Last Christmas, I was shivering in our Paris apartment, recovering from a battle between my dentist and wisdom tooth. Morale was low. Friends were off on their respective holidays. I could hear my neighbors celebrating. I would lie on the couch, cheeks numb from painkillers, and would stare at the swirling beam of light cast by the Eiffel Tower from the balcony. It was quite depressing. And at the same time, I was extremely content.

This year I am here in Qatar, where evenings are cool at most. I have spent 5 Christmases away from home. It has been three years since I've seen my parents. I have had two invitations for Christmas eve, both of which I've turned down. And I have one goal for Christmas day: to mull over this shitty country and why I am here over a glass of wine, with Klima playing in the background. After all, I have to keep up with traditions.