01-02/06 Chapter 409: Can you practice what you preach?
The weekend turned out surprisingly well. For the first time in ages, your dad and I got along without a single fight, which, honestly, felt like such a relief.
But the week ahead was going to be tricky. We had to keep you home from school until Wednesday because your surgery was scheduled for Thursday. And since your dad was completely swamped with work all week, most of the care would fall on me. Not that I mind, let’s be real, moms usually end up doing most of it anyway.
This morning, I decided to stop by the building across from the mall where I get my laser hair removal done, just to check on my session. I do laser almost everywhere because I really don’t like body hair. Last year, they had this amazing promotion—R$1200 for lifetime sessions on any part of the body. Of course, I signed up. I've been going regularly ever since, though sessions can only be booked every two months.
They usually send a confirmation text the day before each session, but this time, I hadn’t gotten any messages. I remembered my next appointment was supposed to be in late May, and here we were already in June. When I checked, I realized it had been scheduled for the 27th, meaning I’d missed it. But since they always send reminders, I didn’t feel entirely to blame.
The truth is, their lasers really work. I’ve seen such a big reduction in hair, and I was genuinely happy with the results. But their communication? A nightmare. Whenever you need to reschedule or get in touch for anything, it’s always a struggle. So there I was, dragging you along with me, paying for parking, using up gas, all because they wouldn't answer a simple message, and I was ready to go in there angry and demand answers.
But when I arrived, I got hit with a surprise: the receptionist calmly told me the place had shut down. I blinked. What do you mean shut down? She explained that the company had been shut down by the courts. Every branch, not just this one. National and even international locations were closed. The office was abandoned, deliveries were still showing up, and the employees had just stopped coming. And honestly? As much as it shocked me, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.
The first red flag was when they moved from the mall to a regular office building. The mall was much more visible, harder to hide from customers. Then they started reducing their working hours, and every time I went, the place was emptier than before. I had a gut feeling that something was going to happen, though I thought maybe just this location would close, not the entire franchise. So yes, I was upset. But surprised? Not really.
My first real worry was about why the courts shut them down. I panicked for a second. Was it a health issue? Was the laser equipment dangerous or harmful? But the receptionist quickly reassured me that it had nothing to do with the equipment. It was about labor complaints, mass layoffs, and unethical practices reported to consumer protection agencies. Nothing that would put my health at risk, which eased my mind a bit.
Still, what could I do? I’d paid over a thousand reais for a lifetime service I could no longer use. Now I’d have to start over somewhere else and spend even more. What hurt the most was that I’d liked that place—they used a lower intensity setting on me, since I’m sensitive to pain, and it still worked well. Since I was on a lifetime plan, they never had to crank it up.
The receptionist also told me that, just two weeks ago, a woman had paid around R$6000 for laser sessions for herself and her daughter only to have the company shut down the following week. Can you imagine? Losing six thousand reais like that? Sure, she could take them to court, but that’s a whole other headache—time, money, stress. It’s exhausting.
After that frustrating discovery, I thought we deserved a treat. I took you to the mall for milkshakes. I’d found a spot there that made a Leite Ninho and Nutella milkshake, probably the best I’ve ever had. But I was torn, because they also had pistachio, which I love. Today I decided to try the pistachio one, just to compare.
As we were heading to the milkshake place, a sweet-looking older lady pulling a little rolling suitcase stopped us and asked if I wanted to buy coloring books for you. She had Snow White ones and other characters, just R$15. I smiled and politely declined. We were already treating ourselves, and I now had this unexpected laser expense. Plus, let’s be honest, you already have a mountain of coloring books at home. You really didn’t need another one.
She insisted again, but I gently repeated that it wasn’t necessary.
We ended up in the elevator with her, along with another older woman and her adult son. Then the first lady asked the second if she liked crossword puzzles—a popular pastime among older folks—and the second woman said yes. They began chatting, and the seller took the opportunity to offer a crossword magazine with over 500 activities for just R$19. Really affordable. But the moment she turned it into a sales pitch, the second woman’s expression changed. She wasn’t interested, she had just been making conversation. The seller kept trying anyway, just like she had with me. And look, I admire her hustle—out working on a weekday afternoon, that’s no small thing. I just genuinely didn’t buy anything because we didn’t need it.
We finally got our milkshakes. I got the pistachio one, and you picked a pink cotton candy flavor, covered in colorful sprinkles. Mine was delicious, but I have to say, the Leite Ninho with Nutella is still my favorite. You absolutely devoured yours, it was so thick and creamy, it was practically ice cream.
But then, in the middle of our milkshake break, the woman came back. She started muttering something I couldn’t quite catch, so I smiled politely and nodded. But after a moment, I realized she was cursing me, insulting me. I froze, confused, trying to make sense of her words. She was saying things like our generation was ungrateful, that we trample over the older generation, and that one day we’d grow old and get a taste of our own medicine.
I was stunned, holding you in my arms, and all I could say was, “Ma’am, are you okay? What are you talking about?” I didn’t raise my voice, I just couldn’t believe what was happening.
After that, she threw a few more insults my way and walked off, leaving me completely stunned. I hadn't done anything to her. Absolutely nothing. Thankfully, you had no idea what was going on. You were too busy being happy and thrilled with your pink milkshake to even notice. And thank God for that.
But later, as we were driving home, I started thinking about it. And instead of feeling angry, I felt sorry for her. She was an elderly woman, out working in the afternoon, dragging a little suitcase around the mall. At her age, if she was still doing that, it must’ve been because she needed to. Maybe she just wanted to sell something. Maybe she just wanted someone to notice her. And maybe that day had been a total bust—no sales, no kindness—and I became the unfortunate target of her frustration.
And you know, sometimes we need to be kind even when people are rude to us. Kindness can disarm even the harshest person. When someone is being cruel, the last thing they expect is gentleness in return, and that’s exactly what takes them off guard. But that's the hardest part, isn’t it? Taking a deep breath and responding with kindness when someone is trying to hurt you. I didn’t manage it in the moment. I was caught off guard, just reacting, like most people do. It’s in our nature to react first and reflect later. That’s why people say you should never make decisions when you’re upset—and they’re right.
Later, I thought: what if I had just invited her to sit with us? What if I’d listened, even if I didn’t buy anything? Just giving her a little attention might have been enough to brighten her day. I could’ve taken her number and said I’d share her work with some friends, even if I wasn’t buying at the time. That alone might have made her feel seen, appreciated. Or honestly? I could’ve just bought the stupid coloring book. Sure, I’m saving up for the apartment and a million other things, but what is R$15, really? It might have made her day. It might have made her feel like her effort mattered to someone.
And then I realized something else. I missed an opportunity. Not just to be kind to a stranger, but to show you something. To set a better example, right there in front of you. I could’ve shown you that we can make the world a little better, one tiny act at a time. I could’ve shown you that even when someone’s being unpleasant, we still have the power to respond with compassion. I have a charity group, I preach daily/weekly/monthly about doing good, and when I have the opportunity right in front of me, I couldn't practice what I preach.
Sometimes we only realize these things too late.
05/06 Chapter 409: Can you practice what you preach?
Your surgery was scheduled for 7:30 a.m., but the hospital asked us to arrive 2 hours early. That meant we needed to be there by 5:30 a.m., so your dad stayed over at the house, and I set the alarm for 4:30. By 5:00, we were on the road, and thanks to the early hour, there was no traffic. We arrived right on time.
Even with empty streets, the hospital wasn’t exactly close. It still took us about half an hour to get there, and if it had been later in the day, it could’ve taken an hour or more. So, that was one benefit of having such an early surgery slot. You woke up briefly but fell right back asleep in the car, only really waking up when we arrived at the hospital, probably because the environment was unfamiliar. We checked in at 5:30, and everything moved quickly. They directed us to the room in less than ten minutes, which was great. I should mention that the front desk had no issue accepting your documents by email. Can you believe that? /irony. Another hospital added to the list of places that accept scanned documents for check-in—and not just for a simple X-ray, but for a surgery under general anesthesia! That makes four establishments now, against just one—Delboni. Maybe it’s time they reconsider their outdated policies. Or perhaps it was just that specific location we went to, where the supervisor insisted on in-person originals. I’m not sure. Either way, I plan to file a formal complaint online to see how they respond.Honestly, if this hospital performed more than just ENT surgeries, I’d choose it every time for their care, gentleness, and thoughtful approach. Eventually, the syrup arrived and you took it, but at first, it didn’t seem to change anything.
A bit later, a doctor came in and explained that the procedure would last about an hour and a half, and you’d stay in the recovery room for another 40 minutes afterward. If you woke up crying or panicked, they’d call one of us in to be with you, and I was pretty sure they would call. I couldn’t imagine you waking up with a sore throat and nose, disoriented, and just staying calm.
Then they brought the tablet. You grabbed it happily, and to my surprise, you even sat calmly on the stretcher while holding my hand. You already seemed a little loopy—your gaze distant, barely able to hold the tablet properly—which made both Mommy and Daddy laugh as we rode up in the elevator.
My mom didn’t stay long because by 4 p.m., we were discharged. Later on, I noticed your hands—one of them had the catheter secured with a thick bandage, much better than the way they did it at Sabará. But the other hand had a bruised vein, meaning they had tried and failed to find a good vein. I was just grateful you’d been unconscious when it happened. You didn’t feel a thing. You're so tiny, so delicate, and already going through surgery. I’ve had my tonsils and septum removed too, both at once, and yea, it was rough. But not the nightmare everyone makes it out to be. They say it’s much worse for adults, but honestly? My wisdom teeth surgery was far worse. I think I already mentioned that in earlier chapters—how one dentist removed the wrong tooth the first time, and the second one pierced my nerve. After we were discharged, we were surprised by how much you slept. You barely opened your eyes. But the ride home… that was another story. What had taken 30 min in the morning turned into a 2-hour ordeal in the evening, thanks to rush hour and earlier rain. It was hell. It honestly felt like we could’ve driven from São Paulo to Caraguatatuba in the time it took us to go 15 kilometers. Two and a half hours. I really hate this city sometimes. Thankfully, you slept through the whole thing, still under the effects of the anesthesia. We stopped at the apartment to wait for your grandpa to finish up some work. While we were there, your dad came by to visit. You weren’t in the mood for small talk, you were grumpy, in pain, and just wanted to watch cartoons, so that’s exactly what we let you do. Despite everything, you weren’t crying from the pain. You were just cranky. I bought you strawberry and cream Italian ice cream. At first, you resisted it, but eventually you gave in and ended up enjoying it.
06/06 Chapter 410: Reality chasing dreams
Despite the rough night, you woke up as if it had never happened—happy, chatty, and full of energy. It truly felt like a miracle.
The first thing you wanted was to watch cartoons with Grandpa, and off you went, hand in hand, down the stairs with him.
Later, we figured out why you didn’t want your pacifier during the night because your mouth had tiny sores, probably from the intubation. My dad said maybe it’s a good time to try weaning you off it. And honestly, why not?
Lately, you’ve been obsessed with Cinderella. She’s your favorite princess—just like she was mine. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You keep asking to watch YouTube clips of her best moments—your favorites are when she loses the glass slipper on the stairs, and when she pulls the other slipper from her pocket and everyone realizes she’s the one.
You also love Moana and Elsa, and recently found a six-minute video showing all the Disney princesses together. You’ve watched those six minutes hundreds of times. You’re completely enchanted.
Sometimes I tease you, saying I’m Cinderella and you’re Pocahontas—and you protest in tears, shouting, “No! I’m Cinderella!” It’s the cutest thing.
I always dreamed of having a little girl to watch Disney movies with, someone who’d fall in love with the princesses just like I did. I’ve always been a dreamer, and Disney had a lot to do with that. Those stories, especially the princess ones, shaped how I saw love, fairytales, and happy endings. But there’s a danger in that too, because real life doesn’t play by fairytale rules.
Fairytales teach us that the world is magical, that good always wins, and that kindness and dreaming are enough to make everything turn out right. For a long time, I believed that. And maybe that belief protected me for a while… but it also left me unprepared.
The real world isn’t always fair. Sometimes good people suffer, and those who hurt others get ahead. Pain comes without warning, and happy endings don’t always arrive.
It’s hard to tell you this, especially while your view of the world is still so pure. But I have to, because I love you. Believing that life is always magical and just can leave you defenseless. And when that bubble bursts—as it always does—the shock can be heartbreaking. It feels like betrayal. Like the world lied.
Dreaming is beautiful. Light. Magical. And I want you to keep dreaming. I want you to believe in goodness, in magic, in happy endings. But I also want you to know something I learned the hard way: life doesn’t follow the fairytale script. Sometimes the prince doesn’t come. Sometimes he comes but doesn’t stay. Sometimes he’s not that charming after all. Sometimes the castle turns into routine, the glass slipper hurts, and “happily ever after” doesn’t last as long as we’d hoped. That hurts—because the higher we dream, the harder the fall. Reality chases and crushes dreams—without mercy, without warning, without grace.
But that doesn’t mean you should stop dreaming. It just means you need to dream with your feet on the ground. To know you are already whole. That anyone who comes along is there to walk beside you, not to complete you.
With time, you’ll learn it’s possible to live in both worlds—the real and the imagined. You can carry your dreams in your pocket like Cinderella’s glass slipper, but walk with strength and clarity. You can be sweet, but not naive. Loving, but never submissive. Trusting, but never blind.
And even when the world feels dark, remember: you can be the light. That light comes from the love you receive—but even more, from the love you learn to give yourself.
Always dream. But love yourself more than any made-up happy ending. Because the most beautiful ending is the one you create—day by day—with courage, with choice, and with truth.
I love you more than all the fairytales combined.
Mom.
07/06 Chapter 411: How did love slip away?
You just keep getting better. This morning at breakfast, you asked Grandpa for the soft center of the bread and kept snooping around the pantry—clear signs that your appetite is coming back. You actually managed to eat the bread, which was such a good sign. Every day, you seem a little stronger.
And guess what? Your second night without a pacifier. I can hardly believe it. Could it really be this easy? It almost feels too good to be true.
Your dad surprised me today—he said he wanted to spend the afternoon with you at my parents’ house. So I picked him up, and we agreed that if he didn’t want to stay overnight, he’d head back with my car, and then on Sunday or Monday, your grandma would take us home in hers. But the afternoon went so smoothly, and you had so much fun with him, that by evening you were completely worn out. You fell asleep in an instant, and your dad ended up staying.
My mom and I even convinced him to watch a movie with us—White Bird, a story set during the Nazi era. We’re all drawn to films like that.
Your grandpa didn’t join us, he was exhausted and ended up napping next to you. And in the end, it was just me and, surprisingly, my mom who watched the whole thing. Your dad fell asleep halfway through. My mom, who usually dozes off during anything longer than a commercial break, actually stayed awake this time.
The movie itself, though slow-paced, was truly beautiful. It reminded me of Schindler’s List—a black-and-white film, slow-paced too, but by the second half, every minute becomes worth it. This one felt the same.
Any film that portrays the horrors of Nazism between 1939 and 1945 always hits me deeply. It stirs something in my chest and brings me to tears.
I’ve never fully understood the ongoing historical conflict between Israel and Iraq, or Iran, for that matter. Honestly, I’m no expert, it’s not something I know in depth. But even with my limited understanding, one thing is clear: nothing, absolutely nothing, justifies war. Nothing justifies the violence and slaughter both sides have inflicted on one another.
The same goes for Nazi Germany. I don’t fully understand why Hitler and so much of Germany at the time harbored such hatred for the Jews. But I do know that there is no possible justification for what they did to innocent people. To children. To the elderly. To babies.
How did love slip away like that?
I know love is something the world has always lacked, and still does. But how did it come to this? How could seemingly normal people—people who lived ordinary lives—begin to hunt Jews like animals and have the coldness to burn them alive?
We’re talking about human beings.
How did it happen? How did they lose touch so completely with their own humanity? It's terrifying to realize how easily love can vanish when fear, ignorance, and power take its place. And what breaks my heart the most is that we keep repeating it. In different ways, with different names, different enemies, but always the same underlying disease: the absence of love. The refusal to care. The unwillingness to see value in lives that don't look like ours, speak like ours, or pray like we do.
We build walls instead of bridges. We teach children to be proud of flags, but not of compassion. We learn to win arguments instead of listening to pain. And then we wonder why history repeats itself. Love is not just a soft, poetic word. It’s a force that protects. That resists hate. That says no when injustice knocks on the door. And without it, we become lost—again and again.
That’s why I look at you, my child, and I hope. I hope you’ll grow up to be kind. To be brave. To be someone who chooses love, even when the world tells you it’s naïve. Because if more people had chosen love back then, maybe things would’ve been different.
And maybe, if more of us choose it now, we can stop it from ever happening again.
10/06 Chapter 412: The Innocent Can Never Last
Today we went to the doctor, and he officially gave you the all-clear to return to your normal routine, including school. He was genuinely surprised at how quickly your throat healed.
On the way home, I stopped by one of my favorite sweet shops, Pikurruchas. You picked out a brigadeiro, and I grabbed a few treats for myself. I watched you sitting in the armchair, carefully eating your chocolate, looking so grown up. There we were, out together on a weekday afternoon. It hit me that not long ago, you couldn’t even walk—you spent most of your time nestled in my arms. And now? Not only are you walking, you're holding my hand as we go places together. My little sidekick.
During the drive back, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and an ache settled in my chest. It's been four days since you stopped using your pacifier, and it seems like we’ve truly said goodbye to it. It happened more smoothly than I expected—maybe the surgery played a part. You had mouth sores, and the moment you tried to suck on the pacifier, it hurt. You began to associate it with pain, and from there, slowly let it go.
I had been so anxious about this moment, afraid you’d struggle like I did when mine was taken away. But instead, it just… happened. And while that brings relief and joy, it also brings this bittersweet sadness. Because it means you're no longer my baby. You’ve grown into a little girl. It breaks my heart a little knowing I’ll never again see you searching for your pacifier before bed, pouting and teary-eyed as you asked for it. I’ll never again see your sweet face partially hidden behind it, that unmistakable image of a baby. And just knowing I’ll never see that again stirs something deep inside me.
Watching your child grow is one of life’s greatest joys. Every little milestone, every new phase is a wonder. But it also comes with tiny heartbreaks. Crawling turns to walking. Bottles are replaced with little cups. Diapers give way to underwear. And while I love seeing you grow and blossom, I secretly hope—just a little—that you'll always be my baby.
But time doesn’t wait. Childhood slips quietly through our fingers, no matter how tightly we try to hold on. One day it's pacifiers and soft lullabies… and then suddenly, it's backpacks and big questions about the world. And the innocence—the pure, unfiltered magic of those early years—begins to fade.
I know that’s how it’s meant to be. That nothing stays small and untouched forever. But still, I wish I could freeze time just for a little while longer. Just long enough to memorize every part of you exactly as you are now.
Because the innocent can never last.
But oh, how beautiful it is while it does.
12/06 Chapter 413: If Only For a Night
Tonight was special. Here in Brazil, Valentine’s Day is celebrated on June 12th, and since your dad and I are no longer together, we decided to do something the three of us—just as we are now.
To my surprise, your dad really made an effort. Whatever missteps he made on Mother’s Day were completely redeemed tonight. He showed up around 7 p.m., holding a flower for me and another for you. And he brought you a heart-shaped balloon, which you clung to like it was treasure.
Then came something even more unexpected: he drove (a small miracle!) and took us to a restaurant he had chosen himself. Not one of those usual, familiar spots we’re so used to—this place was different, a little more refined. It felt like a special outing. He even mentioned that it reminded him of the kind of places he used to go to with his parents back in his hometown.
We had to wait about 20 minutes for a table, but once inside, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. The dishes were beautifully presented and looked absolutely delicious. We ordered some fries for you, but the real star of the evening was an incredible fried cheese with bacon and onions—rich, savory, and satisfying. It was so good I didn’t even bother ordering a main course after that.
Your dad ordered a steak, which the two of you enjoyed together. I passed—rare meat isn’t really my thing. And to finish, we shared a dessert: the best alfajor I think I’ve ever had. Soft, sweet, and just perfect.
The bill came to a little over R$300, and to my surprise, your dad paid for everything. He joked that I was probably expecting him to—but I swear I wasn’t.
It was a different kind of night. No arguments, no awkwardness, no tension. Just peace, laughter, and a quiet kind of joy. It wasn’t about romance, or grand declarations—it was something simpler, but maybe even more meaningful.
It was… wonderful.
13-16/06 Chapter 414: Just Trying to Hold It All Together
The weekend was pure fun! I took you and Rafinha to the beach, just the three of us in the car. Everyone was a bit worried because driving alone with both of you always comes with risks. What if one of you felt sick or threw up and I had no one to help? I’ll admit I was a little nervous, but to my surprise, everything went way more smoothly than I expected.
Initially, the plan was to follow my grandparents, but my grandma woke up with back pain and had to go to the doctor. So I decided to leave earlier on my own, which turned out to be a much better idea, I could drive at my own pace, in my own rhythm. Traveling while following someone else’s car is always kind of a pain.
And truly, the trip was peaceful. You two behaved so well, barely made a sound, and even took a 40-minute nap. I couldn’t have asked for more.
Luckily, I had put diapers on both of you even though you're already used to using the potty, because what would I have done if one of you had to pee in the middle of nowhere? Best case, I’d have to stop somewhere inconvenient. Worst case? No place to stop, and the car ends up smelling like pee.
We were supposed to leave home around 10, but your dad took about 30 minutes longer to drop you off (you’d slept at his place the night before), and Tayna also took a while to bring Rafinha. Your dad was late because you didn’t want to wake up and your mood was awful. But that’s always how you are when someone wakes you up. You’re only cheerful when you wake up on your own, and even that’s not a guarantee.
He also said you seemed to be coming down with something because you were sneezing and had a runny nose. That instantly triggered me. Every time you stay over at his place, he comes back with this paranoia that you’re getting sick.
I got even more stressed when I asked him to put a diaper on you while I was running around getting everything ready, and he didn’t agree to do it. We ended up bickering right in front of Rafael and Tayna. Not ideal… but it is what it is.
We finally arrived at the beach around 3:30 p.m. and went straight to lunch. Lately, your appetite has improved so much. It's getting way better, and that makes me incredibly happy. Later, we went down to the beach, but only for a little while since we got there late in the day.
My grandparents arrived a bit later and enjoyed spending time with you both too.
We had some truly wonderful days at the beach. You and Rafinha had your moments of joy and your fair share of fights too, which, honestly, left us all a bit on edge. Rafinha, my sweet little nephew, has started to throw full-on tantrums whenever he hears “no.” He even began to hit sometimes, which is such a tricky behavior to navigate. And you two… well, you’ve never been great at sharing.
I bought two identical blue shell-shaped pillows for our beach room—and somehow, you two still managed to fight over them. Rafinha wanted the exact one you were holding, and even though they were exactly the same, you refused to trade. That happened more than once.
My dad got a huge, colorful ball, and believe it or not, it sparked more fights than fun. Teaching kids to share is one of the hardest lessons. Showing them that playing together can actually be more fun than playing alone, it’s a work in progress.
You had ice cream every single day, while Rafinha always turned it down. Instead, he’d scoop a little bowl full of sprinkles, calling them “M&Ms.”
Your dad barely spoke to me during the trip. I think he was still mad about the fight we had back at the apartment.
Tomorrow we’re heading back to São Paulo. I have a doctor’s appointment with a plastic surgeon, and your grandma has one too. She’s been worried about her eye. It’s still swollen, and the other one is bruised. She said that with this type of surgery, the bruising should be gone in 30 days, and hers isn’t. Honestly, I’m starting to get worried too. It was supposed to be a relatively minor, simple procedure, and she’s still dealing with all this. It’s been tough.
17/06 Chapter 415: There's a dark cloud over me and I can't shake it off
We made it back from the beach without any trouble. The drive was easy, mostly because you both slept through most of it, and thankfully, there was no traffic.
Before heading home, though, we had to make a stop at your grandma’s doctor. She’s been worried about her eye. It’s still bruised on one side, and now the other one is red and irritated too.
The clinic is in Ibirapuera. It’s not far in terms of distance, but the traffic in that area is always a nightmare.
You both woke up just as we were nearing São Paulo, and you were so sweet in the car—calm, well-behaved, just perfect.
We got to the clinic a little before 2 PM, and it was packed. Still, it didn’t take long for your grandma to be called in.
Since you had just woken up, your energy was at full blast. I tried to stay outside with you to let her go in peacefully. But when we stepped inside, you immediately spotted a giant aquarium. The receptionist warned us not to go behind it, but Rafinha, of course, didn’t listen. I went over to pull him back, and that’s when the meltdown began.
He’s at that age where the word “no” feels like betrayal. The moment I touched him, he threw himself on the floor and started screaming like the world was ending. And there I was, trying to get him under control while strangers stared. You, on the other hand, stood quietly by my side like a little lady. You hate public scenes. You shrink the second you feel eyes on you.
When your grandma came out of the bathroom, she managed to finally get him away from the aquarium. But he was furious with me, which is expected. Kids don’t stay mad for long, but in that tiny window of anger, they’ll lash out. He even tried to hit me, and your grandma had to step in and correct him.
That’s the hard part about parenting: discipline. Everyone has a different approach. If you try to hit me, I’ll swat your hand. But you can’t do that with someone else’s kid. It’s just not right. Some parents talk it out, others follow the “positive parenting” playbook. Me? I’m old-school. I remember once you bit me, and I bit you back. You never did it again.
But what works for one child might not work for another. Some respond to kindness, others to firmness. Every kid is different, and parenting isn’t black and white. There’s no one-size-fits-all. That’s why I always say that motherhood is something you figure out day by day. No book, no therapist, no expert can truly teach you how to be a mother. It’s something you learn by living, by knowing your child, and learning who you are in the process.
When your grandma finally saw the doctor, she was in and out in minutes. That’s always been my issue with Dr. André. Is he a good surgeon? I think so. I had two breast implants with him, and I liked the results. But he’s not the type of doctor who sits down and talks things through. He doesn’t really listen. He moves fast, explains everything in a rush, and makes decisions based on what he thinks is best.
His prices are low, mostly because he operates in a pretty basic hospital. It’s dedicated to plastic surgery, but it’s basic. And because of that, his procedures cost a fraction of what others charge at more reputable hospitals.
I do believe hospitals matter, especially when it comes to hygiene and emergencies. But in the end, the doctor you choose, the trust you place in them, that’s what really matters. And while I do believe he’s experienced, I also think he makes mistakes. Just take a look at his Google reviews: 4.4 rating, but many women are unhappy. Some say he ignored their wishes, others talk about bad scarring, stitches that didn’t hold, or post-op infections.
Even today, in the waiting room, a woman was crying because her stitches had come undone. She was scared, overwhelmed. And when I think about it all… that dark cloud I’ve been feeling lately? It starts to take shape. It whispers that I shouldn’t go through with the liposuction. Not with him.
This isn’t just a silicone implant like I did at 18, which, by the way, was one of the best things I ever did for myself. That surgery changed my self-esteem completely. No regrets. But this? Liposuction is serious. It’s not something you do with a doctor who rushes you in and out in ten seconds.
Take my evaluation for example. He didn’t even charge me for it, which at first sounded great. But the whole thing lasted under ten seconds. I couldn’t even tell him what bothered me. I didn’t get to show him photos, ask questions, nothing. I would’ve rather paid full price for a proper consultation, one where I could walk out feeling informed and confident, instead of confused and uneasy. That uneasy feeling again. That cloud.
Even my mom’s post-op has been frustrating. She had blepharoplasty, and her bruise has lasted more than 30 days. That’s not normal. She tried to talk to him about it, but he didn’t even seem to remember how long it had been. A doctor should walk into a follow-up with your file in hand, ready to listen, to reassure or address a real concern. Instead, she left with nothing. No ointment, no guidance, no proper check-up. Just a vague “you’re fine.” But sometimes things are not fine.
We drove all the way there, spent money on gas, waited, and he spent ten seconds with her. Ten seconds. No prescription, no plan, no real help. Just a dismissal.
That’s why even though I’ve been wanting this liposuction I’m not doing it with him. It’s not a simple procedure, and I need a doctor who actually sees me. Who listens. Who pays attention.
Tomorrow I have an appointment with a new doctor that someone recommended. He’s supposed to be excellent. I’m hopeful. Maybe it’ll be different this time.
After the appointment, since we were already in Moema—a part of the city we rarely visit—and everyone was hungry, I searched for a kid-friendly place to eat. I found a burger joint that looked fun, with colorful buns and milkshakes. It seemed like a good idea.
It wasn’t.
It was a franchise, and the moment we walked in, the first girl who served us looked like she hated her life. Her attitude soured everything right from the start.
The food itself was cheap—R$50 per adult for several mini-burgers to try. Kids ate free. We could also choose three appetizers, and we ordered three types of fries. You and your cousin devoured the round ones. Rafael didn’t eat the burgers, and you barely touched yours. And, of course, the colorful buns? Nowhere in sight. So much for that.
And trying to keep you both calm without screens? A nightmare. You fought, you made a mess, we couldn’t enjoy a bite. A different waitress, who saw the chaos unfolding, ended up taking over our table out of pity. She was better than the first, but still far from great.
My mom didn’t like the food. I thought it was okay, but nothing memorable. We shared a milkshake—Ninho with Nutella, it was delicious. It came in a little inflatable float, so of course I had to buy a second one to avoid a war between you two.
But honestly, the worst part wasn’t the food or the noise. It was the drive back. We left the burger place at 4:20 PM. We didn’t get home until almost 7. Two hours in traffic. The same amount of time it takes to get from São Sebastião to São Paulo. Driving in São Paulo is hell. You can’t move. It's stop-and-go for miles. And there’s always that fear of being robbed on top of everything else.
When we finally arrived, your dad came to get you from the car. I didn’t even get out. I headed straight to your grandma’s to pack and catch up on work. But I completely forgot that all the packages were at the apartment, not her place. So I had to go all the way back. Total waste of time.
And you wouldn’t believe the mess waiting for me at home. But honestly? I think I’m just going to keep working from the apartment now. Going back and forth to your grandparents’ twice a week while you’re in school is just too draining. I’ll take the messy apartment if it means a little more peace in my schedule.
I came back from the beach ready to work, but we lost the entire day between the doctor and that failed lunch outing. We got into the city before 2 PM, but didn’t get home until 7. The whole thing was one long mistake. And I had to pull an all-nighter to catch up. Thank God your dad kept you overnight. I wouldn’t have managed otherwise.
18/06 Chapter 416: The future that it hold it's so unclear
Today was the long-awaited appointment with the plastic surgeon I’d scheduled nearly a month ago. When I typed the clinic's address into Waze to go with my mom, I told her how much closer this doctor was compared to the one from yesterday, in Ibirapuera. This new one was just twenty minutes from home.
We got there quickly and were seen right on time, without any delays.
The clinic was beautiful. Elegant, spacious, and impeccably decorated. Just by walking into the waiting room, we knew this wasn’t going to be cheap.
When the doctor called us in, his office turned out to be even more impressive than the waiting room, if that’s even possible. We started talking and cleared up a bunch of questions. I told him I already had a plastic surgeon, the one who did my breast implants and had operated on almost everyone in my family, but that I didn’t feel confident going to him for liposuction.
He started by saying that the hospital where my old doctor operates is actually quite bad, one of those places where, if something goes wrong, it goes really wrong. He mentioned that lipo complications can result in death and listed a few hospitals that were on the same level: simple, risky, and not the kind of place you'd want to be for surgery.
He stressed how important it is to choose the right hospital, but made it clear that above all, the most important decision is choosing the right surgeon, someone you trust completely.
He explained a lot of technical things, honestly, most of it went over my head, but one thing stood out: he’s never lost a patient to liposuction. Despite being relatively young, probably in his early forties, he seemed incredibly experienced. His Instagram has over 67,000 followers and is full of successful case studies and surgery videos. He even mentioned that in the last four years, he’s never once needed a blood transfusion during surgery. That gave me peace of mind.
And honestly, I already knew I was going to trust him. The moment the person who recommended him said his name, something inside me just calmed. I can’t explain it. It was like my heart had already decided.
He asked me to stand and started marking my belly with a pen, pointing out what he saw. He explained that the issue was that my lower abdomen stretches down quite a bit, and that lipo alone might not be enough. He recommended a combo of liposuction and a full abdominoplasty with muscle repair, a surprise to both me and my mom. I hadn’t expected that.
He also recommend tighten the abdominal muscles so the shape doesn’t relapse (correct the diastasis). While liposuction alone would already help a lot, he explained that without addressing the top portion, I’d still have some folding when I sat down. With the combo procedure, everything would be smooth—waist to back, front to sides.
What upset me a little wasn't the abdominoplasty suggestion, but the part where he said he wouldn’t touch my breasts. I like larger breasts, and he said my current implants are already the largest size that fits behind the muscle. If I wanted something bigger, it wouldn't fit properly and the result wouldn’t be aesthetically pleasing. So he strongly advised against changing them.
We ended up staying there for over an hour and a half, and I left feeling confident but nervous about the price. When his assistant called us into the financial room, she told us the fee for the medical team would be R$58,800, plus just over R$6,000 for the hospital since part of it is covered by my health plan. That part actually made us happy. The plan also reimburses about R$4,000 of the surgeon's fee.
So in total, it’ll be around R$62,000–63,000. I didn’t want to risk losing the September date—his next availability—so I went ahead and secured it with a R$10,000 deposit.
I could feel my mom didn’t quite agree with how fast I made that decision. She kept nudging my foot under the table, probably thinking I was rushing. But that’s just how I am—once I decide I want something, it’s nearly impossible to talk me out of it.
The ride home was a nightmare. We hit horrendous traffic. The consultation ran longer than I thought, so we didn’t leave until 5:30 PM—and you get out of school at 6:00. With all that traffic, we only got there at 6:30. Thankfully, your school stays open until the last child is picked up, and they’re always so kind about that. I’ve only been late twice… hopefully no more.
Driving around São Paulo gets worse every day. There’s no such thing as rush hour anymore—it’s traffic all the time, anywhere, anytime.
But anyway... it’s official: I’m having the surgery. And this time, I’m not anxious. I’m not scared. I know everything is going to be okay. I’m going to enjoy my new body and feel good again. But I’ll admit—there’s a lot swirling around me right now.
I had a baby. I separated from your father. My U.S. visa is still pending. I’ve got an apartment about to be completed this year. And yes, I still want to have another baby someday.
Not now—of course not now. Not without your dad, and not while planning for this surgery. But I wonder: will waiting two more years be a problem? People say that after 35, it gets harder to get pregnant. And honestly, that worries me more than the surgery itself.
More than anything, I just want to be a mother again. I want to give you a brother—or a sister.
But baby steps. Slowly, and steadily.
One step at a time, and let’s see what this uncertain future holds for us.
Little by little, things are falling into place.
19-22/06 Chapter 417 Take me where the salt heals
We had such a lovely time at the beach. We left on Thursday a little after 11 and arrived there just past 2 in the afternoon.
Lately, we’ve been so happy because your appetite has really picked up. The first thing you asked for when we got to the beach house was lunch, and we gladly served it.
That first evening, we caught the most perfect late-afternoon beach day. Even your grandpa came along, though he didn’t stay long—work was calling. Still, your dad, your grandma, you and I enjoyed a sweet little slice of the beach together, and we all really needed it. Your dad even said that just half an hour sitting there, playing with you in the sand, had already melted away all the stress of his workweek. I knew exactly what he meant—it’s like the beach lifts the weight right off your shoulders, like getting a massage and walking out of the room feeling light and brand new.
Since it was a long weekend due to holidays, your dad didn’t initially want to stay until Sunday. He was worried four days would be too much time with my parents and too many possible battles over cartoons and snacks—the very things that once drove us apart. So we planned to leave on Saturday after the beach.
But something unexpected happened: he actually started enjoying himself. On Saturday, he was the one who asked if we could stay one more day, as long as traffic wasn’t too bad. I can’t explain how happy that made me. The fact that it came from him, that he wanted to stay longer, that he was enjoying the place, and our company, brought me back to how things used to be. Back when he genuinely liked being around my parents. It meant a lot.
The next few beach days were just the three of us—your dad, you, and me—which made him enjoy it even more. I even told my mom that part of what made him so comfortable was the unspoken agreement we all stuck to: no junk food for you, almost no TV. Just one night you laid down and watched a cartoon for a bit with my parents before bed, but even that was quick. Everyone worked together, no one stepped on anyone’s toes. My parents didn’t give him any reason to complain, and he didn’t complain about anything. That’s all I’ve ever wanted: for everyone to just get along.
He also noticed how much better you’ve been eating, and that made him happy too. We went out for ice cream together every day. Even when you picked flavors he hates, I made sure to balance it by choosing fruit-flavored scoops that he likes. It became a little ritual we all enjoy.
One morning, he even got up early, went for a run on the beach, and stopped by a convenience store on the way back to pick up fresh croissants, chocolate bread, and even a little cake just for you. He got to do his running by the ocean, and that always lifts his spirits.
And we had fun together, your dad and I. For two nights, we carved out time to just enjoy ourselves while my parents stayed with you. If we’d gone on this trip alone, the family time would’ve been great, but we wouldn’t have had that chance to play and unwind. Those two nights, we played ping-pong for almost an hour, even foosball. The only thing we didn’t get to do was play tennis on the condo court because they don’t provide rackets, so we’ll have to buy some.
We also had fun playing beach paddleball, and every time we played, we made silly little bets. Your dad always won, except once. There was one round of ping-pong where we didn’t bet anything… and that’s when I finally won. So unfair! The one time I beat him and there’s nothing on the line. And beating him isn’t easy—he played tennis professionally. He even got into an American college on a sports scholarship because of it.
And ping-pong, really, is just table tennis. I used to be pretty good at it too. I’d play for hours with Roberta, my former friend from the building I grew up in.
One night, I had churros with my mom (something I try to allow myself only once a year because, well, churros are ridiculously high in calories). The churro place was in a cute little square with food stands and a few kids’ attractions. There was an inflatable bounce house, but you were scared to go in, so your grandma paid for you to jump on the trampoline instead—ten minutes of pure joy.
That same night, we found one of those claw machines where you try to win stuffed animals. Your dad and I tried a few times—it was only R$2 per play—but no luck. There was a couple waiting behind us, and the guy ended up winning four plushies. He offered one to you, and it lit up your whole face.
That moment brought back a flood of memories. When I was little, your grandpa—my dad—was obsessed with those machines. He was amazing at them. He’d win plush toys for me, for my sister, for all our cousins. It was kind of his thing.
Your dad wasn’t ready to give up, though. After we got home that night, he snuck back out and returned with a prize—a little green frog just for you. So by the end of the night, you had a pink owl and a green frog. Two treasures, and one very happy little girl.
The condo was surprisingly full of residents rather than renters, which caught us off guard, especially for a holiday weekend. We asked around and didn’t come across anyone who was just renting for a few days. Another thing I noticed was that there were quite a few kids around but mostly older ones.
One evening, a group of three kids, probably around seven to nine years old, came up to us, curious about why we were speaking English. They asked if we were foreigners, and we explained the whole thing. Not long after, they saw your dad and me playing hide-and-seek with you around the condo at night, and of course, they wanted to join in. Why not? It sounded like fun.
But there was a problem — one of the boys, ironically the cutest of the three, had the filthiest mouth I’ve ever heard on a child. I mean, every other word that came out of him was some kind of profanity. Actually, scratch that — more than every other word. If he said ten words, twelve were swear words. It was unreal. And when he wasn’t cursing, he was making rude gestures — showing his middle finger, grabbing his crotch — or throwing around shockingly crude, even sexual, language. Eventually, your dad and I had no choice but to pull you away. It just wasn’t something we wanted you exposed to.
I couldn’t help but wonder: What kind of upbringing has this child had? I mean, how can the parents not notice any of this? Either he learned all that at home, or he’s doing it all behind their backs — which honestly seems unlikely, considering the way he carried himself. The saddest part is that the other two kids were actually polite and well-behaved. If I were their parent, there’s no way I’d let my child hang out with someone so out of control, especially with such filthy behavior.
Maybe the parents have no idea what he’s like outside the house. But honestly? That kid needs some serious slaps. No joke.
Don’t get me wrong — I swear. Probably more than I should. But everything has its time and place. Swearing isn’t the only thing in my vocabulary. I use it in moments of stress, sadness, frustration — when it makes sense. And I try to be mindful of where and around whom I’m speaking.
As a teenager, I swore too. And sure, I used slang. But never like that. I have never seen a child speak that way, not at that age. That kid wasn’t just throwing out the occasional bad word. He was on a mission. It was as if he thought his foul mouth would impress us, like he genuinely believed we’d be amazed by how "grown-up" he sounded.
In his mind, I’m sure he thought he was killing it. That we’d see him as mature, cool, or tough. And honestly, I bet he does the same around his friends. They laugh at what he says, but they don’t repeat it, probably because they know better. They know they’d get in trouble at home. He, on the other hand, clearly thinks this kind of talk earns him points.
Sigh... Kids like that think acting older means acting worse.
While we were at the beach, I kept in touch with my friend Nádia, who was also in São Sebastião with her husband. She’d been trying to find a day and time to visit us, but something always seemed to get in the way. Then, on Saturday, she messaged to say she’d meet us at the beach, and to my delight, she really did show up, along with her husband. We spent some time enjoying the sun and the waves, and afterward, we all headed straight to your grandfather’s house for a barbecue he was preparing.
A beach house, grilled food, good companym, and my daughter healthy and smiling. Up to that point, I think it had been the longest stretch you’d gone without any setbacks since your surgery. Such a blessing.
As for the barbecue, we discovered something new about you: you are absolutely obsessed with picanha. You ate at least six slices—fat and all—and couldn’t get enough. You kept asking for more, over and over: “Picanha! Picanha!” You had everyone at the table laughing.
They were such special days. I hope we get to experience many more like them, when the ocean breeze and the sound of the waves seem to wash all the city stress away.
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23/06 Chapter 418 Be the change that you want to see in the world
Last night, your dad said we should leave before noon. So I got everything ready and was completely packed by 11 a.m. But guess who wanted to delay things and hang around a little longer? Him. Honestly, I was thrilled, he had clearly enjoyed our beach house and didn’t seem eager to leave.
Still, I told him we should get going, I didn’t want to hit traffic. It was a chilly holiday weekend, so even if the beach wasn’t that packed, we knew the roads would be. And sure enough, when I checked the GPS, our usual 2.5-hour trip was showing up as 3 hours. Not terrible, but definitely slower than normal.
The first hour and a half was the worst part. From my parents’ beach house to the edge of Bertioga—another beach town—we hit major traffic. The kind where cars barely crawl. Luckily, you slept through most of it, but your dad and I were tense.
It wasn’t just the traffic, it was the sheer disrespect from drivers. The shoulder lane, meant only for emergencies, was being used like a free expressway. Drivers were zipping down it at 50, 80 km/h. Imagine a broken-down car or someone needing urgent help, one careless move and there's an accident.
While the rest of us sat there, inching forward like we’re supposed to, car after car flew past on the shoulder like the rules didn’t apply to them. And it’s infuriating. It feels like they’re mocking us, like they think we're fools for following the law. As if they’re smarter or better than the rest.
This kind of behavior often comes from entitled people. People too lazy or self-important to wait like everyone else. They cut corners, literally and figuratively, because patience and respect aren’t part of their vocabulary. It’s not just about getting ahead, it’s about believing they deserve to be ahead.
Maybe they’re thinking, “Look at these idiots sitting in line when there's a perfectly empty lane right here.” Is it allowed? No. But it’s open, and that’s enough for some people. In their minds, rules are optional. And when they break them, they silently label us as suckers.
Most people don’t just sit quietly and take that kind of disrespect. Some shout, some try to block the shoulder, some refuse to let those cars merge back in later. But you never know who you’re dealing with. One of those drivers might be armed or unhinged. And that’s how road rage starts.
It’s not just someone honking a little too long. It’s the boiling frustration that builds when you're constantly disrespected on the road. When someone cuts you off, blocks you in, or speeds past like your time means nothing. It's the anger that simmers until it explodes, yelling, chasing, even violence. And all because someone thought their time was more valuable than yours.
The worst part? These people usually get away with it. They swerve back into traffic like nothing happened. Meanwhile, we’re left gripping the wheel, heart pounding, trying to calm ourselves down. Because we followed the rules—and somehow we’re the ones who end up stressed, anxious, angry.
Road rage is a term used to describe aggressive or violent behavior by drivers, usually triggered by frustration or anger while driving. It can start with something small—like someone cutting you off or refusing to let you merge—and quickly escalate into shouting, rude gestures, tailgating, reckless driving, or even physical confrontations.
It’s different from just being annoyed in traffic. Everyone gets irritated sometimes, but road rage goes a step further. It’s when that anger takes over and starts to affect your behavior behind the wheel, making you act dangerously or confrontationally. Sometimes it even leads to fights, accidents, or people pulling out weapons.
But we should ask ourselves: Is it worth risking your safety over? Just to prove a point? These people act like they’re smarter, but really, they’re the fools. They disrespect the law, then turn around and complain about how corrupt the government is. But where do you think that corruption starts? It’s in these small moments, these daily choices.
And don’t think it’s just people who "didn’t have access to education." These were Audis, Mercedes, Volvos. I even filmed it to show you. Expensive cars, people who likely had every opportunity. But still, they act like the rules don’t apply to them.
Then they go to the U.S., follow every traffic rule, stop for pedestrians, and come back saying Brazil is a mess and America is a dream. But here’s the thing: they behave like decent people there because they know the law works. Back home, they act like animals—then wonder why the country feels like a jungle.
How do you expect Brazil to improve if you don’t do your part? It was exhausting, watching one car after another cruise by, blatantly disrespecting everyone else.
It reminded me of a trip I took with my ex-ex-boyfriend caique and his friends. It was Carnival, and four couples went to São Sebastião in two cars. As we climbed the Caraguá hills, the traffic was intense, typical for the season. Suddenly, two guys in a car tried to pass everyone via the shoulder.
Peter, one of the friends, pulled our car halfway into the shoulder, slowly driving just enough to block them. They honked and fumed, but we didn’t move. We were a big group—four guys—so we felt somewhat safe. Still, it was risky. You never really know who’s behind the wheel.
It was hilarious in the moment, though. Maybe those guys didn’t learn anything, but one day they might mess with the wrong person. Because the truth is: the crazy ones only back down when they meet someone even crazier. And let me tell you something, there’s always someone crazier than you.
Your dad and I always debate this: schools here in Brazil waste so much time teaching things people never use. Years spent on material that doesn’t matter in real life. I’m all for high schools offering specialized paths, separating humanities from sciences early on.
And we should be replacing some of those irrelevant subjects with life lessons. Things like traffic education, ethics, civic responsibility. Teach kids why throwing trash in the street causes floods. Why recycling matters. Teach financial literacy. Sexual education. Stuff that actually helps you live.
These are lessons many parents don’t teach because of time, discomfort, whatever the reason. Schools should step in. I wish someone would create a “Life School” with all the basics plus real-world knowledge. But of course, that’s probably not allowed. Every school has to follow the national curriculum.
Anyway, back to our trip. You slept through half the ride and woke up when we stopped at a gas station with a restaurant next door.
The food was pricey, but they had a tempting lunch box for R$29. We were ready to order until the cashier told us we couldn’t eat it there. Your dad asked why, since people were clearly eating at the tables, and she said those were customers ordering from the full restaurant menu.
I mean, how does that make sense? You buy food at the restaurant, and they won’t let you eat it there? Hahaha.
So we ditched it and went to the convenience store at the gas station. Turns out, it was a blessing in disguise. We found the most amazing cheese bread. Your dad tried one, loved it, and ordered another. I did the same. You had one too. We literally cleared them out. Hahaha.
On the way back, you stayed awake, and we had fun listening to Disney songs, especially the fun, high-energy songs from Moana. Later, I dropped your dad off at his place, and shortly after, he sent me a voice message saying his apartment didn’t even feel like home anymore. That after such perfect days at the beach, being apart from us felt strange.
Here’s to many more days like those.
25/06 Chapter 419 Never to return again
On June 21, 2025, a tragic hot air balloon accident occurred in southern Brazil known for its scenic balloon rides. The balloon caught fire just minutes after takeoff while carrying 21 people (20 passengers and one pilot).
According to survivors, the fire began in one of the auxiliary burners attached to the basket. The pilot attempted an emergency descent and instructed passengers to jump before the flames spread. Thirteen people managed to jump out of the balloon before it rose again. But with the weight of thirteen people suddenly gone, the balloon became lighter and quickly soared back into the sky taking eight others with it, who hadn’t managed to jump in time. The victims included a mother and her teenage daughter, a married couple, a physician, an engineer, and a professional ice skater.
The balloon quickly caught fire, and two people jumped from a fatal height to avoid being burned alive. Six others were consumed by the flames, two of them found clinging to each other in a final embrace. It was heartbreaking. The kind of scene that turns your stomach and stays with you.
I keep thinking about the terror those final moments must have held. To be trapped in a burning balloon high in the sky, faced with an impossible choice—jump and fall to your death, or stay and be consumed by flames. It's unthinkable. There’s something especially cruel about a situation where there is no way out, no chance of survival, only a decision about how you'll die. And worse, both painful and horrible deaths.
It reminded me of 9/11, the people who jumped from the Twin Towers. They didn’t jump because they wanted to; they jumped because there was no other option. Because fire was swallowing the building. The heat must be.... horrific. I imagine the same unbearable instinct took over two people in that balloon. The human desire to avoid the agony of burning alive, even if it means facing the ground from a deadly height.
And just like that day in New York, the people in that balloon had mere seconds to make an impossible choice. It's the kind of horror that doesn’t just end with the fall, it leaves a haunting imprint on everyone who hears about it. Worse: there was a video and the image of two human beings falling down it's stuck in my head.
It's a reminder of how fragile life is, and how sometimes, tragedy doesn’t offer mercy.
And shortly after, on the 21st as well, we received the news about Juliana Marins, which had actually happened on the 20th, but was only reported on the 21st.
Juliana Marins, a 26-year-old brazilian was on a solo backpacking across Southeast Asia since february. On June 20, she joined a guided trek up Mount Rinjani—a towering and notoriously challenging active volcano on Lombok Island, standing at over 3,700 m
But something unacceptable happened.
She had hired a local guide, precisely to make sure the trek was safe. And yet, he left her behind.
According to reports and a statement from another tourist on the trail, Juliana was struggling with fatigue during the climb. This isn’t surprising, considering Mount Rinjani is one of the toughest hikes in Indonesia with high altitude, steep inclines, and unpredictable weather. So she asked to rest and instead of waiting or helping her, the guide simply continued ahead without her. He told her to catch up later.
At some point after being left alone, Juliana lost her footing and fell over 300 meters into a steep ravine. But incredibly — and tragically, because it would be better if she had died at the begining — she survived the fall.
Drone footage and search efforts showed that she was alive for hours, maybe days. She was seen moving. She was seen trying to signal with a flashlight. She called out for help. And yet, help didn’t come fast enough. Rescue efforts were slow. Officials claimed poor weather and dangerous terrain made it too risky. But for four long days, they never sent a drone with food, water, or even a blanket. No emergency supplies were air-dropped. No thermal gear. Nothing.
Imagining every rustle in the leaves was someone coming. Realizing no one was. Fading in and out of consciousness. Knowing, maybe, that you were dying.
When rescuers finally reached her after four agonizing days, Juliana was gone.
An autopsy in Indonesia concluded she died from blunt trauma, a combination of broken ribs, internal bleeding, and spinal injuries. They claimed she died shortly after the fall. But her family refused to accept this as the full truth.
They had seen the drone footage. They had heard the rescue teams describe seeing her move, flash lights, and cry out. And they knew she had been alive. A second autopsy was ordered in Brazil to confirm whether or not she might have survived longer. Possibly long enough to be saved.
Many suspected the autopsy report was altered to avoid blame. That Indonesian officials wanted to shift focus away from their delayed rescue, lack of urgency, and the failure to send even the most basic survival assistance to someone they knew was alive.
The belief spread that the report was convenient, not truthful, a way to silence the outcry and protect the tourism-dependent image of the country.
The truth is that the Indonesian government was negligent. They only took action because the case gained worldwide attention, but they clearly didn’t care about the girl’s life. Other people have died in the same place before, including a girl named Melanie, yet they still haven’t improved trail safety or made any changes to prevent such tragedies.
The point is, these were two deeply saddening pieces of news that really make us reflect on how fragile life is. Another thing that makes me think is why death so often has to be painful. In almost every case, pain seems inevitable. Why do we have to suffer in order to leave this life?
Imagine the thoughts running through their minds in those final moments — in both cases. “I just came here for a walk, to do something I love, a hobby of mine… to never return.”
The panic, the terror, the overwhelming fear. The burning heat in the first case. The freezing cold in the second.
It's unbearable to picture.
Their final thoughts must have been filled with confusion and disbelief — “Is this really happening to me?” That feeling of helplessness, of knowing no one is coming. It’s heartbreaking to imagine that all they wanted was a peaceful moment… and it ended in tragedy.
After both tragedies took place, I saw a flood of comments like:
“Well, they were asking for it…”
“If they had just stayed home, none of this would’ve happened.”
“I’d never get on a hot air balloon... or go hiking — what for?”
I strongly disagree with that kind of thinking.
If we stopped doing everything that carries a risk, afraid we might die, we wouldn’t even eat, after all, people choke on food. We wouldn’t drive because of traffic accidents, we wouldn’t walk down the street for fear of being mugged and possibly killed — not that uncommon in Brazil. We’d avoid elevators and escalators in case of mechanical failure (which, though rare, does happen), and we’d never set foot on an airplane.
Some might argue, “Yeah, but eating and walking down the street are necessities. That’s not the same.”
Alright. But what about the other examples I mentioned? Should we never fly again? Never step into an elevator (we could just take the stairs, right)? Should we avoid every small joy or adventure because there’s a chance something could go wrong?
People have died on planes, in elevators, on roller coasters. Yes, tragic, but extremely rare. Even a simple Tylenol or common fever reducer can trigger an unexpected side effect. Does that mean we shouldn’t take medicine when we’re sick?
Of course, we should live with awareness and take precautions wherever we go. But letting fear of what might happen dictate how we live isn’t living. It’s merely surviving.
Some people love hiking, exploring mountains, reaching hard-to-access places — like your father and grandfather, for instance. Others are passionate about surfing, and they embrace the risk even knowing sharks are out there. Some chase the thrill of roller coasters, and others make a living delivering food on motorbikes across chaotic cities in Brazil. Do these people wake up every day assuming they won’t make it home? No.
Just like no one wears a condom thinking it’s going to break, and yet, that doesn’t stop people from having sex. Life carries risk. It always has.
We can’t go around judging other people’s lives, hobbies, or choices simply because we wouldn’t do the same. The person criticizing someone’s hike or balloon ride might love amusement parks, might drive recklessly, might speed or overtake cars on highways. Who knows? Everyone’s walking around doing something that involves risk. Always.
Take me, for example. I’ve always loved thrill rides. I used to go on all of them. Now that I’m older, I’m a little more cautious, but I still go. And if one day, while riding a roller coaster, the safety bar opens. Does that mean I deserved it? That I was asking for it? Of course not.
Honestly, it feels like the world has gone a little mad. Everything’s spinning out of control. But tragedies like these shouldn’t become fuel for judgment, they should inspire better safety standards, especially in places where tourism is involved. Just like aviation learns from every crash, constantly evolving to prevent future disasters, the same should happen after a balloon accident or a fall on a hiking trail.
We investigate, we learn, we improve.
I just hope people stop measuring others by their own narrow standards. No one heads out expecting to die. No one planned for the ending they got. It wasn’t recklessness. Every single day, thousands of people ride hot air balloons all over the world. And how many millions have hiked that volcano trail safely?
These were tragic, heartbreaking accidents, nothing more.
It’s not the same as someone climbing the edge of a skyscraper with no safety gear to take a selfie. Or someone trying to rob a plainclothes police officer and becoming the victim instead. Or someone dangerously overtaking on a curve and causing a fatal crash.
There’s a difference. And we should be able to see it.
