For the fifteen years that I was married I prepared Thanksgiving dinner for my friends who like us were displaced and didn’t have a family to celebrate it with. My friends were the only reason I actually celebrated Thanksgiving. I had my Peruvian, Irish, German, Thai, Spanish, Polish, friends come over and we had a blast.

Thanksgiving was my ritual. I sent out invitations, cautiously every year at about this time. And I was always surprised and ecstatic that they accepted. I made food for a troupe, and friends also brought even more food and drinks. Leftovers turned into croquetas later, which turned into another party.

Last year I got separated and two years ago was the last Thanksgiving I hosted. I didn’t miss it because my dear friends took me with them on that day and we gave out turkey dinners to the poor and helpless. Afterwards, I decided to stay home quietly doing my own thing. In the warmth of my borrowed home with Drew, my new pup friend who kept me company, a true Thanksgiving with her. I was so grateful to my friends and her. I didn’t feel displaced or as if I were missing out on love and friendship.

This year I plan to not celebrate again. As I said, I only hosted thanksgiving because of and for my dear friends. Now that I lack my own place to entertain, it makes no sense to feel sorry for myself because it really has no meaning to me apart from the gratitude I already feel for those who have opened their doors and homes to me in these strange unsettling times of my life.

I still have my dear friends, we just don’t meet on that day. I will try to find something meaningful to do that doesn’t involve a Thanksgiving celebration. Lucrecia’s turkey was very much enjoyed for many years and for that I’m grateful too.

I’ve been lucky to share all those Thanksgivings with people I love. We simply will meet to celebrate other things. It really doesn’t have to be on that date. As long as we keep sharing times together, it’s good enough for me.