“SINGKO lang po, singko lang po, (Just five centavos, just five centavos)
Singko lang po ang ibigay niyo. (Just give us five centavos).
Ayos na ang buto-buto.” (Everything will be okay)
“Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” never had a less literal translation. Funny how I caught myself singing it.
Reading about the devastation caused by typhoon Ruby, so soon after the destruction in the wake of Yolanda, I recall our first Christmas in America in 1986. For those of us who have not experienced it for decades, no calamity can ever diminish the joy that Pasko in the Philippines brings. To say that it is more fun is an understatement.
I can still see our two youngest kids, Jojo and Jinky, and their playmates scurrying around the neighborhood in Parañaque, knocking on doors like Halloween trick-or-treaters, holding the homeowners hostage with their repertoire of carols until they were paid a ransom of coins and crumpled pesos.
In contrast, back in 1986, my wife, four children and I were spending the yuletide season slushing through the snow or shivering by the fireplace, bundled in layers of clothing, our fingers stiff and frozen, our ears and noses threatening to fall off from the cold. If anybody had told us how fun it was to ride in a one-horse open sleigh, we would have disagreed.
We had a house in a little town on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake, perhaps not much bigger than Bethlehem. And if a place could have inspired the song, “Silent Night,” Cambridge, Maryland must surely have done so.
Enduring the cold winter nights huddled by an open fire, we wondered when Jack Frost would stop nipping at our door. And as we listened to the carols being sung by the television choirs, we all pined for the Pasko that we had known all our lives back home.
Home. There we were in our own snow-covered cottage, actually experiencing the white Christmas we had vicariously known, and we still thought of the house in Parañaque as home.
Lest I be misunderstood, Christmas in America has always been a joyful experience for our family, having been fortunate to be always together. But, even to this day, it is the time of year when we miss the Philippines most.
Ah, the flood of nostalgia. The old hometown, the old neighborhood, the relatives and friends. The sights, the sounds, the fragrances, the things we did as the months began to end with “ber.
“Ber” – that was the signal that the yuletide season was upon us. Septem-Ber was when the first carols could be heard on radio. Then would follow Octo-Ber and the retail stores began to hang up holiday displays. Novem-Ber was when the first installment of the Christmas bonus or the thirteenth month pay was given. Time for gift-shopping before prices shot up. And then came Decem-Ber, and the countdown to Araw ng Pasko began in earnest.
The airwaves would reverberate with carols that served up a confusion of sounds and images, of red-nosed reindeers and carabao sleds, of Pastores de Belen and Santa Claus, and of “Kristo Ay Sumapit” and “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
But for the children, this cacophony invariably blended into one warm package called happiness. And even adults, despite having to hustle for extra cash for gifts and the festive table, always managed to survive the season with a smile.
How can we ever forget Pasko?
Brightly-colored parols hanging at every window, bidding welcome to men of goodwill. Ersatz fir trees covered with ersatz snow, laden with shiny bells and balls, little angels and Santa Claus cutouts, and the fold-out cardboard Belen at the base.
The Misa de Gallo, commencing on December 16. A great way to cleanse one’s soul for Advent, and a perfect opportunity for flirtation and young love.
Then, on Christmas Eve, the Midnight Mass. And the Media Noche. Puto bungbong, suman and bibingka. Queso de bola, hamon and lechon de leche.
The next morning, the stream of kumares and kumpares with children in tow, all reminding you that you were ninong and ninang at that baptism so many unremembered years ago, and gently adding that you still owed your inaanak the aguinaldo for Christmases past.
Throughout the season, community choral groups serenading for funds. Professional carolers canvassing neighborhoods like appliance sales teams. And urchins scampering from house to house, wielding makeshift instruments and screaming at the top of their lungs.
And the office parties. What’s Pasko without the office parties? The one day in the year when the Scrooges showered their benevolence on the Cratchits.
I remember one office Christmas party where I replaced the lyrics of Levi Celerio’s classic “Ang Pasko Ay Sumapit” with lines of my own:
“Ang Pasko ay dumako, tayo ay mangagsitago; (Christmas is here, let us hide)
Pagka’t ang ating bonus, kulang pa sa mga gastos.”( Because our bonuses are not enough for expenses)
The chairman of the board didn’t think that was funny, especially coming from his CEO.
But the happiest gatherings of all were the family reunions. A time to remember lolos and lolas, aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces. To meet new in-laws and prospective ones. To see the new grandchildren and some great grandchildren. To be reminded how ancient you had become.
A time for kissing hands and bussing cheeks. For hugging and being hugged. For loud laughter and teasing and pinching. And, yes, a time for profligate consumption of food and drink, including that bottle of “stateside” so carefully kept for just such a special occasion.
Our Christmas Day reunion was always at the house of an elder brother in Talayan Village. New Year’s Eve, at an elder sister’s place in Sampaloc. The Feast of the Three Kings, the official conclusion of the yuletide season, at another brother’s house in Quezon City. Our turn was on the 24th of December, whose added significance was that it was the day my wife, Gigi, and I were wed.
Memories! Swirling in my head like a playful gust of wind, titillating my soul, then leaving a cold, hollow feeling, like the haunting smile of someone dear, whose name I could not recall.
For sure, Pasko will not be as joyful as in those days before serial super typhoons. But our people will always find a way to make merry. Except for those who lost their loved ones to Yolanda and to Ruby, there’s nothing more fun than being with friends and family on Christmas.
When I close my eyes, I still savor the moment, imagining the children hurrying out to meet their playmates, brandishing their castanets made from tansan and a tin can for a drum, and singing themselves hoarse:
“Singko lang po, singko lang po,
Singko lang po ang ibigay niyo.
Ayos na ang buto-buto.”
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