When Christmas Was Still Merry
Photo by nastyasensei
Like some other adults, I no longer enjoy Christmas. I prefer Halloween more probably because I was born on the first of November. Compared to the scary décor of the bloody white lady, the faceless grim reaper, the funny-looking skeleton, and the grinning orange jack-o’-lantern, I do not enjoy the Christmas tree, the lights, the parols, and the Belen that much. Halloween specials on TV excite me. Hallmark Christmas movies are at the bottom of my movie watch list. Halloween thrills me and encourages me to be creative. On Christmas, I write horror stories.
But there was one Christmas I would never forget—back when Christmas was still merry. I was still a child then, perhaps six or seven. We were living at Mapagbigay in Quezon City. My mother’s youngest sister, working as a domestic helper in Hong Kong then, went home for the yuletide season. We picked her up from NAIA and she stayed with us for a few days before we—our family of six and our aunt—all traveled together to Laoag City for Christmas.
It was a time when both our maternal grandparents were still alive and well. I remember attending the Christmas Eve mass with my aunt. After that, we came home to a party. My eldest cousin dressed as Santa Claus led the program. He took out gifts from a large red bag and gave them to us. The karaoke played until the wee hours, with me trying to belt out Jolina Magdangal songs. My parents and my mother’s siblings and cousins gathered on the porch to exchange stories despite the cold brought by the chilly Christmas air. We have a large extended family which made the Christmas celebration a lot more special.
Sadly, now, we only meet when someone in the family dies. Christmas no longer gathers us; death does.
I must confess though: the memory of that one particular Christmas Eve is slowly fading away. While writing this and trying to reminisce, bits of different events came to my mind. Some might have happened a year after, on a different Christmas day while some I only remember seeing in photographs. However, Santa Claus handing out gifts is a core memory etched on my mind. (No, I no longer recall what I received back then.)
Years later, we moved to Malinao, a town in Albay, once known for the Christmas Around the World lights décor behind the only clinic in town. I remember going there every Christmas to see the bare lot decorated and lit up. Tourists flocked to the place at night or every after Misa de Gallo. However, the tradition was discontinued not long after probably because of the high electricity cost.
Aside from that and the gifts I received during the celebration at school, for me, there was no longer special about Christmas.
There were years when we had no food prepared for the occasion. In 2006, many Albayano locals celebrated with only sardines and noodles on their tables. Only a few probably got spaghetti or ham. The province was still reeling from the devastation caused by Typhoon Reming at that time. We had no Christmas lights; only prayers that things would get better soon.
Things did get better, but Christmas now lost its appeal, along with anything and everything that changed and lost to me. For me, it is now just an ordinary holiday—an overcommercialized one—when I, an exhausted, miserable, broke adult with lost dreams and dying hope, can take a rest. However, with celebrations left and right, and visitors coming and expecting gifts, things get really tiring—and costly. You wait for your 13th-month pay for a whole year and spend it in a day. It is that costly.
I am not trying to ruin the festivities of the season. However, Christmas, for me, is no longer merry. If I could get one gift this Christmas, it would be to travel back in time—to that one Christmas Eve, to Santa Claus giving gifts, to days when life was simple and fun, and not exhausting and miserable.