Ever since I can remember, I’ve always loved the Christmas season.
When I was a kid, we used to go from store to store to buy small candies and chocolates with our twenty-peso bill. We would put it in in a very thin box, wrap it up with Christmas paper so poorly, and call it a gift. This is what we bring to the neighborhood kids’ party for the exchange gifts.
Often, there was caroling. I remember I would bring my ukulele around our neighborhood along with my close friends. I was good with Christmas notes as I had lessons in School. Since it was a kid who was playing the ukulele along with some annoying high-pitched voices of my friends, we're graced with a lot of coins from our neighbors out of awe.
These are pretty exciting things and all, but there was one thing I always look forward to doing: going to Church.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn’t really about hearing the mass, it was what was near it – the Plaza. My childhood self clearly remembers how much of a haven the plaza was. There were booths and stalls full of toys worth at least P10.00. Sure, looking back, those toys were such a low-grade quality, but for a kid like me who loves to play, they were everything.
Aside from the toys, the plaza was well-lit with Christmas decorations. Before phones and Instagram, there were photographers. They were lurking in every corner of the plaza, taking shots without your consent, and working their magic to sell their printed photos to you. We could never afford those photos, so all those moments were only stored in my mind.
I remember there used to be a water fountain with different colors. I’d stay there, watching. Sometimes if I had coins in my pockets, I’d buy cotton candy and eat it while I watch. It felt enough. If lucky though, I'll be carrying a balloon on my way home.
These were really such sweet times.
I’d look back to these moments as a kid and I would smile. But over time, I felt like Christmas began to change year by year. Years pass and Christmas was often met with rain. Sooner, there were protocols set for the use of firecrackers so it wasn't as loud anymore. Children's parties were lesser for me as my age didn't qualify anymore. I had spent time more of it indoors.
Maybe the way we receive Christmas changes as we actually grow older. Maybe the meaning of Christmas evolves as we accumulate more experiences. Maybe the spirit of Christmas outgrows parties and plazas.
Or maybe we just grow in perspective.
Or do we?
Is it a matter of growing up or did the world just change around us?
Last year, Christmas was somehow different. It was a pandemic, and there was a strict limitation. This year, especially, was even more different. The celebration was heartbreaking, challenging, and well, literally dark.
The typhoon couldn’t have been in the right timing – nine days before Christmas. The power was out. Water was difficult. The Signal was very bad. Food was low. Houses were destroyed. Lives were lost. It was weird celebrating it.
To myself, I often question if the privilege of food, water, and temporary shelter we had were okay to be celebrated, especially there are those highly affected families in the mountains and coastal areas. But to myself, I also think that these are still gifts and we have to celebrate them with the purest intentions.
So, we did.
We have spent a week in this house we rented, but somehow it felt like we were here longer. That’s the thing about my mother, she knows how to settle. My brother had attached solar-powered Christmas lights along the stairs to add some Christmas touches.
For the first time in a long while, we were complete. My brothers were there, and their daughters and wives were around. My mom cooked our go-to Christmas dishes – spaghetti and chicken. I was also able to buy the last cake there was after a very long queue.
Our dinner was powered by one single solar-powered light, and it became a sun in the cave-like dining area. We had wine, music, and a wide space enough for our family. This, I would admit, was different. But in a good way.
In the weirdest possible way, amid the darkness, the tragic loss of our house, and the lack of resources, Christmas felt real like I had as a kid. There was no signal so the attention was all among us - no distractions, no random social media notifications. Maybe, I thought, this was the reason it had been difficult to feel Christmas over the days. We have been so attached to the virtual space; we forget the spirit of Christmas relies majorly on real connections.
We wrapped the dinner retelling stories we knew as kids to our nieces. They laughed, repeated the stories again and again, and played around the house with their loud feet and cackling voices. The solar-powered light eventually became dimmer and dimmer, and everyone fell into slumber.
It was a sweet Christmas Eve. For us, maybe. I wondered about the others.
Are small candies and chocolates sold in stores? How does the plaza look now? Were the Christmas lights blown by the Typhoon wind or did they remain to glimmer the night? Oh wait, I forgot, there is no power.
Are there carolers at least? Are there ukulele notes and childly voices to ease the frustrations of the holidays? How about parties? Did the neighborhood celebrate one for kids? I think they did. I wonder how their exchange gift went.
I just pray, even if the answers to these questions are NO, that the families, in the weirdest possible way, felt at least, a pinch of the Christmas spirit. It might be the worst for some, as I saw in my Facebook newsfeed, but I just pray it meant something more. Maybe some form of connection? Or perhaps, a random act of kindness?
I could only pray.
I could, in the most necessary means, only pray.
It’s Day 8 after the Typhoon tragedy. The night is young, but the roads are already quiet. May the city rest in some form of yuletide. I hope that when the sun comes, good news awaits all.
