I never thought that something as simple as cutting my dad’s hair would be one of the last memories I’d hold on to. For most of his life, he only paid $9 for a haircut. He never cared about fancy things. But when his barbershop closed during the pandemic, he finally let me do it. It felt like such a small thing at the time—but just a few days later, he had a sudden stroke.
And now, I carry that moment in my heart like a treasure. Because he went to heaven with a haircut I gave him.
My dad was the kind of man who was loved by everyone. He spent his life as a guidance counselor, helping kids find their path. He always wanted his own children to go further than he did, and for me, that meant college. At first, he supported my choice to go to beauty school. He thought it was just a way to pay my way through. But when I decided to make it my career—when I decided I didn’t need a degree—I think that disappointed him a little.
I worked hard. I built a career at a high-end salon. I was one of the busiest stylists there. Mom would come often, and she’d see me thriving. But Dad never came. For six years, he stayed away. Mom always covered for him—“He’s busy,” she’d say. But deep down, I wondered if he was ashamed of me.
It hurt. More than I admitted. And one night, after a few too many drinks, I confessed to Mom how much it broke me. A few days later, in the middle of a haircut, I saw him. My father—walking through the massive salon, looking so out of place in his jean shorts and t-shirt, holding a bouquet of flowers. He hugged me tighter than he ever had before and whispered: “Mija, I’m so proud of you. And I’m sorry it took me this long.”
That moment healed something inside me. It showed me that even when people don’t express it the way we want, love is still there. Quiet. Imperfect. But real.
And now, when it comes to relationships, I carry that lesson with me. I’ve been afraid of love before. Afraid that I’d be too much, or not enough. Afraid that someone would see me, but never really see me. But if my dad could walk through a crowded salon just to tell me he was proud, then maybe there’s a man out there who will walk into my life the same way. Not perfect, not polished, but brave enough to show up.
Because love isn’t about big gestures—it’s about the quiet moments that stay with you forever.
And I’m still waiting, still hoping, and still believing… that one day, someone will walk toward me with flowers, not because they have to, but because they truly see me.
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