A few weeks ago Alberto, my Little brother and I were reunited after being separated for the whole summer. I did not hear him arrive the night before and was surprised in the morning when he walked out onto the terrace to have a cup of coffee with me. I could tell that he was excited about something but waited patiently for him to let the cat out of the bag.

Finally he said, “Pablo, I have something really cool that I want to show you.”

I was interested and leaned forward as he started to roll up his sleeve to reveal a tiny tattoo that he had paid for that summer. It was of two swallows, one of which was perched on a clothes line and the other which was just starting to fly.

I looked up and caught his eye. We both smiled and started laughing. This was a symbol of our childhood. We used to regularly listen to the swallows while lying in bed on homey sunny summer mornings after our mother had come into wake us up. We would then have a fun breakfast before our grandparents, who lived upstairs, and listen to their old stories. Finally we would end the morning competing to be the best PlayStation player. They were magic mornings which always began with the swallows’ song.

That morning siting with Alberto, we shared a memory of our past but one which also tells us that we will have to leave home because life continues and we must move on, but we should always remember the good times.