I remember the Christmas morning after we lost everything. We had nothing left to give, except the will to smile. That was enough.
The Longest Holiday on Earth
We Filipinos are Christmas crazy. Always have been. Always will be. The moment September arrives, we start the ritual. The malls explode in red and gold. The parols light up like small suns in a tired sky. The radio stations unleash Jose Mari Chan like a seasonal haunting. We hum along while sweating under the noontime sun, pretending the heat feels like winter.
We know it’s absurd. We don’t care. For four long months we rehearse joy, because the rest of the year doesn’t give us many chances to feel it. We turn the calendar into a coping mechanism. We build hope out of lights, sound, and cheap decorations that somehow still glow after ten Christmases.
What Christmas Means to Us
Christmas is not just a holiday. It’s a performance of survival. It’s what happens when you run out of reasons to celebrate, but you do it anyway. We drag trees from the attic, tape old lights that spark and flicker, and convince ourselves that everything is fine. Because for one season, everything has to be fine.
The carols are not background noise. They are comfort. The smell of bibingka and lechon are not just food. They are memory. We need Christmas the way the body needs rest, the way the poor need small miracles that cost nothing but belief.
The Morning After We Lost Everything
I remember one Christmas morning after we lost everything. The house felt smaller, quieter. No fancy gifts, no overflowing table, no wrapping paper war. Just the faint hum of the radio playing “Silent Night” and the smell of rice cooking. My parents sat in silence, pretending it was enough. My mother smiled the way mothers do when they have to.
I was too young to understand the gravity of loss, but old enough to feel the weight of pretending. Still, when the first light of morning hit the window, something stirred. The world outside didn’t stop. The neighbors still played music. Kids still shouted “Merry Christmas.” And for a strange, fleeting moment, it felt like nothing had changed.
That’s when I understood. Christmas to us is not about abundance. It’s about endurance. It’s not about what we have. It’s about what we refuse to let go of.
The Madness That Keeps Us Sane
We Filipinos stretch Christmas because we need it to last. We need to stretch the illusion that everything will turn out fine. Maybe the gifts are fewer now, maybe the lights don’t all work, maybe the year took more than it gave. Still, we hang the parol. Still, we sing. Still, we cook too much food and invite everyone to eat.
The world may not understand why we do this, why we celebrate too long, too loud, too early. But for us, Christmas is not decoration. It is declaration. It is proof that we survived another year.
What Remains
Christmas to us is hope, as we cling on to whatever is left of us. It’s the stubborn light that refuses to go out. It’s laughter shared over borrowed plates. It’s the faith that no matter how cruel the year has been, December will always arrive with forgiveness.
We are Christmas crazy because without it, we would forget how to be human.