1:15 a.m.
And another Christmas passed me by.
I woke up late on December 25 then holed up in my room for most of the day. I went down for some two hours to share holiday cheers to some relatives who stopped by. I gave my presents to my young cousins. Then I returned to my room and stayed there until the day ended. I missed Christmas mass and the traditional lunch at our relatives’. I couldn’t think of a reason to get up.
When I was kid, Christmas was the day I looked forward to all year. My mom used to keep her Christmas purchases on top of our bunk bed. My siblings and I poked at the plastic bags. Sometimes we peeked into them but just for a second because we didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
Every year, we hung our socks or placed our shoe under the tree so Santa would know where to put our presents. And every Christmas morning indeed we would have a toy, clothes or shoes – always something wonderful that made us go, “Wooow!” Then all our aunts and uncles would give us more gifts and we’d count them and count so many we didn’t know what to do with them.
I used to also save up my lunch money in the months leading to December so I can buy gifts for my family. It was the only time of the year I actually splurged on things and it was great. I like wrapping presents and giving them away.
Even when I reached college and was already considered an adult, my aunts and uncles still gave me presents, usually money. And not only those at home, also over at the relatives we visit.
It was always chaotic at home at Christmastime. My mom and the four of us, then her five other siblings plus her parents were cramped in one house, some had to literally sleep on the floor and dining room chairs. We’d see the same sight in two other houses in our family compound. We were a crowd at noche Buena – boisterous, unruly, merry – and even more so come Christmas morning when the rest of the clan congregates at the compound. We would go from back and forth the three houses kissing the hands of elders, receiving more gifts, piling food on our plate and playing with cousins.
Christmas was a big deal. No one could miss it. No one could miss going to mass with the whole extended family. It was the only time some of us saw each other for an entire year.
There were some years when I resented Christmas because it also meant being locked in the house for the entire vacation. That meant I couldn’t go out with my friends or see my boyfriend then because we kids were being watched closely. All phone calls were monitored, take a call for more than five minutes and my grandfather would start yelling that I would get married the next day. Everyone seemed to feel they had the right to scrutinize my life – and they exercised that right to the full extent. I resisted the traditions, the intimacy of the season when I was a teenager because to my rebellious mind the price was my freedom.
Growing up happened, I guess. And deaths, family members passing away, some even during the season. Also economic necessity, one family after another moved abroad. Until only a handful of us remain here vainly, and admittedly not very enthusiastically sometimes, try to keep the traditions.
I don’t remember when things started changing for all of us, but I remember how my personal life went tailspinning into its own bundle of chaos. It was also around Christmas four year ago, the first I spent in bed sick, depressed and self-destructive. It left an indelible mark because for better or worse it has since been my most significant Christmas memory.
I still buy presents to give out and wrap them up nicely. I still help out to prepare food for noche Buena. I still stay up until midnight to share the dinner. Sometimes I join them for mass or to visit relatives. Sometimes I successfully convince myself there’s good reason to get out of bed, dress up and visit relatives whom I’m do miss badly. But I never liked keeping up appearances. I don’t like pretending I’m okay out of fear that people will see through me. I don’t want to mess up their Christmas.
This year I chose to stay in. I don’t think it made any difference. When the clock struck midnight there were only three of us at home who gave thanks and shared a modest meal. The two other houses in our compound were dark and locked.
When I close my eyes, I can still conjure those Christmas of years ago, however faintly sometimes. I know what a merry Christmas was like, and I know that’s not what I have now.
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