What is lost will be found

"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

The distance of dreams

The distance between how I thought my life would be and how it came to be, I don't know to calculate it. 

I was born and lived my teenage years in communism. Money didn’t matter, friends did, and I believed it will always be the same. 

I am living across the ocean now in a country that made vows against communism. Money matter. Friends, I’ve lost plenty. 

I've dreamed of becoming a writer, of having just a little bit of talent for that. It turned out my mind was more tuned towards logic and math, rather than creativity. 

I became a software engineer and a teacher of algorithms. I am not teaching anymore. I can barely read a rudimentary code. But I paint. Creativity came later in life and in a very unexpected form. 

In my teens years I used to have a dream of myself living alone in a cozy little apartment downtown. Full of books, some paintings. I remember imagining how I would come back from work, dressed in a very elegant, usually black suit, high heels. Something similar to how a lawyer woman, partner at some big NY firm is dressed in Hollywood movies. 

I don’t think I have ever got to wear the elegant black suit with high heels at work. Jeans, t-shirt and sneakers have been my garderobe for work most of the days while working in software industry. I have enjoyed the comfort of it. 

There was no man and no kids in my teenage dreams. Only my cozy apartment in which I would relax in the evenings with a book and maybe a glass of martini. 

I have been married, twice, I've raised two kids and for many years I barely had any time to relax in the evenings, with or without the book. 

It has been a road with many unexpected turns, but I have finally got to my house, with all the books and the paintings. I am getting the itch of writing again. And it turns out, even in a world where money matter, friends matter even more. 

I am happy I didn’t choose the road I was planning to in my fantasy teenage world. I got the chance to learn how it feels to hold my babies, I got the chance to learn what complete love is. I got the chance to learn so much more than I have ever dreamed of. Sometimes following our dreams means limiting ourselves. 

Sanda / www.sandaberar.com

The story of my life in clip stories

 

The 5s without breathing.

He is asleep in my arms. I know I should put him in his crib, but I so need to feel him close. It’s my son’s first night at home. I lean and lay him down in the crib and go to my bed. My eyes are closing when my son’s breath stops: one second, two seconds. I’m on my feet. Three seconds, four seconds. This panic is something I have never experienced before. Five seconds. He is breathing again. And in that very second I realize that I will forever worry for him. There is no going back.  

The airport

I am waiting for my luggage to arrive. The belt is moving slowly, empty. I like the airport’s buzz, hearing the people’s voices surrounding me, it’s lively. Then I notice something feels odd. There is no buzzing. I look around, all the people are still there. I do not understand what is happening, are they talking, and I can’t hear, am I having a stroke or something? And then I know. This is Finland, the country I am just moving in. Life with the sounds and all I knew before is gone. I’ll need to learn to listen to silence.

I want to be happy now

My five years old daughter, she is a stubborn little one.  “Why you are not buying us a dog now” She is at the kitchen table and looks particularly decisive tonight. “We have had this conversation; we are going to have a dog when you will be old enough to be responsible for him”. “I don’t want to live my whole life wishing for something to happen in the future. I want to be happy today.”  I gasp. She is going to be the one raising me, not the other way around. 

Jump

I am sitting on the beach terrace in Crete. Phone rings, it’s from work. I can barely hear; reception is so bad. I am considering saying ‘sorry, let’s talk soon when I am in Finland’.  Instead, I move away from the terrace. I hear now. The Finnish branch is closing. We are being shut down. I have been offered a job at the headquarters in US. Can I consider moving to US?  I have been dreading a moment like this forever. Something comes around and I feel too scared to take a risk. Yes, I said. I can consider that.