My younger brother used to talk about the sea before he had ever seen it.
We lived far from the coast, and nobody in our family had taken him there as a child. But when he was four, he would describe waves, boats, nets, and a small white house near the water.
At first, we thought he had seen it on television.
Then he started crying whenever he heard seagulls in movies.
One day, my mother asked him why he was upset. He said, “Because I could not get back to the boat.”
Nobody knew what to say.
Years later, when we finally visited the coast, he became quiet as soon as we arrived. He pointed toward a narrow road and said, “The house was that way.”
We followed it because we were curious.
At the end of the road was a small white house near the water.
My brother did not smile. He only said, “It is different now.”