Memories of Christmas past

Every Christmas and its season leave in each of us something to remember by. It could be a single happening or a series of happenings which touches us so deeply that even long after it happened the memory of it still remains lucid in the wind. To be sure, such memory is not always a happy one.

Christmas, it is true, is a happy occasion. As a spiritual experience it brings to mind the birth of mankind's Savior. Secularly viewed, it is a time of fellowship, partying and giving. Despite these, however, the heart is not immune to moments of pain because suffering does not choose its season. One's Christmas therefore could be multi-colored.

What was the color of your Christmas this year? What about the Christmases in the past, have they left you with images you can't forget? It pays to recall these not only for their sentimental value but also for the lessons they unveil. What the future holds has been revealed to a certain extent by our past, and the mileage of our tomorrow is somehow measured by how far we look back to our past.

Christmas 2006 is only three days old but this early I have already tried to see a rewind of it all. Viewed cursorily, that event looks like the beads in a Rosary, so alike in size and shape and so uneventful if prayed mechanically. But carefully reflected on what just happened has been one spectacular lump of pleasant experiences defined by fellowship, well-wishing, and good-will wrapped in spiritual moments. Those moments were mainly wrought by the Misa de Gallo, those dawn adventures into the realm of the supernatural which happened when sleep was at its sweetest, were a big investment in self-sacrifice.

In our parish of Sto. Tomas de Villanueva in Pardo the Misas had become so well attended that even if one came early he couldn't get a seat inside the church. So the entire spread outside would be filled with faithfuls, including ourselves, who would settle on self-provided plastic chairs. There we would join the solemnities, our ears attuned to the ritual's progress. We would take communion too in semi-darkness and when the proceedings were over we would spill out of the churchyard quietly like ants after a sugar-feast. Although we had not seen the holy celebrants, nor the altar phenomenon with its lights and costumed choir, our hearts would be filled with the season's peace and comfort as we aimed our footsteps back to our homes.

Of the Christmases in the past, I can recall a number of events that form nuggets in my treasure trunk of experiences. Here's one. The time was circa 1950 and I was in my sixth year in the grades. The place was the Cebu Normal School ground (now the Cebu Normal University), where there was a caroling contest participated in by various public schools. I was one of the carolers from San Nicolas elementary school whose piece was the Cantigue de Noel. We sang our song so soulfully and perhaps so musically precise (for we had practiced it for weeks) that we came our first place in the competition. But it was not the winning that touched me. It was the song itself, the lyric and the tune, that has lodged in my heart all these years, for in it is concealed the exciting years of youth, its wild wishes and dreams.

And here's another memory, rather a sad one. The time was a few days before Christmas in 1948. The place was a remote barrio in southern Cebu. While the rest of the family were in the City, Mother and I were staying in our bamboo house, the one we lived in during the war, where she hoped to recuperate from an ailment. I was in grade five then, but I decided to quit school to take care of Mother.

Christmas in our barrio had nothing of the lights and sizzle in the city. Save for the bamboo lantern I made and some occasional carolers there was nothing "Christmassy" there. Early that day I tried to create some noise with a bamboo "canon" and a couple of kids from the only house nearby came and volunteered to do the blowing. But after a while they left and I stopped toying with the contraption.

That evening some carolers came, but having given away all our root crops (we gave these out instead of money), I had to cut short their songs. Towards late in the evening Mother asked for a serving of porridge. I hurriedly cooked this, then spoon-fed her with it. After that she settled back and fell asleep. I fell asleep too. It was full morning when I woke up. I went down the house to gather some firewood to prepare a glass of milk for Mother. I tiptoed into her room with the glass of milk. There was a strange stillness inside. "Mother!" I called. No response. I opened the window. Still mother did not wake up. I approached her and touched her face, now pale in the morning light. It was cold! I don't remember now if I cried. What I remember was that I ran towards our neighbor's house while shouting, "God, please don't let Mama die!" What I also remember was that Christmas died in my heart that year.

I hope your Christmas this year was brightly colored.

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