Imagine: you ask someone to “take a step to the left”… and they simply can’t say it. Not because they don’t understand, but because their language doesn’t use the concepts of “left” and “right” as a standard way to describe space.
Sounds impossible? Yet it really does exist. And the effect is so bizarre that it practically breaks your brain when you try to imitate it.
The secret: a built-in compass mode in the mind
In many languages (like English), we describe the world primarily relative: left, right, front, back. But there are languages in which speakers use absolute directions on almost all scales: north, south, east, west (and sometimes even more subtle variations).
That means you don’t say, “The key is to the left of your plate.”
You say something like, “The key is to the west of your plate.”
And if you turn around? Then that key still remains west of the board. The world doesn’t turn with your body. You have to turn with the world.
The language that forces you to always know where you are
A well-known example is Guugu Yimithirr, an Australian Aboriginal language from Queensland. Research into the spatial language of Guugu Yimithirr shows that speakers rely much less on left and right and consistently use absolute directions to indicate where something is or where someone needs to go.
Another fascinating example is Kuuk Thaayorre, spoken in the Pormpuraaw community in Queensland. There too, it’s common to describe space with cardinal directions instead of left and right, even for everyday things close to the body.
The implication is delightfully extreme: speaking such a language requires an almost constant sense of orientation. Not occasionally, but always.
The unexpected side effect: time can literally run “from east to west.”
And now it gets truly surreal.
For example, experiments with Kuuk Thaayorre speakers examined how people arrange a series of images in chronological order (such as: someone getting older, or a banana being eaten). What often becomes a left-to-right line for many Western participants, Kuuk Thaayorre speakers appear to be able to move strongly along the real cardinal directions.
In other words, instead of “time goes to the right,” the order might feel more like “time goes west” (or some other fixed direction), depending on how their spatial language and orientation work.
That’s neither magic nor a superpower. It’s another standard compass for thinking, fueled by everyday language habits.
Not just Australia: some languages use “uphill” and “downhill.”
As if that weren’t enough, there’s also a completely different trick.
Studies on Tzeltal (a Mayan language in Mexico) describe that speakers often use an absolute system linked to the landscape: “uphill,” “downhill,” and “across.” This system functions like a fixed map layer across the globe, meaning you rely less on left and right as a primary strategy there as well.
You can already sense it: if your language forces you to speak as if you’re always standing on a map, your attention to direction and surroundings can develop differently than in someone who describes everything from their own body.
So do these people have “no idea” of left and right?
An important detail: “No words for left and right” usually doesn’t mean that people physically can’t learn what left and right are. It means that their language and everyday speech aren’t built on it like ours, and that there are other, dominant ways of encoding space.
Moreover, many people worldwide only become fluent in left and right speech later than you might think, even in languages that do use those words consistently. So it’s not surprising that some cultures and languages prioritize different solutions.
The biggest plot twist insight
We often think left and right are self-evident, as if the world carries those labels naturally.
But those labels are partly a choice. A cultural habit. A linguistic shortcut.
Some languages choose a different highway: absolute direction, always and everywhere. And once you realize that, your own “left and right” suddenly feels a bit… arbitrary.
