The pandemic isn’t totally over yet, but it has certainly been all over us. And it has been all over the Japanese language, too.

Almost two years into life with COVID-19, this is perhaps a good point to look back and take stock of what the linguistic 副作用 (fukusayō, side effects) have been so far.

It started with a nameless 原因不明の肺炎 (gen’in fumei no haien, pneumonia of unknown origin), as first announced in the NHK evening news on Jan. 7, 2020. The thing itself was soon to be known as the 新型コロナウイルス (shingata koronauirusu, novel coronavirus) in news reports and official documents, but shortened to just コロナ (korona) in conversation, much like it would be shortened to just COVID in English.

The state of the pandemic came to be called コロナ禍 (korona-ka, the coronavirus disaster), though initially there was some confusion about the kanji component of this term. Alternatives with the same reading include コロナ下, quite literally “under Corona,” and コロナ渦, the “Corona maelstrom.” It’s certainly been a bit of all of it.

Medical and other technical terminology was quickly infiltrating everyday language. Suddenly everyone was talking about PCR検査 (pī shī āru kensa, PCR tests) and whether they were 陰性 (insei, negative) or 陽性 (yōsei, positive). Around the same time, we began hearing about 濃厚接触 (nōkō sesshoku, close contacts) and 飛沫感染 (himatsu kansen, droplet infections), though the latter term didn’t stick around.

And of course there were the usual katakana suspects, such as エアロゾル (earozoru, aerosol), クラスター (kurasutā, cluster) and オーバーシュート (ōbāshūto). This last one derives from the English “overshoot,” though only in Japan does it seem to refer to an anticipated out-of-control surge of infections.

Taro Kono, the defense minister at the time, wasn’t a fan of the new katakana terminology. He took to Twitter in March 2020 to ask why the Japanese media used クラスター instead of 集団感染 (shūdan kansen, group infection), オーバーシュート instead of 感染爆発 (kansen bakuhatsu, explosion in infections), and ロックダウン (rokkudaun, lockdown) instead of 都市封鎖 (toshi heisa, city closure)

Hopes for a quick development and speedy rollout of a vaccine gave new popularity to the terms ワクチン (wakuchin) and its Japanese equivalent, 接種 (sesshu). At the same time, subsequent new variants of the virus, or 変異株 (hen’ikabu), were an excellent opportunity to get familiar with the Japanese reading of Greek alphabet letters: アルファ (arufa), ベータ (bēta), デルタ (deruta), オミクロン (omikuron), you name it.

But COVID-19’s linguistic side effects went far beyond medical jargon.

One big topic were the many restrictions on public life, as reflected in terms such as ロックダウン, 緊急事態宣言 (kinkyū jitai sengen, declaration of a state of emergency), 自粛 (jishuku, self-restraint) and, particularly to the dismay of many taxpayers without a Japanese passport, 水際対策 (mizugiwa taisaku, border control measures).

The newly created four-character phrase 不要不急 (fuyōfukyū) was to remind us that all “unnecessary and unurgent” movements were to be avoided. ステイホーム (sutei hōmu, stay home) was the name of the game or, in plain Japanese, おうち時間 (o-uchi jikan, “at-home time”). This latter turned out to be very productive, both linguistically and commercially, with terms such as おうちカレー (o-uchi karē, “at-home curry”) or おうちエステ (o-uchi esute, at-home beauty treatment) quickly deriving from it.

The new 巣ごもり (sugomori, nesting) lifestyle also entailed a lot ofテイクアウト (teiku auto, take out), or お持ち帰り (o-mochikaeri), and home delivery became even more important than it had already been. To keep it contact-free, the goods were simply left outside the door, a practice now known as 置き配 (okihai, package drop).

Where going out wasn’t “unnecessary and unurgent,” a couple of rules were set in place to keep such forays as safe as possible. First and foremost, that meant avoiding places or situations involving one or more of the 三密 (sanmitsu), in English known as the “three C’s”: 密閉空間 (mippei kūkan, closed spaces), 密集場所 (misshū basho, crowded places) and 密接場面 (missetsu bamen, close-contact settings). As this paper reported, “密” (mitsu) was so popular in 2020 that it was voted kanji of the year.

Other crowd-related terms include ソーシャルディスタンス (sōsharu disutansu, social distance) and its kanji rendition 社会的距離 (shakaiteki kyori), as well as人流 (jinryū), a neologism meaning “flow of people.”

Japan’s long romance with face masks further intensified. We learned that a simple 布マスク (nuno masuku, cloth mask) is not the same as a 不織布マスク (fushokufu masuku, non-woven fabric mask). And let’s not forget アベノマスク (Abenomasuku), in allusion to the late Prime Minister Shinzo Abe’s economic policy of アベノミクス (Abenomikusu, Abenomics). Other new mask words includeマスク会食 (masuku kaishoku, mask dining) andマスク美人 (masuku bijin, someone who looks more attractive with a mask than without).

When the mouth can’t be covered, it should best be kept shut. This has generated the term 黙食 (mokushoku), eating in silence, and a couple of other new expression based on the same idea, including 黙煙 (moku-en, silent smoking), and 黙筋トレ (moku-kintore, silent muscle training) for the gym.

According to recent data by the Agency of Cultural Affairs, some of the new pandemic words seem to be here to stay. 黙食 (mokushoku) is among them, as are the aforementioned おうち時間 (o-uchi jikan) and人流 (jinryū). On the other hand, a term like エアロゾル was found to have very low acceptance, and probably won’t make it beyond the pandemic era.

Speaking of which, what about the end of the pandemic? Even though it’s hard to tell when this will finally be — with the 第８波 (dai hachi ha, eighth wave) now in full swing, and some people suffering from コロナ後遺症 (korona kōishō, long COVID) — it’s at least kind of reassuring that there’s already a word for it. As with many things Japanese, however, it’s a bit complicated. Again there are two concurrent spellings with the same reading, コロナの収束 (korona no shūsoku, bring corona to a close) and コロナの終息 (korona no shūsoku, stamp out corona).

I personally don’t mind which one it is — just please let it be here soon.