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| The municipal hall of San Narciso, Zambales a-glitter with Christmas lights this year (2017). |
More than a half a century ago, Pascua (Christmas) to us kids in the old hometown seemed to take too long in coming. When we learned to reckon its approach with the onset of the 'ber'-months, we had already lost the pure, innocent joy of waiting.
We can’t remember exactly what our great
expectations were while the nights were turning colder, and we would need to
wear a pranela (sweater) when we go
caroling or simply prowling around with the neighborhood kids.
We were told to be good so that Santa would
bring us gifts come Christmas. We have
no recollection if Santa Claus ever came at all through the windows or the
galvanized iron roof of our house of buho
walls and bamboo stairs.
By November, our Inang (mother) would be having more sewing jobs to finish. Her customers, friends and relatives, would
be dropping by to have their dresses sewn for the Misa Aguinaldo (midnight mass) on Christmas Eve. She would stay till late at night to fulfill
her commitments, sparing enough time for her and my five sisters’ own clothes
as these would be done last.
Memory tells us that we always wore a
white polo shirt on Christmas. Inang
took care, we now think, to shield us from the usual taunts, no matter how
friendly these were, that loud colors do not seemingly match our earth-brown
skin tone.
In those days when we went to school in
wooden clogs, and later in rubber sandals, Christmas was the only occasion when
we had to wear shoes despite our heavy protestations. Many a time did we suffer blisters at the
back of our feet. Probably, it’s because
parents did not do much personal shopping then.
Unless they did, the bilin
(request) system was deemed most convenient whenever a close friend or relative
was bound for Manila or Olongapo. They
would trace our feet on a piece of paper and cut this out. The shoes might fit the pattern correctly,
but it did not assure the comfort of poor little kids who should look their
angelic best on Christmas day.
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| Far from our childhood Christmas trees. These are competing 12-ft trees in our town's contest. |
In our six Christmases at the San
Jose-Patrocinio Elementary School, our Christmas tree, just like in most of the
pupils’ homes, was the lowly kuribetbet
shrub shorn of all its leaves. Bands of
green crepe paper about two inches wide were cut and then folded along its length. Narrow strips were cut perpendicular to and
along the fold, taking care to go just about halfway, and when done, the bands
were spread open and refolded the other side to yield a leafy effect. These were then wound around the stem and
branches of the bare kuribetbet producing
an evergreen tree on which to hang colored, usually red, paper balls and
bells.
Industrial arts projects in December
invariably would be a parol (lantern),
usually the simple bamboo star. We would
cover our projects with colored Japanese paper or cellophane and attached the rayos (rays) made of the same paper at
two adjacent points of the star.
Sometimes, we would put a rim attached to all five points of the
star. Some would put a belen of cardboard at the middle, or
some other decorative paper cut-outs all over.
When schools closed for the Christmas vacation, we would bring home our
lanterns to be hung at our windows.
At home, we always had these breakable
decorative balls to hang. During those
years, when the dollar exchange rate was taymes
tu (times two) yet, Inang would ask
aunts married to US Navymen to buy these things for us in the navy commissary
in Subic. They had buying privileges
even when their husbands were away at sea.
At the end of each season, Inang would have less decors to keep for the
next year since the Christmas tree toppled over several times, or because we
loved to look at the warped reflections of our faces on the balls’ surface, and
we broke several of them.
In some houses, swaths of white cotton
would be attached to the tree branches probably inspired by pictures of trees
laden with snow in Christmas cards, which were all imported at that time.
We also made chains using crepe paper of
various colors to wind around the tree. Tiny blinking color lights around the
Christmas tree or hanging from the eaves of roofs were not yet in our
imagination. Electricity came around
only at six o’clock in the evening, when the Ramos Electric, the power company
of richer relatives, turned on their diesel generator to light up San Narciso.
We always asked Inang why we couldn’t have
an aru-o (local pine) branch for a
tree, just like what we saw in other houses.
We soon found out that this would not be evergreen at all. The needles
would turn brown even long before the start of the Misa de Gallo or dawn masses (‘simbang
gabi’ or night mass to the Tagalogs; we don’t know why), and would be
scattered underneath before Melchor, Gaspar and Baltazar ever reach barrio
Alusi-is. Christmas would not end until
January 6 when the Three Kings lead the parade from Alusi-is.
In later years, the bare kuribetbet would be painted all white,
probably as a matter of fashion rather than as tangible proof of one’s
‘dreaming of a white Christmas.’ In high
school, we did this as a matter of convenience; it did not take long to finish
it.
Our childhood gift ritual was never that
exciting. We can’t recall ever jumping
and yelling with glee when we found a gift lying beside us when we woke up in
the morning of December 25. We probably
would get only a car model to be pulled with a string. The girls in the family had dolls but not the
walking and talking types, and Barbie was not yet born.
Our generation started schooling with
English as the medium of instruction.
Our first Christmas song
was “Silent Night.” Thus the Christmas jingles that came with
the early evening air in our childhood days were the strains of ‘ol is cam, ol is brayt’ as we, the
neighborhood kids, went house-to-house caroling about the oli impan (holy infant). We
were happy with a five-centavo caroling token from each house.
Stingy house owners though would get a musical
rapping from us --
Bulong ti apatot, Leaves of apatot plant,
Paskuayo a naimot. Gifts to stingy
people.
Umulog ti makarurod Come
down if your angy,
Ta narnaran ti dandanog. And we’ll beat you with our
fists.
-- as we ran away, scared that they would
come down and face our dare.
Friends who can hum the tune and sing some
of the lines remember that they heard it first from their grandmothers. Some words in the lyrics are archaic
Ilocano. This suggests that the carol is
older than San Narciso, and might have been brought by the settlers all the way
from Paoay.
The chorus of the indigenous carol is an
invitation to celebrate the Lord’s birth and to proclaim his power and glory –
Rambakan tay a pada-pada Let us all celebrate
Panakay-yanak to Dios ditoy daga the birth of God on earth.
Umadani tay met kenkuana Let us all go to Him
Idir-i tay tan-ok ken gloriana proclaiming his
power and glory.
The two narrative stanzas speak of His
humility and mercy --
Ay dimtengen a ti Dios Apo Ay, the Lord God has come
Simnek kaasi na kadatayo. Because of His mercy to all of us.
Ti Mesias manipud ngato The Messiah from above
Immay nga'd la makipagbiag came down to live with us.
kadatayo.
Maysa a rukib a paglinungan A cave
that serves as shed
Ti kinayatna nga makapanganakan, He preferred to be born in;
Ket kuloong met laeng piman And
merely a manger
Ti inna pinili a nagid-daan. He chose to sleep
in.
Before “Ang
Pasko ay Sumapit” became the de rigeur anthem at the close of Midnight
Mass, churchgoers sang the “Rambakan”
in cheerful chorus as they troop out of church, greeting each and everyone
along the way with “Naimbag a Paskuayo!”
Paskuami,
Apo! On
Christmas Day, this is the salutary greeting of children going from house to
house seeking gifts. As a young boy,
following Inang’s stern orders to just go to one’s relatives or godparents, I
would be back at home in due time to hand out candies to fellow
youngsters. Cousins would stick around
for a while hoping that Inang would instead give them a 5-centavo coin or
two.
Lucky are the kids whose godparents are
around at Christmastime. In my time,
very rarely did I see my ninongs (godfathers) and ninangs
(godmothers), real and surrogate, this last one being the wives of my
ninongs. Two of my ninongs were US
Navymen, and when they came home to retire, we were old enough to talk to them
in a buddy-buddy way though we still addressed them, with proper respect, 'ninong.'
Agmano
(take his or her hand, and place it on your
forehead) was the order of the day, whether you were calling on your godparents
or older relatives, to show your respect.
Deep in your heart you wish all the time that they would add to your
coins in the pocket rather than candies, and worst of all, suman paskua.
Before refrigerators came to town, much
to-do was given for the salapusup,
preparing and wrapping glutinous rice into the suman paskua. This delicacy
would be kept in baskets that are hang in the kitchen. There was no danger of spoilage; in fact, the
suman tasted even better after a few
days. There would also be platters of leche flan resting on milk cans
half-submerged in a basin of water to keep away the red and black ants.
Food for the Noche Buena would be cooked before the older ones left for the Misa Aguinaldo at midnight. Unless we were properly motivated to join
them to church so that we can watch the ‘walking star’, a parol pulled from the choir loft to the nativity scene in the
altar, we would never be able to partake of the midnight repast.
Sometimes there would be queso de bola, but we now think that
these were put on the table to serve as décor. They would remain uncut even
onto the New Year when it would serve a superstitious purpose, being red and
round. We preferred the taste of other
cheeses like the ones that seemingly melted on the tongue.
Some families might serve ham, which their
visiting kin bought from the popular stores in Chinatown or Quiapo in
Manila. But generally, there would
always be special dishes of pork or chicken.
Pan
americano, or suman,
or puto, or the kutsinta ordered from Baket Tirsing would be sufficient to go with
the meats and coffee or chocolate.
Imported castanas, apples, pears,
oranges and grapes were luxury food in our boyhood. An aunt, widow of US Navyman, made sure she
bought the stuff from the commissary in Subic and kept the fruits fresh in an
icebox, for the family reunion lunch on Christmas Day.
Again, chicken and pork, cooked in various
ways, would be the main fare in the reunions on Christmas Day. There might be lechon (roasted pig), quite a standard fare, no matter how long and
tedious it would take to turn the bamboo pole spit over hot glowing
embers.
Year in, year out, it’s always a fiesta on
Christmas Day -- the hustle and bustle
around the sumptuous table, the gleeful shrieks of relatives who have not seen
each other for years, the shrilly shouts of children having fun.
Naimbag
a Paskuayo! (Merry Christmas!)
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