It was a nice night in Baltimore on January 29, 2016.

I had huge aspirations, studied at the university of my dreams, and had finally found some self-esteem. As I was about to sleep, it seemed like one of my "new normal" days. Little did I know.

At that time, I had been waiting for almost 60 days for authorization to temporarily visit Brazil.

By then, the cuts on my arms had become scars, reminders of how unstable I had been—and how strong I was to have survived the last few months.

My family was always very loving. I was blessed with unconditional love, wonderful Sunday meals, and daily calls. My grandmother, whose death drowned me in regrets for not being able to say goodbye, had been the center of it all.

After she died, my grandfather learned how to be more affectionate.

We stood together.

And he had just left the hospital after many radiotherapy sessions and two strokes.

I said goodnight to Carol, who lived two floors above, and barely had time to brush my teeth before she came back.

Had she forgotten something?

By the look in her eyes, I knew something was wrong. But what?

Ten seconds of a movie with all the possibilities played in my mind. Then I found out. I was too late again.

He was gone.

I didn’t know what to feel or say. I just cried and wondered what my life would look like to others if I jumped out of the window at that second.

Missing one farewell? Unlucky. Missing two? Doomed.

I needed to show the world what I had lost. So I shaved my hair. My well-taken-care-of blue hair was gone. It didn’t matter anymore.

I needed a better way than alcohol, drugs, or sex to express my feelings.

To show the world I had lost part of me.

This is my frequent reminder that nothing matters more than this moment.

That I don’t have time to waste and nothing will ever be the same as it is right now.

My shaved hair, much more than style, symbolizes the absence of that love that filled me from head to toe.

It tells me to keep my loved ones close, hoping I’ll never miss a farewell again.

It's been eight years. Yet, I still remember it as if it were today.

And I still can’t let my hair grow.

Love isn’t like hair. But my hair reminds me of that love I felt.

Tell your loved ones you love them, you never know when your last chance is.