“My brother taught me how to fish when I was 12. He taught me that fishing is just like cutting the grass and that, sooner or later, it will grow back up over and over again. There are days when fishing is just such hard work to catch nothing – and the buckets remain empty while driving back home from the river. There is work that is not always compensated. And I have learned that from him. Being on the water reminds me of how life can be, at times also tortuous and nauseating – something like a long slow rollercoaster. 

I was lucky to have a brother like him. Someone I could look up to. Someone I could look forward to. I loved him very much. Fishing reminds me of him. He was such a quiet man - an introvert. He never liked crowded spaces. He loved the sea. He loved the water and the animals in it. I think he could get more from spending time in the water alone than by having a thousand people’s conversations. He lived happily. He lived beautifully. I thought he was a lonely man because of the life he led. I got to realize he never was.

I loved fishing. It required patience – something I have never had in me. Though, when the ocean would open up in front of my eyes, I could feel like another man dwelled within me – a more modest and calmer individual. Someone like my brother. And I could carry him everywhere I go when I sit looking at the ocean waiting for another fish to catch.”