My Story

Fifteen years ago, while vacationing in Newport, Rhode Island, I ran across a family who spoke my first language. Surprised beyond belief to hear the familiar words on a tiny island in US, I approached them with curiosity. The father happened to grow up close to my place of birth and we immediately started digging through 'common folks back at home'. Unable to find a connecting thread and having reached our different lunch destinations, we were bringing the conversation to a close and then, as a last resort, he asked me what my last name was. When I told him (Cavar, my maiden name), he stopped in his tracks and looked at me in disbelief: 'Did you know Drago Cavar? He was a professor at medical school, died years ago...' and I smiled, knowingly: 'Yeah, he was my father.'

My dad passed away when I was five and as is common to children who lose a parent at such a young age, I spent the rest of my life wondering what it would be like to have really known him. For the 5 year old me, this tragic event was marked less by the trauma of what happened at that time and more by its quiet, lingering effect. Like adjusting to a missing limb, the wound eventually heals and you learn to live a completely normal life but part of you is forever gone and you never stop wondering what it would feel like to be whole again.

I went on to live a happy childhood despite other uncomfortable circumstances surrounding me during those years (courtesy of a true soldier of love my sister and I were blessed with in our mother). After surviving a brutal and ravaging war during my high school years, bringing with it loss of life, friendships, and dignity, I graduated from college and moved across the ocean with $400 in my pocket. I built a comfortable life, married (and later divorced!) a wonderful man who is still a best of friends, brought to this world two beautiful children, and built a successful career in IT. Our home, tiny by some of my  US friends' standards, is comfortably stylish, 100 percent imperfect, and more importantly, in the same school district we lived in prior to divorce. My life today is truly full of joy and wonder. (and just to be clear, this is not a brag list but more like a big picture narrative that can sometimes get lost in the details of the day if I stop paying attention)

RomUlla was born out of desire to 'go back to basics' and live my life with purpose. That random encounter in Newport thought me a lot I needed to know about my father, and more surprisingly, some of what I needed to know about myself. As my newfound friend went on and on about my dad changing his life by seeing in him something that nobody else could see, and crediting my dad for the successful and fulfilled version of a man standing in front of me that day, I realized that just like my dad, I was born with a gift. The gift of seeing humans. Beyond surface. The amazing and talented creatures they truly are, behind all the judgement and armor they acquired through their life's journey and beyond the stories they tell themselves, or others tell them, of who they are not or could not be.

You are a piece of art, dear Human. I may not know the details, the story of how you came to be, but I can recognize the fine lines, all the beautiful colors, and the negative space in between that matters more than you think!