I still vividly remember the endless journey from the airport to Serra Grande, the anticipation coursing through my veins like an electric current. My legs trembled with that uncomfortable mix of excitement and anxiety, like fragile leaves quivering on the cusp of a storm. Each passing kilometer seemed to spread for an eternity as the eager voices of my brother and I echoed through the car, “Are we there yet?”

The house sat tucked behind a lush native forest, a special place my grandparents were dedicated to preserving. This forest was a haven for the wild. Monkeys with feathered ears and tails, which bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the squirrels from back home, leaped from branch to branch, reaching impossible heights that we could never quite replicate. Snakes also roamed this forest, the kind we were told never to jump over, but my grandparents had a gentle approach to their existence. They would use a stick to lift the snakes by their undulating bodies and move them to another forest just off their property. Then there were the native crabs, white with airbrushed hues of a porcelain blue, who somehow found themselves acres from the beach and its black lava rocks and instead in the middle of our forest. We would collect them and move them into a concrete block just off the house covered with a wooden lid where we fed them spices in preparation for a traditional Bahian dish. 

The forest was like a hidden world where nature played by its own rules. It was where my cousins and I learned to live alongside these creatures, understanding that our world and theirs were intertwined. 

The entranceway to the house was a curved platform made of cherry-hued wooden planks that rested, nestled, on sand. A canopy of cashew trees that we climbed shaded the entranceway from the scorching Brazilian sun. We used to break off the tiny stems of the cashew fruits and use the white milk that spilled out to create little tattoos with the burning substance on our salty skin. 

In front of the house lay the beach, a vast expanse unfurled like an eternal tapestry, unburdened and pristine, an idea that defied belief for our young city minds. The waves and their rhythmic pounding in my ears orchestrated a melodic symphony, starkly contrasting the discordant urban clutter of daily life back home. The waves beckoned us to surrender to their grasp as we let them drag us out from the safety of the shore and engulf us at the bottom of the sea floor. This ritual, our daily game, consumed the greater part of our mornings, the ocean’s raw vigor serving as a poignant distraction from the realities awaiting us back home. 

The news of our grandparents’ intention to sell Vila Caju struck like a tidal wave, threatening to wash away the memories and connections we had built there over the years. The idea that our sanctuary might not always be ours to cherish was inconceivable. Desperate to preserve this haven, we embarked on a covert mission, crafting posters that proclaimed our love for Vila Caju, hidden away in vases, tucked beneath chairs, and veiled in the nooks and crannies of the house for our grandparents to find every so often. 

“Vila Caju has been sold; I am so sorry.” 
…. 
Tears poured down my face, dampening the sheets of my bed. 
An overwhelming sense of hopelessness consumed me, leaving me feeling utterly lost and devoid of any joy or motivation. 
Air was a substance stolen from my lungs, leaving me gasping for even the slightest hint of relief. 
“That isn’t possible; it's our home. Papou and Nanajo would never actually sell it.” 

I was utterly ignorant of the genuine depth of emotion people spoke of when they claimed to feel their hearts shatter. It defied logic- after all, the heart is merely an organ devoid of sentiments, incapable of splitting itself in two. Yet in that very instant, I experienced it first hand: The agonizing sensation of my heart being repeatedly pierced, as if by relentless, merciless stabs. 

I couldn't reconcile with the reality that I might never have the chance to revisit that house. I would never be able to give the home to our echoes of laughter and footprints of youth a proper goodbye. I would never again partake in another one of those near-death experiences in its inviting water alongside my cousins. The decision by my grandparents to sell their house, our house, was a mystery that eluded my comprehension and tore me apart. 

Then there was the email: 

My dear, adorable, lovely girls, 

I know how much you - as well as Jas and Uxi- felt sad about the sale of the Vila Caju, but maybe even more, you three, because I had always somehow dreamt of celebrating your wedding and having the first dance on the Vila Caju terrace! 

And, of course, Alba, being the eldest, was the first person to whom I promised to hold her
wedding at Vila Caju! So when I talked yesterday to the buyer- that, by the way, I had never met and it was the first time I was talking to him -I made a point of telling him before anything else the story of you guys, all five of you sequestering me in a bedroom and the promise I had made to include in the “talk” the possibility of realizing that dream. I don’t know if any of you three will get married -I hope you will- neither do I know who is going to be the first -no rush-but my demand was accepted gracefully by the buyer, and therefore, you all will be able one day to step foot again in our little paradise. 

That was the whole idea! 
I love you, 
Papou 

A sliver of hope from my grandfather that I will once again return home. 
The possibility that I will be able to relive my memories for one more day. Vila Caju is not gone forever. 

Although I no longer hold the tangible experiences of this magical place, my connection with nature, born in Vila Caju, will never cease to expand. An insatiable fascination with the ocean and its power envelops me. Free diving has become a meditation, a communion with the depths of the sea. Shark tagging, a mission to safeguard the creatures of the deep, has allured me. Scuba diving, wake surfing, and sailing have become the places where I can go back, for just a moment, to the unburdened and blissful life of Vila Caju. What was once an escape from city life has now become my sanctuary, a place where the threads of my past, present, and future converge in harmony, binding me forever to the enchanting paradise of Vila Caju.