It is obvious that nube (spanish for “cloud”), and its cousin nebuloso (“cloudy”), are related to the English nebulous: a SAT word meaning “unclear”, just like the sky is when it’s cloudy. This one is easy.

But did you realize that nube is also related to the English nuance?

Nuance comes from the Latin nubes, meaning “cloud” – from which we also get the almost-identical Spanish word.

Although this is less obvious, we can see the pattern here: a nuance is a slight shade of meaning, just as the cloud adds a slight shade to the sky.

Nuances, therefore, by definition, stop the clarity of sunshine from shining in, and cloud our judgments!

The Spanish revancha (“revenge”) comes from the Latin vindicare, meaning — surprisingly — “to vindicate.”

Revenge, after all, is just one way to vindicate yourself!

If we remember the reinforcing re– prefix, we can see that the v-n-ch of revancha maps to the v-n-(d)-c of vindicate.

Asqueroso is the common Spanish word meaning “disgusting.” ¡Qué asqueroso! is the common Spanish exclamation of disgust, as is its closely-related cousin, ¡Que asco!

Asqueroso (and asco) come from the Latin eschara, meaning, “scab” (which itself is from the Greek eskhara meaning the same).

From the same Latin (and Greek) root, we also get the English… scar.

So, in Spanish, something that is so disgusting literally scars you!

We can see the mapping in the s-qu-r of asqueroso to the s-c-r of scar.

Quedar (Spanish for “to remain”) comes from the Latin quietare (meaning, “to rest”), from which we also get the English… quiet.

It is clear how a word meaning “to rest” becomes quiet — it’s hard to rest when there are jackhammers outside, as there coincidentally are right now! — but how does a word meaning “to rest” become “to remain”?

The answer has to do with the notion of, what remains after everything else leaves. The food is sizzling hot — but it’s the quiet, sad pieces just sitting there, that no one wants, that remain. There’s a lot of noise and ruckus — and when all is said and done, only silence remains. Life is a tale, full of sound and fury… and nothing remains (what Bard almost wrote!).

We can clearly see the qu-d of quedar map to the qu-t of quiet.

Batir (Spanish meaning, “to beat”) and its very common derivative, batido (meaning “milkshake” — you beat the ingredients together after all!) both come from the Latin battuere meaning the same, “to beat.”

From that same Latin root, we get the English battery — think of the phrase, assault and battery! (Over time, the meaning shifted from beating to artillery — that which beats the enemy to the ground, literally! — and then from there, to the electric power that powers the artillery, and from there, our more common modern definition of the word.) And batter, like the mixture you make while cooking — that’s you beating the eggs together, right?

The b-t root is visible in all these words.

Lanzar (Spanish for “to throw, launch”) comes from the Latin lanceare “to pierce with a lance.”

From this root, we can see connections to various English words, including: launch (which is a form of throwing!), lance (it is the stick that they wield to pierce!), and even élan (think of ex-lanceare: to take the energy out of the throw!).

We can see the clear l-n-z to l-n-c (or l-n-ch, in the case of launch) mapping. The -z- and -c- sounds are similar and thus often swap.

The Spanish vínculo (“a link, connection, something that binds something to something else”) comes from the Latin for the same, vinculum.

A distantly related word is the English wind — not in the sense of what blows in your face on a windy day but rather in the sense of winding a clock (remember those ancient clocks?). Wind (again, in this sense) comes from the Proto-Indo-European *wendh- (“to turn, weave, or wind”)  from which we also get the Latin vinculum and finally the Spanish vínculo.

We can see that the v-n of vínculo maps to the w-n of wind.

The Spanish apellido, for “last name” (“surname” to the Brits) has a cousin in the English repeal and appeal.

All of these come from the Latin appellare, meaning, “to call.”

The Spanish makes sense: your last name is which tribe the world calls you by!

The English appeal is, indeed, when you call upon a higher authority for help. And repeal is when you call back or push back to those who tried to do something to you.

The p-l mapping is consistent amongst all the variations, with slight changes in spelling (single l vs double l, for example).

Bailar, Spanish meaning “to dance”, is another one of these Spanish words that sounds random and is difficult until you realize its subtle common origin with a bunch of English words.

Bailar comes from the late Latin ballare, meaning the same, “to dance”, originally from the Greek ballizein, meaning, “to dance or jump around”. From this same root, we get a few English words including:

• Ballroom — Yes, the room where you go dancing!
• To Have a Ball — Yes, the “ball” in this phrase is the same “ball” as in bailar and ballroom!
• Ballad — The love song, unsurprisingly, comes from the same root as dancing: perhaps slow dancing!
• Ballistics — Directly from the Greek, we get the science of having balls shoot around!

There is no connection to the English “ball” in the sense of the round object you throw.

Have a ball remembering these!

Although ayudar (Spanish for “to help”) sounds little like the English “young”, both have the same great-grandfather.

Ayudar comes from the Latin adiutare also meaning “to help”, which in turn comes from ad- (meaning “towards”) and iuvenis, meaning “young”. To help, after all, is — at its core — what those with strength (the young) do for the elderly and those who can’t help themselves. Iuvenis is often written with the modern Latin-ish spelling of Juvenis — ahhh! Think Juvenal!

The Latin iuvenis comes from the Proto-Indo-European root *yeu-, which means “youth, strength”. From that root we get the Germanic jungas, from which we get the English young.

So youth, seemingly everywhere, is strongly tied to strength; and strength is tied to helping those who need it.