What I Take With Me, And What I Leave Behind when we move.

Sorting out my memories!

Every move — whether physical or emotional — needs a bit of order. A quiet inner settling.

For me, moving has always been more than packing boxes.

It’s the closure of a life chapter.

Since I became an adult, I’ve moved — either in rentals or my own properties — 14 times in about 20 years. And every time, I choose to leave most things behind.

No furniture. No appliances. Nothing that ties me to “having”. Because I strongly believe, that, who we are is not what we own.

My mother teases me sometimes… that I have no roots! But you know what they say: home is where your soul feels at peace.

But the photographs — those I always take with me.

Back in university, I gathered almost all of my family’s old photos. I had big plans to scan them, preserve them, and sort them into safe albums.

As little girls, we used to go through them endlessly — and, of course, we made a glorious mess of the original albums.

That childhood fascination is what drew me to family and portrait photography in the first place…Especially because I don’t have any baby photos of myself. Not even those famous romanian photos of babies totally naked and in the background some carpet on the wall with "The kidnaping from Serai", and the tv covered with doily and glass fish on top. I would show you an example, but as I don't have one of my own... I am a child of comunism, so, if you are born after 1990, you may not know what I am talking about.

But then life happened. My son David, was born. And through my work, I ended up taking care of everyone else’s memories.

On my “before we move” checklist, this is the most emotional step: organising my memories.

I took out the dusty piles of old photos. Started scanning, sorting, remembering.

They’re not just pictures of my family. They are traces of people who once lived. Some of them influenced my life directly. Others, indirectly. Some faces I vaguely recognise. Others I don’t know at all — but I carry their story forward.

I even rediscovered old postcards and 100+ year-old photographs I’d collected in university — back when I was obsessed with everything that held a sense of story, texture, time.

To me, they are a reminder of what truly matters: Time. People. Their memory.

So I’m taking my time now.

To enjoy this transition.

To honour it.

While I wait for the bureaucratic steps to settle down (that’s a story for another post 😉).

And you? What’s the one thing you must take with you when you move?