I don’t remember all my Christmas years when I was a child. But I do remember that if it’s the season of emptying pockets, the electricity in our town seemed fond of going out. Brownouts were no big surprises especially if it’s Christmas Eve. I do remember that in our elementary school, we had to write as many Christmas songs as we could remember. I recall myself taking pleasure in writing songs, dividing the English songs and the Tagalog tunes and beaming while looking at my notebook full of songs, thicker than my classmates! And I do remember the “exchange gifts” in our classroom. I particularly remember one Christmas party in which I gave my “manita” a box full of fragrant hankies and fans, then I, in return, received a plastic bag with an Ivory shampoo sachet, a small packet of korniks, Oishi, and the orange candies. Just imagine how I felt but then again, it’s the thought that counts.
My most significant memories of Christmases" were, of course, at home. When I was a child, I was delighted when I’m asked to help with the decorations. It was not elaborate but the spirit was fun. Papa would put up and literally “create” our very own Christmas tree. The cutout letters made of “banig”, sprinkled with glitters is still being displayed at our house during Christmas. It stays below the built in “notes” near the ceiling mightily greeting everyone “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” We make our own Christmas decorations. We rarely buy. What was elaborate during Christmas was the food, still is. Papa, the accomplished cook, would never leave the table bare. The Christmas aroma is overwhelming. What was left? Well, of course, Santa Claus. We would stick to our door, this flat, red, and human size Santa Claus with its beard made of cotton. On Christmas Eve, after Noche Buena, the three of us, Kuya, me, and Mels, the bunso would hang a sock on the wall. The socks were for Santa Claus, the bigger the sock, the larger the gift.
My Christmases, when I was a child, were filled with wonder, wondering about Santa Claus. My innocent mind was the greatest believer of a huge man in red who would fill up my sock on Christmas Eve while the little me would sleep. Ever since, I started pinning my sock on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus never failed me on Christmas Day. It was overflowing with toys, candies, chocolates and clothes. One Christmas, however, I discovered the great secret behind Santa Claus. I remember this incident quite clearly. I just turned 8 that one particular December. December 24, evening, we just had our sumptuous Noche Buena, enjoyed some music and games. Before I went to bed, I kept on checking my sock and warned myself with the song “Santa Claus is Coming To Town”. I slept soundly that night. I woke up on Christmas Day very early. It was just before dawn. I woke up because little bladders can’t wait. When I opened the door to our living room, lo and behold! It was not Santa Claus but my very own Papa and Mama, stuffing toys and candies in our socks. They didn’t hear me while I silently watched, soft tears streaming down my cheeks. Santa Claus wasn’t real at all. It was a real battle inside me. As a child, I’ve lost all hope of winning. When Mama looked up after stuffing the last candy in my sister’s sock, she saw me crying silently. Just imagine what an eight year old girl felt when Mama laughed out loud. They tried to explain and console me but it was lost. I remember Mama saying (I don’t think she remembers this) that Santa Claus was just not available that day. But it was lost; my hope of catching Santa Claus was gone.
When my older brother and my sister awoke later that day, they were confused. It was Christmas Day, the day I lost Santa Claus.
My most significant memories of Christmases" were, of course, at home. When I was a child, I was delighted when I’m asked to help with the decorations. It was not elaborate but the spirit was fun. Papa would put up and literally “create” our very own Christmas tree. The cutout letters made of “banig”, sprinkled with glitters is still being displayed at our house during Christmas. It stays below the built in “notes” near the ceiling mightily greeting everyone “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” We make our own Christmas decorations. We rarely buy. What was elaborate during Christmas was the food, still is. Papa, the accomplished cook, would never leave the table bare. The Christmas aroma is overwhelming. What was left? Well, of course, Santa Claus. We would stick to our door, this flat, red, and human size Santa Claus with its beard made of cotton. On Christmas Eve, after Noche Buena, the three of us, Kuya, me, and Mels, the bunso would hang a sock on the wall. The socks were for Santa Claus, the bigger the sock, the larger the gift.
My Christmases, when I was a child, were filled with wonder, wondering about Santa Claus. My innocent mind was the greatest believer of a huge man in red who would fill up my sock on Christmas Eve while the little me would sleep. Ever since, I started pinning my sock on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus never failed me on Christmas Day. It was overflowing with toys, candies, chocolates and clothes. One Christmas, however, I discovered the great secret behind Santa Claus. I remember this incident quite clearly. I just turned 8 that one particular December. December 24, evening, we just had our sumptuous Noche Buena, enjoyed some music and games. Before I went to bed, I kept on checking my sock and warned myself with the song “Santa Claus is Coming To Town”. I slept soundly that night. I woke up on Christmas Day very early. It was just before dawn. I woke up because little bladders can’t wait. When I opened the door to our living room, lo and behold! It was not Santa Claus but my very own Papa and Mama, stuffing toys and candies in our socks. They didn’t hear me while I silently watched, soft tears streaming down my cheeks. Santa Claus wasn’t real at all. It was a real battle inside me. As a child, I’ve lost all hope of winning. When Mama looked up after stuffing the last candy in my sister’s sock, she saw me crying silently. Just imagine what an eight year old girl felt when Mama laughed out loud. They tried to explain and console me but it was lost. I remember Mama saying (I don’t think she remembers this) that Santa Claus was just not available that day. But it was lost; my hope of catching Santa Claus was gone.
When my older brother and my sister awoke later that day, they were confused. It was Christmas Day, the day I lost Santa Claus.
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