Back to a place where I grew up. Back where Christmases where filled with childhood memories of a family who, despite all its members being pre-occupied by personal things gather around a table filled with bounty, not only of food, but of stories to share.
My memories of Christmas past on this house were filled with warmth and love. From the hustle and bustle of shopping for the ingredients, the laughter filling the air as we take on our chores in helping out as we prepare for the Noche Buena. The house once empty of these noises were filled albiet for only a short period of time. As we wait for the clock to strike midnight, music echoed on the walls. Christmas songs from Ray Conniff, Jackson 5 and the collection of tagalog Christmas songs some of its lyrics bring us laughter (even if we hear this songs yearly). I fondly remember the song about carollers and how they were chased by dogs.
After a short thanksgiving prayer and the traditional toast, we share the bounty. We don't open our gifts then. We have to wait on Christmas morning after the mass where we siblings look like ducklings following mother goose (or father goose) to church donned in our new clothes. After the mass and
the kissing the baby Jesus, we again parade the whole stretch of the street leading to our home and welcomed by the smell of the bounty we were about to share. One of my sister playing Santa then give out gifts followed by the wild scramble as we open our gifts and in a moment, after hearing cheers and thank yous and merry christmases, the traditional Christmas shower. Where we all put our life and limbs for that rare chance to capture the coveted coins.
Then everything changed. My sister's death was such a blow to the family. The first Christmas without her, specially since she has played Santa for quite a long time, was a moment of stifled emotions. And Christmas, for me, was never the same after that. As my siblings began building their own families, family Christmas reunion became a rarity, choosing to spend Christmas with their family and opting
to move the reunion on New Year's day instead. Being single, I opt to spend or, more aptly, ask my siblings if I can spend Christmas with them. And gave me that rare chance to be with one of my siblings rather than spending the day alone. It likewise gave me the opportunity to bond with my nieces
and nephews.
Those memories of past Christmases remain in my mind. Serving as a beacon of hope for future Christmases where we will be whole again. Now, the house stand as mute witness of Christmas past. Each hour of silence is filled with imprints of a past that will never be forgotten.
The Christmas tree is gone, once mighty even only 4 feet tall, oftentimes nearly covered by gifts for everyone. The lantern has rotted away after long years of serving as a reminder of the star that shone one night in Bethlehem. The table will be empty, for I cannot replicate the taste of the food that once laid on its surface. No arroz valenciana, macaroni and potato salad, spaghetti or lasagna, fruit salad, chicken barbecue, kare kare, sashimi or maki, and other bounties that remind me of a feast suited
for the day.
Holding on to the memories, as I write this piece, I likewise hold on to my ultimate Christmas wish. Though I know it will remain as such, my fervent wish is that my family be whole again. That inspite of the fact that we are all apart, dealing with our own survival, I hope someday, the road will all lead us to the time when life was easier and our family closer. For just one time, on Christmas day.
