WHEN I was growing up in Basa Air Base, Pampanga, Christmas meant gifts from the squadron where my soldier-father belonged. But gifts were given only to kids 10 years old and below. When I reached 11, I went home giftless and experienced for the first time how it was to be a young adult.<\/p>\r\r
Young adulthood then, I thought, meant fending for myself, saving coins in the can of Darigold evaporated milk so I could have some money for myself when Christmas came knocking. In my family, Christmas meant modest things \u2014 some fried chicken and laing, and macaroni salad on the table, and new clothes for the kids. The gifts were usually bought at the commissary of the military air base, unless my father had gone to Manila on a mission and came back loaded with toys.<\/p>\r\r\r<\/figcaption>\r<\/figure>\r\r
When we moved to Quezon City, Christmas meant going to the Manila COD Department Store in Cubao to watch its mobile display on the ledge of the second floor. There we gaped at the characters of Christmas moving slowly, as if possessed with lives of their own. Many years later, after both my parents had died, we went to the airport to send off my sister who had come for my mother's funeral.<\/p>\r\r
On the way back, I decided we should pass by Greenhills, for the Manila COD Christmas display had been moved there. I was especially glad to see my sister Jenny, who has Down syndrome, happily gazing at the moving figures and smiling \u2014 these, after we had lost both our parents within one month of each other, because of illnesses.<\/p>\r\r
When I went to college at Ateneo and later, when I began teaching full time while taking my graduate studies at the same university, Christmas meant marking so many papers before vacation finally came. Since my final exams were always essays, that meant marking more than 150 student essays before the third week of December.<\/p>\r\r
It got so bad that I would mark papers, try to catch some sleep while slumped on my desk, then wake up hours later, at the crack of dawn, chilled to the bone and hungry. I would go to the kitchen and prepare myself some oats and milk to eat, and would hear someone stirring in the bedroom beside the kitchen, someone stirring a cup with a teaspoon.<\/p>\r\r
It was my grandmother's bedroom. It would have been a perfectly domestic situation, except that my grandmother had been dead for many years. She always took care of me and told me to sleep early and rise early as well, and the sounds of domestic joy in her room that night, many years after her death, was reassuring.<\/p>\r\r
When I took my MPhil in Publishing Studies at the University of Stirling in Scotland, I applied for a US B1-B2 visa so I could join my sister, who had become a nurse in deepest, darkest, coldest New Jersey.<\/p>\r\r
The consul was young and unsmiling. He asked why I did not get a visa in Manila, and I said the queues were 2 miles long. And when he asked what if I refuse you a visa, what will you do?<\/p>\r\r
\"Oh,\" I said, smiling at him, \"I can just cross the English Channel and spend my Christmas with my friend, Bonnie.\"<\/p>\r\r
He gave me the best visa of all \u2014 multiple entry indefinite, which the US government later shortened to 10 years for one and all.<\/p>\r\r
So, my first American Christmas was spent traveling in a cheap Air New Zealand flight from London to New York, where my sister picked me up in the cold so bad it could break your bones. Then we drove to New Jersey, in a landscape so white with snow it hurt the eyes, and arrived at a town ironically called Summit.<\/p>\r\r
My sister and I later flew to Washington, D.C., to spend Christmas with our cousins in Maryland. I was wearing thick woolen sweaters from Scotland, and I was lucky my cousin's big house was amply heated for the coldest American winter in 67 years.<\/p>\r\r
We then drove to West Virginia, where another cousin was a doctor, driving on roads made slippery by snow. We walked on knee-high banks of snow, under a sky the color of gunmetal gray. The birch and maple trees had no leaves, and the branches were stark against the snow.<\/p>\r\r
Then it was back to the tropical Christmas for three years, then a Christmas in LA, to visit my sister who had moved to that city beloved of Filipinos. Most of the Filipinos in LA seemed to have newly arrived from the islands. They would scrape their chairs against the floor, hit your arm or back without apologizing, and chattered like birds recently freed from their cages. They lacked the sophistication I found among Filipinos in the East Coast, whose main mantra was \"work, work, work!\"<\/p>\r\r
But the weather in LA, then and now, is a respite for me. Last year, I was in LA again, after spending interminable months reading and writing in Oxford, Ohio, with its subzero temperature. I was just wearing a t-shirt and shorts in the 15 degrees Celsius temperature of LA, walking around the village for my daily exercise, and met Koreans and white Americans swaddled in their sweaters and thick-layered jogging pants.<\/p>\r\r
Then and now, I choose to travel by air on Christmas Day. The airfare is cheap, the people are more cheerful, and the Manila airport \u2014 the worst in the world \u2014 is not congested. The Grab and InDrive drivers are plenty, the roads are not choked with traffic, and the sky, the tropical sky of the Philippines, is wide and white. The blue clouds sail like beautiful boats, telling me that I am finally home.<\/p>\r\r
A happy new year to all!<\/p>","article_custom_fields":"{\"\":[\"\"],\"seo_meta_keywords\":[\"\"],\"seo_meta_description\":[\"\"],\"seo_meta_title\":[\"\"],\"sponsored_flag\":[\"\"],\"offer_flag\":[\"off\"],\"featured_article_flag\":[\"\"],\"drupal_json\":[\"{\\\"type\\\":null,\\\"properties\\\":{\\\"PUBLISHED\\\":0,\\\"PROMOTED\\\":0,\\\"STICKY\\\":0},\\\"fields\\\":[]}\"],\"wp_custom_json\":[\"{\\\"type\\\":\\\"\\\",\\\"fields\\\":[]}\"],\"article_tags\":[\"\"],\"show_image\":[\"off\"],\"Disable_Ad\":[\"off\"],\"disable_player\":[\"off\"],\"column\":[\"\"],\"kicker\":[\"\"],\"edel\":[\"on\"],\"delu\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/tmt.news\\\/DE20250102A1\"],\"delt\":[\"Read this in The Manila Times digital edition.\"],\"premium\":[\"off\"],\"Redirect_URL\":[\"\"],\"Registration_required\":[\"off\"],\"background_image\":[\"off\"],\"user_needs\":[\"\"],\"page_number\":\"0\",\"initial_publication\":\"\",\"date_created\":\"2025-01-01 21:35:17\",\"date_modified\":\"2025-01-02 09:25:29\",\"last_modified_user\":\"Sherwin Arnaiz\",\"section_color\":\"\",\"target_page\":\"0\",\"cxense_metatags\":null}","cms_type":"live","author_id":2466,"section_id":13,"seo_meta_keywords":"Holidays,around,the,world","seo_meta_description":"","seo_meta_title":"Holidays around the world","publish_time":"2025-01-02 00:07:00","related_articles_ids":"","article_tags":"","sub_section_id":6,"visit_count":50,"sponsored_flag":0,"offer_flag":0,"featured_article_flag":0,"media_gallery_flag":0,"video_gallery_flag":0,"highlight_flag":0,"top_story_flag":0,"is_updated":0,"is_old_article":0,"old_article_id":0,"article_byline":"Danton Remoto","ts":"2025-01-03 06:57:31","last_edited":"2025-01-02 09:25:29","alt_publish_time":"2025-01-01 21:43:46","image_path":"{\\\"image_path\\\":\\\"manilatimes\\\\\/uploads\\\\\/images\\\\\/2025\\\\\/01\\\\\/01\\\\\/503744.jpg\\\",\\\"cms_type\\\":\\\"live\\\",\\\"small_image\\\":\\\"\\\",\\\"is_updated\\\":\\\"0\\\",\\\"image_cropping\\\":\\\"{\\\\\\\"original_image\\\\\\\":{\\\\\\\"image_original_width\\\\\\\":1200,\\\\\\\"image_original_height\\\\\\\":908,\\\\\\\"icd_image_type\\\\\\\":\\\\\\\"original_image\\\\\\\"},\\\\\\\"main_image\\\\\\\":{\\\\\\\"image_main_width\\\\\\\":1200,\\\\\\\"image_main_height\\\\\\\":908,\\\\\\\"icd_image_type\\\\\\\":\\\\\\\"main_image\\\\\\\"}}\\\",\\\"is_copied\\\":\\\"0\\\",\\\"media_type\\\":\\\"0\\\",\\\"image_caption\\\":\\\"\\\",\\\"image_alt_text\\\":\\\"\\\",\\\"image_count\\\":2}","author_name":"Danton Remoto","section_name":"Opinion","sub_section_name":"Columns","slide_show":0,"breaking_news":0,"visit_count_update_date":"2025-01-03 06:57:31","old_cms_article_id":null,"permalink":"2025\/01\/02\/opinion\/columns\/holidays-around-the-world\/2029110","show_image_in_thumb":0,"api_status":2,"a_custom_data":"{\"exclude_from_gallery\":null,\"lead_image_id\":null}","publication_id":2,"max_publish_time":"2025-01-02 00:07:00","page_number":"","homepage_article_flag":0,"article_shortlink":null,"cropped_image":0};
WHEN I was growing up in Basa Air Base, Pampanga, Christmas meant gifts from the squadron where my soldier-father belonged. But gifts were given only to kids 10 years old and below. When I reached 11, I went home giftless and experienced for the first time how it was to be a young adult.
Young adulthood then, I thought, meant fending for myself, saving coins in the can of Darigold evaporated milk so I could have some money for myself when Christmas came knocking. In my family, Christmas meant modest things — some fried chicken and laing, and macaroni salad on the table, and new clothes for the kids. The gifts were usually bought at the commissary of the military air base, unless my father had gone to Manila on a mission and came back loaded with toys.
