Hay una imagen que se ha vuelto demasiado común en mi casa… y en muchas otras.

El fogón de carbón encendido en la noche.
La llama alta, inquieta, iluminando la cocina como si fuera otra época. Antes, encenderlo era algo puntual, casi excepcional. Algo de campo, de emergencia, de “no hay otra opción”. Hoy ya no. Hoy es parte de la rutina.

Se ha convertido en la nueva normalidad, pero no de esas que uno celebra, sino de las que se aceptan porque no queda de otra. Cuando no hay electricidad, cuando el gas licuado falta o se encarece o simplemente desaparece, el fogón aparece como salvación… y como resignación al mismo tiempo.

Huele a carbón, a humo pegado en la ropa, a cansancio acumulado. La cocina se llena de calor, pero no ese calor hogareño bonito, sino uno pesado, que recuerda constantemente lo que falta.

Y mientras la llama sube y baja, uno piensa en cómo hemos ido cambiando sin quererlo. En cómo cosas tan básicas como cocinar se han vuelto una preocupación diaria, una planificación, una incertidumbre.

Aun así, la vida sigue. La comida se hace, la familia espera, la noche avanza.
Pero hay días en los que el fuego no solo cocina… también cuenta una historia triste de lo que estamos viviendo.

English Version

There is an image that has become far too common in my home… and in many others.
The charcoal stove burning at night.

The flame rises high, restless, lighting up the kitchen as if it belonged to another era. Before, lighting it was something occasional, almost exceptional. Something from the countryside, an emergency, a “no other choice” situation. Today it is no longer that. Today it is part of the routine.
It has become the new normal, but not the kind anyone celebrates, rather the kind that is simply accepted because there is no alternative. When there is no electricity, when liquefied gas is missing, too expensive, or simply unavailable, the charcoal stove appears as both a solution and a quiet resignation.

It smells like charcoal and smoke that clings to your clothes, like accumulated exhaustion. The kitchen fills with heat, but not the comforting kind, rather a heavy heat that constantly reminds you of what is lacking.

And as the flame rises and falls, you start thinking about how much things have changed without us choosing it. How something as basic as cooking has become a daily concern, a plan, an uncertainty.

Still, life goes on. Food is made, the family waits, the night moves forward.
But there are days when the fire doesn’t just cook… it also tells a sad story of what we are going through.

Source

The cover was made on Canva.

All the photos are taken and edited by me on Snapseed.

English is not my native language, I apologize if you find any mistakes in the translation.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

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