The day when expressions were beyond words: lessons learnt as a translator.

The air smelled like petrichor. All I could hear were whispers and sighs. Everything

looked wrinkled by the water. And yet my skin felt grainy, peppered by the dust.

Desperate, exhausted faces began to pour into the relief center. Amid the commotion, I found myself caught between two currents.

In May 2024, Rio Grande do Sul, my home state, faced the worst flood in its history. Streets disappeared, houses were destroyed, and thousands of families were left with little more than soaked documents in their hands. It was this time that I deepened my identity.

The Tzu Chi Buddhist Foundation from Taiwan organized a humanitarian aid mission in Brazil — and because of my grandmother, who is part of the group in São Paulo, I was invited to volunteer as an interpreter.

I thought my role would mainly be to translate. But I soon discovered that translating, in that situation, was much more than just swapping words from one language to another.

When Google Translate don’t translate the heart

In the first moments, I turned to Google Translate whenever I felt unsure. I wanted to make sure everything was said “correctly.” But the reality was confusing, noisy, and chaotic. And the words... I simply couldn’t capture it all.

I remember a little girl, her hair still damp, who held my wrist and whispered, “Sinto saudades da minha mãe.” The translator blinked: “I miss my mom.” But it wasn’t just that. “Saudade” is more than just missing someone. It’s a pain that tightens your chest. It’s love wrapped in absence.

Other terms also eluded me. How do you explain to someone from Taiwan what “cafuné” means? Google translated it as “head scratch.” But it’s not just that. “Cafuné” is when a mother says “I love you” with her fingers, gently combing her child’s hair. It’s a memory of affection that you carry in your body.

That's when I understood: translating isn't just about passing words along. It's about creating bridges between cultures, emotions, and stories.

Being Present as a form of Translation

After that, I started listening more with my heart than with a dictionary. I learned that often, a gesture is clearer than any phrase. A kind glance, a spontaneous hug, a minute of respectful silence — all of these speak languages that no app can understand.

A Taiwanese volunteer, upon seeing the sad little girl, knelt down and gently ran her hand through the girl’s hair. As if to say, “I’m here with you.” The girl closed her eyes and leaned against the woman's arm. No words needed.

That’s how I realized that in times of crisis, people are not just looking for help. They are looking for comfort.

For someone to see them. To hear them. To be there, present.

More than an interpreter: bridge between cultures

Translating, in that context, was like breathing between two worlds. Helping people who spoke different languages understand each other — not just with phrases, but with feelings.

And this touched me deeply because I also grew up between cultures. I am the daughter of a Brazilian father and an American mother. My four grandparents are Chinese.

I study in a German school. I have always felt "between worlds." For a long time, this mix confused me. I used to wonder, “After all, who am I in the midst of all this?”

But in this volunteer work, I understood: I am all these parts at the same time. And that’s what makes me unique.

I carry with me the logic of the engineers in my family, the critical thinking I learned at home, the American sense of service to the community, the Brazilian energy, the Eastern wisdom, and the German rigor. I am not a half of each thing — I am a whole bridge between them.

What I carry with me

This experience taught me that technology and artificial intelligence can be amazing, but they will never replace the human touch. Because translating words is easy. What’s truly difficult is translating feelings. And that only happens when there is empathy.

Today, I know that my role in the world goes far beyond converting phrases. I want to continue being that bridge — between languages, cultures, and people. I want to keep listening with my heart, translating with presence, and connecting realities that, at first glance, seem distant — but that, deep down, share the same desire: to be understood, embraced, and remembered.

Perhaps there is no perfect translation for “saudade.” But there is something even more powerful: the ability to feel together.