Goodbye, Christmas customs

Cruising around Dasmariñas Village, I noticed the lanterns hardly blinked in many windows. I decided I’d buy several to enthrall my grandchildren before the Filipino custom becomes forgotten. Such a pity, because any granny would have drooled to see her tykes’ huge eyes grow bigger. In time, the spirit of lighting up a house to lure Baby Jesus inside may become archival material. At least the desire of wanting to return home for Christmas remains universal. My daughter Mai counted the months ahead since October. Then November came and, finally, December; she was highly anticipating the homecoming from Florence so I had to say, “Mai, I want to see you but not allow the days to go too fast because January will come and then April will make me one year older.” I always yearn to see my daughter and her doll-like Demi, not just twice a year. But Mai’s choice has made it so. I want Demi to play with her cousins, Renzo and Pablo, but love got the better of Mai to live a lifetime adventure in Europe.

Come December, I was so excited about going to Muscat, Oman with my husband Peping (him being President of the Philippine Olympic Commission), to attend the 2nd Asian Beach Games. Beach? In the desert? Well, I didn’t go. Just like that, I decided against the sun. Peping went to Salallah in southern Muscat, Oman where the Three Kings — Melchor, Gaspar and Baltazar of Christ’s Nativity — lived. It is an open city to all faiths even if it is a predominantly Muslim abode. It is where the Kings gathered their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to bring to the child Jesus. Salallah is where the house of Blessed Mary or Mariam was and there lived the Queen of Sheba in her palace. Mary’s father whose name was Imran is also buried in Salallah. Further up in the mountains is the burial place of Prophet Ayub or Job of the Bible, and I missed that trip! Instead I went to Zamboanga and Davao and Tagaytay for three weddings. Everyone wanted to get married in December. Even I did.

Well, I could go to San Fernando, Pampanga, where lantern contests are held yearly. There are a fantastic variety of all sizes, shapes and conceivable designs like there is in Gerona, Tarlac and even in Ortigas, Manila. These lanterns are celebrations of what we are — artistic, linking handicraft and technology even if they’re just made from thin papel de Japon; but now, they’re also made of Plexiglas whirling, and counter-spinning, synchronized to the beat of music with blinking lights to go with the rhythm. Again, I didn’t leave Manila, but I had no regrets. I preferred to stay home anyway with Demi and feast my eyes on her smile, huge eyes, smooth white skin and marvel at her giggles and kisses while chasing after her from room to room and carrying her against doctor’s orders. She’s a grandchild and I’m like every doting Wawa.

I thought maybe I’ll go Nueva Ecija to see the tableaux of Mary and Joseph called Panunuluyan, performed right before the midnight Mass of Dec. 24. It turned out not to be the street procession anymore but an event held inside the church. Inside were tiny homes constructed and Mary and Joseph knocked on the doors until they were let in and the midnight Mass begun. Did I go? No, I ended up staying in Manila with my fireman Roger telling me about his Nueva Ecija experience.

In Bicol that custom is called Kagharong, “harong” meaning house. My father got so sick we thought he was “going,” and of course, I solemnly remained in Manila. In Bicol I thought the Panunuluyan was likewise a street procession, featuring two parishioners chosen by the townsfolk to dress as Mary and Joseph. They would have left the churchyard with parishioners at about 8 p.m. winding their way through the town’s street and stopping at three designated houses where the “holy couple,” accompanied by a small band, sang a plea to the owners of the house to stay for the night. At each house, they were turned away. “The house is full… the house is only for those who can pay… the owner did not trust the strangers…” And they closed the doors of their homes. After being refused, the “holy couple” returns to the church, where church devotees assembled to begin the midnight Mass. Good thing I was told beforehand, because it’s not like that anymore. Both celebrations are past tense in Nueva Ecija and Bicol. Street parades were held only during Holy Week. Unfortunately, old Christmas customs are no longer practiced, and the Philippines officially ends the yuletide seasons on the first Sunday of January. How sad.

For every beginning there is an end, as we conform to all seasons in happiness or a lack of it but treasuring its memories. These days I am so joyful because my nine grandchildren are all with us. My family is blessed to be together and loving each other. God, in his righteousness, intended for us to be cheerful; I am quite sure that He appreciates a lot of fun anytime as we abide by His enduring message of love that should resound louder than the firecrackers!

I am always conscious that time is fleeting. Soon Mai will be packing her bags to return to Italy… I see the Christmas wrappings have clogged our esteros and Manila Bay… Our parols will go back in the closets. My house and my heart will yearn for every Christmas to be like it was this year as I keep the spirit of peace towards all. Never mind those who refuse it. My life shall go on happily, never neglecting even the littlest things because everyone around me is special. I know it.