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| "Pieces of Me" You don't know this new me; I put back my pieces differently. |
The first time I lost something important, I was too young
to understand what “losing” meant. I was five, standing in the yard, watching a
rubber ball bounce away from me as the other children chased after it. I stayed
behind, knowing I wouldn’t catch it even if I tried. The moment stuck—not
because of the ball, but because of the feeling. The quiet realization that
some things would always be just out of reach.
The first time I found something, I was about nine, sitting
at my desk, staring at a sheet of math problems. Numbers made sense in a way
the world didn’t. I could rearrange them, solve them, feel certain that my
answers were right. That certainty felt like power. The quiet realization that
there were things I could do—not just attempt, but succeed at.
Life, I’ve learned, is a constant exchange between those two
moments.
Losing, finding, losing again.
When I left Romania, I lost my home. Not just the place, but
the sense of belonging that came with it. Finland was cold, not just the
winter, but the unfamiliarity. For years, I carried a homesickness that
wouldn’t quite fade. Then, slowly, it did. I built a life. I grew to love the
silence, the stillness, the way the sun lingered past midnight in summer. Then
I moved again. A second uprooting. But this time, I understood something I
hadn’t before - home isn’t only geography. It’s something you carry with you.
Romania is home. Finland is home. And now, Seattle, with its rain, is home too.
Writing was something I lost without realizing it. As a
child, I filled notebooks with words convinced I would grow up to be a writer.
But math made sense, and computer engineering became the practical choice. I
told myself I would write alongside my career. Then life happened. Children
were raised, responsibilities multiplied, and the stories I meant to write
never left my head. The words shrank into grocery lists and meeting notes.
Then, years later, I picked up a paintbrush. And somehow, something returned.
Creativity in color.
What I’ve come to understand is that losing is not the end.
It’s just the pause before rediscovery. Confidence fades and resurfaces. Dreams
shift and return in new forms. Home is redefined. Passions go dormant and
rekindle. Nothing is ever truly lost forever. But neither is anything kept
forever. Life is a constant push and pull. The key is knowing that when
something slips away, it can—and will—return, sometimes in ways we never
expected.
Sometimes, the true art of following our dreams lies in
knowing when to set them free
