Asia is Taking Over The English Dictionary
The English language continues to evolve, and now, our words are becoming part of it too
There are words you know in your bones but can’t quite explain. Feelings that take shape on your tongue, only to disappear when you reach for their English equivalent.
But now, finally, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) is catching up. For the first time, words like gigil, alamak, and videoke—words we’ve always known but the English language has never had space for—are officially recognized.
It’s interesting, isn’t it? A language that has long expanded by borrowing now making space for ours.
English, a language shaped by history and cultures, now enriched with our untranslatable truths.
A word for what we’ve always felt
If you’ve ever seen a chubby baby and had the uncontrollable urge to pinch their cheeks, you’ve felt gigil.
It’s not just cuteness aggression. It’s deeper and more primal.
The dictionary describes it as “an intense feeling that makes a person tightly clench their hands, grit their teeth, and pinch or squeeze.”
A paradox of affection so overwhelming that it borders on violence—but in the softest way possible.
The Philippines has long been exporting its language alongside its people. Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) carry their words with them like heirlooms, passing them down through stories, text messages, and inside jokes.
Gigil is now no longer just ours. It belongs to the world, stamped and certified by the OED, but it will always sound best coming from the lips of a tita cooing over a toddler.
The drama we always needed
Then there’s alamak, a word that could be surprise, horror, exasperation, or all three at once.
Used across Malaysia and Singapore, it’s a perfectly sharp exclamation, the kind of word your mom yells when she drops her phone screen-down on the pavement.
The OED calls it an interjection of “shock, dismay, or outrage.” But alamak is more than that—it’s the sound of living in a world that constantly surprises, annoys, and occasionally, deeply disappoints you.
Much like lah and leh, it refuses translation, because it isn’t meant to be translated.
It’s meant to be felt. The cadence, the rise and fall of the voice—it’s culture wrapped in a syllable.
The soundtrack of our lives
Filipinos invented and made karaoke nights a way of life.
Videoke, that beloved mix of microphone confidence and off-key belting, has finally found its place in the dictionary.
Unlike Japan’s original karaoke, which is mostly about singing in private booths, videoke thrives in the chaos of family gatherings, neighborhood fiestas, and makeshift backyard stages.
It’s loud, communal, and deeply personal—because in the Philippines, singing is a birthright.
Food that needs no translation
Some words transcend language because the experience of eating them says everything.
Lumpia—golden, crispy spring rolls filled with minced meat or vegetables—has been a staple of Filipino households and now, the English dictionary.
Then there’s ketupat, the Malay rice cake wrapped in woven palm leaves, a dish deeply tied to celebrations and tradition.
Otak-otak, a Southeast Asian delicacy of spiced fish paste wrapped in banana leaves and grilled, carries the smoky essence of street food culture.
And of course, nasi lemak, Malaysia’s fragrant coconut rice dish served with sambal, anchovies, peanuts, and boiled egg, is a meal that needs no introduction.
Linguistic colonization
For centuries, English has grown by absorbing words from countless languages, reshaping itself along the way.
But now, it’s being infiltrated in quieter ways. Filipino and Malaysian words have entered the dictionary not because we asked for validation, but because English had no choice. There were gaps, and our words filled them.
So yes, the OED is playing catch-up. But we already knew these words mattered. We’ve known them forever. And now, English knows them too.
