The wind is blowing coldly against my skin. Everyone woke up at 4 in the morning with dazed eyes and only to attend the Misa de Gallo barely awake. The smokey smell of bibingka lurks in the air, but its creamy texture leaves a soft spot on the tongue. The lanterns sway gently like the lights alternating a tune. This calls for a peaceful sleep beside loved ones, or perhaps a moment to cuddle and feel their warmth. But then the thought hits me: I am alone. The warmth from a short imagination slips away, leaving nothing but the cold solitude.
Start from the roots
For almost a year, I have longed for the presence of my father as he went to work abroad as a seafarer like millions of other Filipinos. His challenges are more than what I could count, and I am nothing but a child-at-heart wanting dad’s nurture as I navigate my life through adolescence.
The four walls of our home yearns for the spirit of Christmas my family and I used to celebrate.
Then, I remembered that the only thing my mother left me was her ashes. She passed away because of cancer, and the hospital bills were staggering which my family could not take care of, especially since the healthcare system in this country lacks government support.
Maybe my body can feel whole again if I build this Christmas tree on my own.
Hang the decorations
The ornament speaks to me. Every tree branch reminds me of when Mom and I used to shop in Divisoria to buy presents for younger relatives. She doesn't mind the sweat and the sea of people eager to purchase toys and shoes at a much lower price. These long and shiny garlands embracing the tree revive the picture in my mind of when children used to sing carols outside our door—playing their maracas and make-shift drums. They would hug each other when we would give them candies and tokens as appreciation.
As I lay each bauble, the taste of every viand crawls back to my palate. The crispy lumpiang shanghai, buttery menudo, and vibrant fruit salad we used to prepare fills up my stomach after a tiring day of pagmamano to the elderly.
The lights brightly blinking in rhythm dazzle the tree's body. They mirror how my family's eyes reflect when Noche Buena is about to end. The holy Belen caressing the fragile Sto. Niño sits in our house while watching us put the star at the top of the tree.
Savor the moment
There it is. The star. I take a step back while slowly looking at the tree I built on my own. It was never complete like the family I agonized for. It was not perfect the way I expected it to be. But it's there. And it’s the only thing that keeps me company for the windy Christmas.
I realized that holidays like this are more than the gifts we receive, the people strolling, and the food served at the table—it’s also about making oneself complete while still recognizing the missing parts etched in your heart.
Christmas is about celebrating the wins and weeping over losses.
The wind is blowing coldly again. Some are still groggy, bleary-eyed, and in a deep sleep and cannot attend the Misa de Gallo. The lanterns and lights lull me to sleep just beside my family. But then the thought hits me.
I am alone, yet I know how to build a Christmas tree—and it does not have to be perfect; it only needs to be present.
Article: Patricia Kate Azicate
Graphics: Juan Fernandez
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