Christmas is pushing through (as scheduled)

The cherished Christmas custom of the nine-day novena (or Simbang Gabi) began last Monday, Dec. 15.  In our community, this also means  aspiring seminarians from far-flung diocesans will be in town to sing Christmas carols to a chock-a-block crowd.

The first group from Camarines Norte was accompanied by a priest who shared the encouraging news that they have more seminarians this year than in 2013.  To me, they all looked wet behind the ears and the Mao-styled white shirts they wore slashed even more years away.  After a medley of Latin hymns, they switched to a Filipino ditty called Tuloy na Tuloy ang Pasko.  The gentle, swinging rhythm triggered the happy, exciting feeling of waiting for Christmas.  As a child, I remember savoring this time of the year because it was the only season when little sleepyheads could stay up past the tuck-in time.  Other lyrical and knee-slapping memories came rushing in:

• The cool and nifty nights in pine-scented Baguio where crackling logs kept the chill at bay and plump strawberries were sweet and juicy.  We ate hot chestnuts that literally burned the tongue.  No one bothered to cool them down because they definitely tasted better even if the tongue was singed with every bite.   

• The flat broke or butas-na-bulsa godfathers and godmothers (ninong/ninang) who, because of family ties, had been “annointed” as surrogate parents, on call.  They squirreled away from their godchildren, singing the guilt-laden blues, for not leaving anything under the Christmas tree.

My own ninang was also true-blue, but hey! She’s the real, honest-to-goodness Haponesa (Japanese).  My uncle brought her straight from Japan shortly after the end of World War II.  At that time, nerves were still very raw against anyone and anything Japanese, especially around war-ravaged Manila.     

Can you imagine the panic-stricken elders of our family at the sight of Ninang Mitchie-san?   “Where will we hide her?” asked my aunt.  My mother suggested, “The basement.”  In a flash, the basement of our house was transformed into a comfortable, but window-less, secret hiding retreat for Ninang Mitchie-san.  She was kept under the radar and, hopefully, far from nosy neighbors and authorities.

For years, Ninang Mitchie struggled with her accent, but she finally learned to speak Tagalog, just enough not to sell herself short.  She was tall and stunning, and dressed like a fashion plate.  Her favorite color was purple.  She wore wide-brimmed silk and straw hats from Italy, looking like a femme fatale straight out of Hollywood’s classic film noir.

When my uncle built a magnificent house for her, she continued the tradition of gift-giving from her domain.  She showed me the art of wrapping gifts, the Japanese way called furoshiki using scarves or any cloth.  She gave me miniature tea sets, Japanese dolls or ningyo, and even an obi silk kimono robe in my size.  When I stopped believing in Santa, the gift-giving stopped, too. 

• The uncles and aunties who were forever bean counters, who lamented the continuous drop in the buying value of the peso.  To them, Christmas seemed harder and drearier to celebrate.  “Inday, get half of the queso de bola from the pantry and keep the other half for New Year.  Do the same with the leg of Chinese ham, okay?  Also, buy sarsaparilla, not root beer anymore,” one aunt gave this strict order.

Could Christmas this year really become ala Scrooge?  “Oh yeah!” an uncle replied.  “The ham has turned to shrimp paste!”  (Ang hamon ay mauuwi sa bagoong).

• What about the poulet medley?  You know, the caboodle of cock-a-doodle chicken dishes:  Chicken pastel, chicken relleno, chicken ala king, chicken — baked, flaked, and diced, chicken tinola, chicken pie, chicken inasal, chicken adobo, chicken apritada, etc.?  “We’re having chicken mami.  Hot and steaming, naman,” she remarked.

 “As for the sparklers and firecrackers for New Year’s Eve, do we hie off to Bulacan?” asked another cousin.  “Oh no!” her hubby replied.  “It’s to the Sight and Sound park we go.  No more anxiety attacks with Junior in the ER and, horror of horrors, mangled fingers, like Frankenstein.”

This Filipino ditty also sang of filling up your stockings with the real reason and the one true Person responsible for Christmas: 

Kahit na anong mangyari, ang pag-ibig sana’y maghari, sapat nang si Hesus ang kasama mo, tuloy na tuloy pa rin ang Pasko.

No matter what happens or wherever fate takes you, may love conquer adversities, and all and more.  With Jesus in our hearts, Christmas will go on, as scheduled and as planned.

Let us spread the cheer, and the (root) beer, okay?