On Joyland

A few nights ago I went to see Joyland at the local Filmhuis. I was one of a few noticeable desis in the audience. I couldn't quite tell if anyone was Pakistani. A few people laughed at the Punjabi asides.

I left with my heart in a million pieces, walking down the streets, unsure of where to go, post-midnight, with my heart in a million pieces.

There are stories to be written, all cliches: the feeling of watching a film from *back home* in a new home, but back home isn't right, because this feels like home, and back home feels like some other place. There's the idea that here I am, walking home safely at night, a luxury, and that is stripped away from everyone else, it was stripped away from me just a few months ago. The thought of watching a film in which everyone is trapped and yet here I am, on a cold April night, free. All these ironies and little clichés.

I thought about the quietness of an Eid that doesn't feel like Eid at all, and I realised I've had this feeling before, just somewhere else. There's the cliche of seeing a city you have spent so much time in suddenly appear on screen and wanting to feel homesick, but I was just there, and I haven't been away for so long as to feel anything.

In fact, that's the thing that surprises me the most, how little I miss, for a place that I have spent so long in, that it felt so easy to sever ties, that I have served my time.

The other day I had to count how long I'd been here and it's already been eight months? In these eight months, so much has happened, the cruelty of death, the sudden shocks, the overwhelming feeling that I am starting all over again, feeling stupid all day sometimes, and then one day, not feeling very stupid at all.

Anyway. Joyland is incredible. It is playing at Filmhuis in the Netherlands. You should watch it, and you'll walk home, with your heart in a million pieces.