By Christopher Ong

The author contrasts Christmas in Australia, where he spent his early childhood, and in the Philippines, where he grew up, before moving back 'Down Under' with his family last year.

Nothing captures the beauty of the human heart more than the season of Christmas. Its days are imbued with love, unlike ordinary days. Its theme is the joie de vivre of being part of a family. As we remember the Holy Family, which shaped us and the rest of the world, we become brothers and sisters in faith.

Countless accounts have been written about this hallowed time of the year. Each is unique in its own way, much like the manner of greeting our neighbors ‘Merry Christmas’. The words may vary – fromFeliz Navidad to Joyeux Noel to Maligayang Pasko, but the atmosphere of warmth and affection certainly does not.

It is a time of forgiveness, thanksgiving and hope. Like the story of two sisters who had not talked for a long, long time but patched up their differences at Christmas decades later, it is marked by limitlessness of possibilities. We become grateful for the coming of our Savior and wait in hope for His return. People often look forward to this time, more so in the Philippines. Filipinos love Christmas so much that they pride themselves on having the longest celebration. This usually starts around October or even as early as September and goes all the way to February.

Through a child’s eyes

My own Christmas story is exciting in its own right. Much of it stems from the fact that it spans thirteen years. I was a four-year-old kid when it all began. The tale of two Christmases starts in this very lucky country, Australia. Honestly, I don’t remember much. There are some recollections here and there, but you can’t expect too much from a four-year-old. What I do remember was that we lived in Marrickville, Sydney, in those days. The weather was hot. I was quite a talkative child. My daily routine was filled mostly with playing and fun. That meant drawing (more like scribbling), watching TV or assembling my Lego. Life was, indeed, innocent.

I vividly recall my mom putting up our large Christmas tree, a tradition that generated the season’s air in our home. She adorned it with sparkling decorations, from tiny drummers to trumpeting angels, colorful bells and candy canes to shining orbs. A kaleidoscope of lights made it seem alive with a breathtaking star to top it all off. There were also other decorations aside from the memorable tree: frame houses which featured dwarfs doing odd jobs, a humongous banner that proclaimed ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’. My elder sister, Ate Jacky, and I hung our red and green stockings on the wall to wake up the next morning with them brimming over with gifts from a generous Santa Claus.

Christmas is not nearly as popular as Easter here. The resurrection of Christ holds more significance than His birth. But for our family, deeply devout Catholics, we look forward to it anyway. During this occasion, our image as one ‘big,’ (although we were just four before), happy family could not be more pronounced. After all, it’s never too late to find heaven in each other, right?

Christmas with carabaos

In September 1994, we decided to transfer to the Philippines. Much adjustment was made, especially by me and my sister. A few months earlier, we had a vacation in that tropical country and it was definitely something different. Suddenly, the climate was hot in a way we weren’t used to. Since we settled in Legazpi City, we were surrounded by long stretches of farmland. Instead of trains and the trappings of modern society, we got used to cows, chickens and carabaos. Weird!

Our part of the country was quite laid-back, which was good: ‘Down Under’ is mostly the same. As the years passed, my Christmas stories continued. As for Santa’s gifts, I stopped receiving them when I was in third year high school. But that really didn’t pose a problem: my other joyful experiences more than made up for it.

I remember when I was nine we spent the holidays in a peaceful, faraway town of Albay. In that placid place, there lies a large lot which is home to many relatives. My Ate Jacky, my cousins and I went caroling. It was truly awesome. Once we started singing and seeing the smiles of our fine neighbors, I found meaning in the midst of the season of giving. The moment our neighbors warmed up to us, started conversing with us, I felt love for them despite their shortcomings in other areas. Spending Christmas with my relatives was also a new experience. To be together and share a meal at the table of brotherhood was memorable indeed.

I also remembered the time we attended the Simbang Gabi. Actually, not too vividly because I was still sleepy the moment we entered the church. However, the invigorating taste of puto bumbong is something that comes to mind readily. On Christmas Eve we would come together as one family to attend the Midnight Mass. Afterwards feeling restored by the Holy Spirit, we would help ourselves to my mom’s first-class cooking, the much-awaited Noche Buena. The food and camaraderie were something to remember. And what happens next made me held my breath. It was time to exchange gifts!

We would get our gifts under the tree and be pleasantly surprised each time. When I was a bit older, I came to notice the beauty of the parols and Christmas lights. Of course, nobody filled their houses and lawns with electric sights like those in Manila, yet it was still a sight to behold. I marveled at the grand spirit of Christmas in the country. People really did change for its sake. Teachers became less strict, neighbors became friendlier and there existed a feeling of unity so real you could almost touch it.

Full circle

On 10 December last year and after a lifetime basking in the islands of the Philippines, I went home at last. Two weeks later, I experienced my first Christmas here in thirteen years. I am grateful for growing up in the Philippines. It was a means by which my desire to be a great twenty-first century writer took its first steps. If there is one thing that I truly learned back there, it is to work for my own luck. Everything I ever achieved is the result of my hard work and patience. I’ll continue this quest until the sunset of my life.

And so here I am. Things have changed. I no longer reside in the same suburb, but we plan to return to the place of my childhood. Life has come full circle. My last Christmas was as good as any other. In the face of a new chapter of my life, I opened more doors by celebrating with a number of new friends. At the center of it all is a bigger, more unreal Christmastime. I watch it in a solemn hush – the air of giving and receiving, touching and accepting, speaking and listening. In my solace I find courage.

Last year, the neighborhood was a bit plain. Where were all the sights and sounds of a loud season? Were they all camouflaged in the midst of gray people? After twelve years of being accustomed to the noise, I was ‘shocked beyond repair,’ as my great mentor Sir Ed Verdadero would put it. A few houses did fill their facades and lawns with tons of Christmas lights but apparently they were in a contest for the best-lit home in our area.

I am naive about the secular world though I appear so attracted to it in the view of other people. I value more the unseen things, like faith and love, than my new pair of Reebok Pumps and my slick army jacket. To me, it is not uncommon to dish a mile-wide smile for the precious gifts I receive each and every Christmas. Deep down, I am just a humble person.
At eighteen I can, without much reflection, speak about the things I value most in life. It is not my penchant for writing honorable essays and poems, not shooting the gap in the basketball court with impunity or receiving higher learning – all that can be lost. It is being part of a legion of disciples, believing in the same blessed Being, hearing the preachers’ homilies and practicing what they preach. Above all, doing the most difficult part and growing day by day. That is, forgiving all those who have insulted me or questioned my place under the sun. It is by forgetting all the troubles my oppressors caused me. If there ever is one immortal image that I will carry as a coat of arms my entire lifetime, it is The Cross. For, if God made Man can go through all that suffering and hold not the tiniest hint of a grudge, I could do well in following His lead.

I cannot be more thankful for seeing the two sides of the coin, ‘Aussie’ and ‘Pinoy’. The journey continues for me. I know I’ll never be lost, not with the kind of pictures I paint, the words I put together. So now that it’s Christmastime, let’s give ourselves pause. And remark at the beauty of it all. 

You may email Christopher Ong at toffyboy232001@yahoo.com