“You have a freak-flag. You just don’t fly it.”

Holidy films are inevitably cheesy. Perhaps Tim Burton’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas” is a kind of exception, but still.

What I like about holiday films is that they, also inevitably, show people coming home. I have been obsessed with the idea of home ever since I realized that I was no longer sure where that is anymore.

Home, to me, is warm food. Sharing a bathroom. Spending half an hour wiping off the great aunt’s acidy-pink lipstick.

It’s Kiev and Charlotte, South Kensigton and Shmeisani, Durham and the places that I have yet to go. It rises up like a mirage, shines like the Northern Star, plays like half-remembered music from another room.

And holiday movies seem to be the only thing that seem to satisfy this terrible cracing just a little bit – I coo and cringe at them just like I do at the people I love.

Well, except for Anna and MK – because we’re always too busy making “sexytime.”

5 thoughts on ““You have a freak-flag. You just don’t fly it.”

  1. Chasing home is becoming a more fun activity as I get older. I really related to this home thing of yours, somehow. I’ve shuttled back and forth between Pakistan and the US for ages, and now I live in Paksitan, but not in my hometown, and I feel still that home is missing. I nailed down the geography, sort of, but that wasn’t it. It’s 3 years to 30 and still, there’s this elusive thing. Vaat to do? as we say. Write lots of poetry and be a weird ass nomad? There’s worse things, what?

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