There are so many names to call your loved ones. My love is common in any language. My cabbage- that’s French. In Spanish I hear my lion is popular. In Italian little mouse. In Kazakhstan people have more names for loved ones then I’d ever imagined in a language. You can make a game of it: my love, my sweet, my soul, my moon, my sun, my 
chocolate, my dream, my heart, my hope- but one word is really reserved for the closest of family. In Kazakhstan they call these people (the irremovable, the indelible people) this: ’my organs.’
The word organ sounds like this is Kazakh: Bow-er-um. The ‘r’ should roll on your tongue, the um softly closes the word.
The sentiment is beautiful though. You, my organs. You, who creates the pulse within me, you who cleanse me, you who filter minuscule molecules of air that I might live, you- who without I could not be. You, my organs. Bowerum.
I don’t write about family very often. When we talk I say ‘I love you’ at ends of our conversations, but I’ve begun to feel
it’s not enough. It’s certainly the truth, but no three words are more cliché.
I want you to know, in no uncertain terms, that both of you are my organs. That without you, I am not me, I cannot be me, because me is so intricately hinged on you.
No one would say we’re alike. Just look at us. We’re as different as people can be- we all serve our own purposes, grasp and grapple with different dreams, and grieve for different reasons. Our wants, our needs, our desires run the gamut from the utterly mundane to the literal insane. They rarely overlap.
But that doesn’t matter. What matters is this intangible, inexplicable thing that spirals through time and space between us. This thing that will last far longer than any one hope, any one dream, any one desire. I am more lucky, I am more blessed by chance than any person I know. I have you.
Organ isn’t a beautiful word in English. You would never- you could never- call someone your organs.
But I can.
You are my organs.
I love you both more than I have the power to say.
Too cute, Laura! Nothing like the love of 3 sisters =) And as always, so beautifully and eloquently written. A lot of things translated to English sound ridiculous, but in the cultural context carries more meaning than English could possibly convey. Hope you’re Kazakhstan! I miss ya!
Laura, I love this note! I would definitely call my loved one my organs! For without them I would not be the person that I am today!
Hi,
Found your site thru someone else’s I read about KZ. This is a great word, OMG! You described it pretty well, but you’re right how I wouldn’t call my relatives my organs it just sounds weird. I sent my wife a text this morning asking, “Ty spish moj bowerum?” I expected a message back simply saying, “no, I’m awake and on my way to work.” Instead, I QUICKLY got a call back. Before I could say hello, she said, “Ohhh I love you too!! Where did you hear this word?!” To that all I could reply was, “Aw, cmon! I told you I was clever!”
So thank you for a new word!
There are a zillion words I could teach you! Try MA-HA-BAAH-TUM (my love), EYE-NAH-LIE-UM (my dear/my darling) and maybe JAHN-UM if you don’t know that one (my soul, very popular). Thanks for the comment, it’s nice to know someone reads this!