PAINT WITH WORDS

The Philippines is one of the two predominant Catholic countries in Asia, the other being East Timor , therefore it has been a huge and long-living tradition for the Filipinos to celebrate the Christmas season. The Filipino Christmas has been the longest Christmas commemoration, beginning as early as September and ending on the Epiphany, and the most incomparable—children caroling, people attending the nine-day dawn masses traditionally called Misa de Gallo in Spanish or simply Simbang Gabi in my mother tongue with puto bombom being sold in the churches’ premises, embellishing the Noche Buena with queso de bola, tsokolate and jamon, the various versions of the Belen in almost all corners of the country and most importantly the happy Filipinos welcoming Jesus Christ in their cozy hearts. What an arresting way to acknowledge the Christmas season! But with poverty engraved all over the country, thousands of hungry stomachs waiting to be fed, thousands of dying humans aspiring to live longer, thousands of our Muslim brothers sensing death at their doorsteps, can Christmas 2008 still be one of the most arresting Christmases in our history? Or would it just be another one of those empty days pretending to be full?

I was walking along the longevity of Roxas Blvd. on a warm December day with the sun partly hidden behind the clouds and I couldn’t help but notice this little boy dressed in dirty and old clothes with dirty hands, feet, body—yes, he was dirty, probably he’s just one of the thousands who sleep directly under the sky. He was chasing everyone he comes across with. His hands trembling, maybe because of hunger, he was asking for some money to suffice for his lunch. Finally when somebody, a good somebody, passed and gave him Php20.00, the boy ran towards a group of people sitting on the hard and hot ground—a woman carrying a baby, one little girl younger than the boy I saw, two boys older than the boy I saw and one man eager to see what the little boy was about to hand. He handed the Php20.00 to this man I assume to be his father. I felt my stomach somersault at this site—it was like another scene filmed by an award-wining director in an award-wining soap opera portrayed by award-wining actors. I felt this huge lump take over my throat—it was like I tried to swallow a whole jaw-breaker. I felt awful and miserable in an instant. Php20.00 for an entire family who will be having their lunch? What can that buy for an entire family? My eyes wandered to divert my surrendering thoughts but it didn’t help, I saw another kid asking for money, begging for money—only this time it’s a girl.

I went home late in the afternoon and my mind still kept replaying the horrendous scene I witnessed. I tried to imagine how there Christmas would be like but there’s no need, I already saw it—right before my eyes, I can even smell the morbidity of poverty right under my nose. Their Christmas would be directly under the sky with Christmas trees, lanterns and lights embedded on the streets with nothing—no queso de bola, no tsokolate, no jamon on  their table—in fact they might not even have tables.

Gone were the days when Christmas was celebrated by almost everyone. Gone were the happy Filipinos anticipating for Christ’s birth. Gone were the angelic voices caroling every night. Gone were the days when Christmas in the Philippines was at its best. What I see now is just an ordinary day trying to be made especial by gigantic Christmas trees. I want to see the happy faces again. I want to hear the lovely voices again. I want to smell the aroma of Christmas again. I want to feel the Christmas, the arresting Christmas again, but til then.