Barbeque. Un asado

Last saturday we had a barbeque. Food was great but as always it makes me think a lot about my family. The kind of barbeque I am used to is always with a lot of people and plenty of conversation. For me barbeques are not really about the food although there is the expectation and everyone talking about the wine, the quality of meat and where they got it; what a great cook my mum is and the time she made this or that; the state of the world, politics are always the theme of the day at least until food comes and then for a while there is a big fuss about how yummy it all looks. In the meantime dad is talking to Lalo outside, or whoever is making the food; a glass of wine in hand or maybe a beer and laughter all the time.
Then we all sit at the table (normally there are not enough chairs so we gather whatever may serve as a stool) and there the compliments begin and there is a sparkle in poeple‘s eyes. And as we eat we keep talking. It goes on for hours, when there is no more food there is the after meal conversation. At some point maybe dessert and coffee but it isn‘t that important. We are all wrapped up in the laughter and the music on the background. For me barbeques or just weekend gatherings are a family thing even if there are normally quite a few of our friends too. They are familly and whenever we are thinking or eating together it is important to have them as well if they can. They have been our family since we left Argentina many years ago. They were my aunts and uncles and they were good at that.
The nice thing about getting all together is honouring in that way the fact that we are alive, but mostly.. that we are alive together...
In the end, we all revolve around others for the same reason, being together makes being alone have some meaning. We are repeated in every other life... and our life has validity through the life of others....
I feel that in being here too. I am happy here, I feel at home in a strange and innovative way... like I finally arrived to a home a had never seen before and so colours, smells and tastes are new for my senses.
I have not felt at home since I was five. And so this feeling is rather surprising... how do you define home when you have always been a stranger from a distant land? Home lives inside and has nothing to do with nationalities.. or at least not with the ones product of accidents and militaristic regimes... home is the place where you want to grow roots and exhale oxygen: the place you want to make better, the nation you choose to love... and I woke up today feeling at home for the first time in my life as I knew it..... and I wasn‘t even looking for it.....