Lost in Translation: Terms of Endearment
Love is a universal language, rolled in many tongues.
Love is a universal language. But, what does it sound like across the globe? Whilst love is in the air, here are three terms of endearment across three different languages and cultures.
Nguyen Bao Han Tran: In Vietnamese, love comes with caution.
In Vietnamese, love is rarely loud.
There is no casual “ I love you,” no easy phrase tossed at the end of phone calls. Instead, we have thương, a word that sits between care, devotion, and quiet responsibility. It doesn’t sparkle. It doesn’t flirt. It stays.
Growing up, I rarely heard the word yêu–the direct translation for love. My mother never said it. Instead, she said, Mẹ thương con. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as affection. Only later did I realize that thương carried something heavier than romance: commitment without performance.
In English, love often arrives early and loudly. We say it to partners after weeks, sometimes days, of dating. It can be dramatic and impulsive. In Vietnamese, love comes with caution. Saying thương implies endurance, that you will stay even when things become inconvenient.
That’s why romance in my mother tongue doesn’t make me cringe. It makes me pause.
Vietnamese affection isn’t built on grand gestures or poetic declarations. It appears in questions like “did you eat?” or reminders to bring a jacket. It lives in concern, not confession. To outsiders, this may seem emotionally distant. To those who grew up within it, it is very intimate.
When someone says anh thương em or em thương anh, it isn’t flirtation. It is a promise, one that cannot be taken back easily.
Maybe that’s what makes Vietnamese love uncomfortable in a modern world obsessed with speed. It asks us to slow down. To mean what we say. To love not loudly, but faithfully.
Michaela Dimitrov: In Russian, love is familiar.
My mother tongue is Russian. It’s the language I was raised with, for my mom, who is Ukrainian, spoke it to me.
My mother often referred to me by cute terms of endearment. Although many exist in Russian, my favourites were always Солнышко (pronounced solnyshko), meaning sunshine or little sun, and Зайка (pronounced zayka), meaning bunny.
Adding a “chick” sound at the end of the words—similar to adding “y” in English to prettify words—was perfect for a young child. Although I never use these terms when referring to anyone else, they warm my heart when it comes from my mom.
Romance doesn’t make me cringe in my mother tongue. But, it feels different than it would in English. In Russian, it feels familiar whenever terms of love or romance are involved. It feels like the type of love between family members rather than a romantic love. When seeing a movie in Russian with romance, the love between characters seems pure, like family. In English, romance feels stronger, hitting the soul instead.
Camille Dornellas: In Brazilian Portuguese, love is a carnaval.
Brazil is known for its heat, beaches, and festivity. And of course, as a Brazilian, I love all of that. However, whenever someone asks me what I miss the most about my country I always say the language. Brazilian Portuguese reflects my people and our personality—it’s colourful, vivid, and raw. Our words of endearment follow the same line; we express our intensity through them.
Terms of love and endearment are abundant in my mother tongue: words like vida (life), paixão (passion), anjo (angel), amor, mozi, mô, mozão, mozinho (which are all versions for the word love).
But, out of all the different ways we have to call someone we are fond of, meu bem is my favorite. This expression is not reserved only for romantic relationships and, although it is popular among couples, elders often use it to speak with children or those younger than them.
Bem, meaning good, is a word full of positivity. Meu, translates to my, is possessive. The expression doesn’t have an exact equivalent in English, but in its essence, meu bem is referring to one as your wellbeing, a reference to something that fulfills you with contentment, joy and love. Someone that holds great value to you and makes your life better. Someone that is yours.
Brazilian Portuguese words are rich. They are capable of squeezing meaning out of life. It can make a heart bleed of truths that are often impossible to carry in a second language.
When I express my love for others in my native language it feels like a greater deal and, most times, embarrassing. The words have a deeper weight to me. They’re harder to carry from my gut to my mouth. My language is the personification of the passion my people are known for. It’s, in other words, a spoken version of a carnaval.
