Last year, I went back to my home country after seventeen years away. Staying at my grandmother's house, I realised that a lot of my obsessions (flowers, gardens, knick-knacks, clothes, photos) were not mine alone. The way my grandmother arranged a collection of glossy seashells on a glass table. The effortless way my mother wrapped a scarf around her neck. My aunt's laugh and my cousin's poses. I saw myself in these gestures. Perhaps it may be a bit early to be thinking of Christmas. But there's always a time to think about family and home. Tonight, I think of where I've come from. And how as an immigrant, I am simultaneously so far away from home, and yet, right where I belong.