Yuletastic

The precise moment when Christmas became my hands-downfavorite time of the year is somewhat obscured in the mists of  memory. I was seven and, in the run-up to our school’s annual holiday pageant, my kiddie cohorts and I were made to learn — force-fed, some might say — carols in French, German, Spanish, and Italian. Those homeroom karaoke sessions came built-in with bite-size history lessons, so we all became keenly aware of Santa’s Western European aliases. (In hindsight, now it makes sense how that exchange student, Harold, nailed a German Christmas carol, Stille Nacht, on the first try. He was German. Woot.) It was a very progressive childhood.

It’s amazing how fast you soak things up at that age. It’s even more amazing how those things become catalysts — and cocktail party anecdotes — as you grow up. Now, as yuletide bazaars roll around then fade away, I magically rewind to that point in time when the world started opening up to me — when Jesus Christ, Santa Claus, Buddha, Ganesh, and the Tooth Fairy all played together in the inflatable castle of my mind. Ah, happiness.              

Feliz Navidad Y Todo Eso

That early exposure, both real and  romanticized, came in handy as I spent Christmases around the world. It was in Colombia, by the Caribbean coast, where I experienced a totally feliz Navidad. Prior to that, I had only lived in places where English was spoken; being in a purely Spanish-speaking environment, therefore, was like starring in a heavily subtitled Almodóvar film. (Try scuba-diving en Español. It’s a trip.)

The festive season in that part of the globe, as I found out, was like what I was used to for the most part. The holidays revolved around family dysfunction, with a liberal dusting of last-minute shopping, awkward oversights, and really loud music. It was just like home.

But instead of pine trees, there was spray snow all over the Home Alone-inspired houses. On top of that, Mrs. Claus dressed like Shakira. And the food — though terribly good — was something I was too immature to then appreciate: tamales, or corn meal dough stuffed with pork or chicken and steamed in neat corn husk bundles; and perníl de cerdo, an entire leg of pork oven-roasted and served with plum sauce. (Thank God for photos and hastily scribbled journal entries.) Missing out on a turkey-induced food coma (and feeling a wee bit homesick), I gorged instead on overpriced sushi. Incongruous, I know. Whatever.               

Cold Play

But back to the northern hemisphere and to Canada in particular. To go with the cultural mosaic the nation was built upon, the holidays up there come in many fun flavors: Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Chanukah, and lately, Chrismukkah. Since I palled around with a ton of Third Culture kids — Chinese-Polish, Japanese-Greek, Russian-Chilean, among other blends — I was able to participate in awesome United Nations-like blowouts during this period.    

Oddly enough, while the rest of the human race dreams of a white Christmas, almost all Canadians dream of escaping during winter break. One December, some of my best friends flew to Dubai to go sand-skiing. Meanwhile, I was stuck in Calgary working weekends at the mall and shepherding a bunch of international students to watch The Nutcracker. Needless to say, I was bored out of my skull. (Mall good. Ballet bad.)

I made up for the ennui by throwing a holiday luau — the theme was “Let’s Get Lei’d” — back-to-back with a Filipino-flavored fiesta. That resulted in a random discovery: Hauling a lechon home from a Vietnamese restaurant in below-zero weather is a labor of love, especially when you’re in nothing but a tacky Hawaiian-print shirt and Billabong board shorts. (On that note, try dragging your ass to school when it’s -35ºC — plus wind chill — outside.) See, if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live inside a snow globe, try Canada in late December and early January. It’s very Doctor Zhivago.

Obviously, there’s more to the Canadian holiday stretch than sleigh bells ringing and walking in a (nuclear) winter wonderland. There’s the three-ring circus-like atmosphere of Boxing Day, on December 26, when stores and malls across all Commonwealth countries boogie to the sound of credit cards swiping and, where applicable, shoppers dashing through the snow. I normally put off my gift-giving routine till then, since prices drop considerably compared to just a couple days before. On my list of things I miss about living in Canada, Boxing Day madness is a runner-up to witnessing the aurora borealis.

Have yourself a low-carb little Christmas

Zig-zagging across a few time zones and a couple years, I am now set to spend another sweltering Christmas in Manila. Despite the hellish traffic, weird weather, and lame mutineers, I’m glad to say that I was able to go holiday shopping for other people — the first time in my life — and I managed quite well. Coup or no coup, it makes me happy to see everyone pumping money into the economy.

Maybe I’m growing up — sniff — but I’ve come to realize even more things about the holidays and myself as we turn the corner into 2008. First, I found out that giving gifts can be a pleasurable adventure, sometimes as fun as receiving. (I would’ve said “more fun” but I’m not that enlightened yet. Maturity is relative.) All you Ebenezers, take note.

Next, I learned that it’s not just the thought that counts. What you give and how you present it matters a lot, too. Now is the era of the total package and it goes without saying that the outside is as essential as the inside. Last and most important, I’ve come to terms with this fact: It’s not where I am but who I am that brings on the good times. Trust me — it’s really a worthwhile mindset to be in not just during the holidays, but every day.

That said, I’d like to send everyone my global good vibes during this totally wonderful season. In other words, may you all have a low-carb Christmas and a hangover-free New Year! XOXO