A children's song said the patio of our house would get wet when it rained. I have never understood the lyrics to that song very well, nor have I understood many other things. Of course, it drips when it rains, and it fills with snow in the cold winter days, and there are lizards in the heat of summer. Our house is like everyone else's, neither better nor worse, but ours.

For years we had a house, it lacked a window, it would need a hand of paint, it had a small hole in the roof, I know, I needed some arrangements. But it was our house and we lived quietly. Sometimes, in the strongest part of the summer, the heat was hurting, and in the coldest part of the winter, the cold that left you frozen penetrated your body like a bite. Sometimes the strong streaks opened the doors wide and other times we had difficulty opening them.

But it was our house and its poles were firmly settled.

The years have passed, and I have the feeling that the pillars of that house have begun to weaken, we saw it before very strong, I feel very weak today. The conviction that it bound us with strength has been disappearing in me. At home, I felt safe, I felt well with each other. When the door opened tightly and closed with violence, I felt comfortable inside. But today the house was shaking me, I was almost exposed to the fall.

I have loved the house, I still love it, I sincerely love it. Our mother died, and yet the siblings had the courage to move on. This feeling of being an orphan must never be abandoned, but, closely linked, the house has remained standing.

We've had confrontations between siblings, hard, vague confrontations, confrontations and confrontations, sometimes, too often, between us; and many others, with those of us who were strangers at home.

For years we have seen many brothers move away from their homes, sometimes, too often, against their will. However, they have been far away, but always under the roof, so we have felt them, in the heat of the home kitchen.

Others have voluntarily left the house, overcome by circumstances, lack of space or by the ups and downs of domestic earthquakes.

But I think there's room for everyone at home, or there should be. Ours is a spacious house, as it has always been. A spacious house, suitable for some long words in the heat of fire, some times of pain, others of hope. Most of the time from respect, sometimes from care.

This house needs arrangements, but there are many of us who live in it and have our hands ready to work, as we have always had. Change the windows, color the walls, dry the leaks. To leave the door open, for anyone who wants to enter to sit in their house. We will put a great light on the entrance, which had to walk away to easily find the way back home.

And we will fix the poles, so that they are well subject, so that the house does not fall, that with so much work has been kept standing, so that it stays well attached to the earth. Her mother built this house with so many jobs, suffering and tears, but also with friends, music, songs and shouts, so she could stand. So that our descendants find in this an attractive house.

This house, built by my mother, is going to last; against drought, against usury, against justice, tied to the earth, I will defend our mother's house, we will defend it.