When the special occasions come around, I do a zine to celebrate them. Unfortunately, this year came with lots of uncertainty and I wasn’t able to finish it in time. However, I did make some of it so below is all of the progress I managed to make. It was titled ‘Festive AF’ and here was the intended cover. Enjoy and happy holidays, homies.
How we ended up with the worst tree in the lot
We drive the same six miles to the same fresh trees sign. My father complains about the car park being too full which in English is, all of the spaces he wants aren’t available. My father parks like it matters. My father parks with the tension of the bomb squad cutting the blue wire. My father parks like he is on the verge of scientific discovery. We step out of the car and into a field where all the trees are against the fence like a line-up. My father inspects everyone like a detective about to crack the case. My father interrogates everyone until they spill their secrets. I just point and say that one. I fire off like a slot machine containing only one symbol. I fire off with the excitement of a jackpot. I am drawn to defects. My mother says it is too short. It is too tall. It is too bushy. It is not bushy enough. My father says, should we go somewhere else? My mother says, just pick one like she isn’t the uncrackable safe holding the escape plans. I say that one. My mother says no. My father becomes a chimney. My mother becomes a teapot and shuffles herself onto the stove. I say this one. My mother says it bends to the left. My mother knows how to put wood on my father's fire. My father is now a smoke grenade. I say that one. My mother reaches whistle point. My father becomes a flame thrower. I am crying, this one. The tree with the bad haircut says ‘GUILTY’. We bag him up and take him home. My father unparks the way a cowboy unholsters a gun. My father unparks the way a samurai draws a sword. My father unparks like a boomerang that got a gold medal in the 500m. My father drives away like a rocket launch. My father drives away like we left the oven on self-destruct. My father drives away like an avalanche and I just smile in the back seat and under my breath utter “Ah, it is finally Christmas again”.