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By Rhona Canoy

SO… We put up our Christmas tree at home a couple of days ago. It was a bittersweet thing to see it all gussied up and all alit. This will be my first Christmas with mom gone and it feels a bit weird. She was always so gung-ho about the holidays. But then I got to thinking about my yearly angst-ridden Yuletide season and the things about it that bother me so much.

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When we get to the ‘ber months, the whole country goes berserk with kicking off the season. Stores bring out their Christmas displays, houses begin to get dressed up. Chachkies make their way out of storage boxes—the nutcrackers, Santa and the elves, reindeer figurines, crystal candleholders. The spirit truly begins to make itself felt. And, like most people, the trimmings make me feel cheerful. Twinkling lights, silver and gold trimmings, lanterns that begin to line up in the prison compound. All of it brings back memories of my childhood.

And yet the activities that come with the season also bring with it the source of my angst. I’ve begun to receive solicitation letters and calls for assorted projects. The ubiquitous feeding and gift-giving programs, the parcels to be given to the needy, visits to orphanages and homes for the elderly. Every year to be justified as spreading Christmas cheer. What bothers me about all this is the crazy part of my brain that always wonders about motivations and agenda. All the generosity and brotherhood which peaks at the end of the year. What’s it all for?

Sometimes I wonder. What guilts are being assuaged? What divine points are being sought and earned? Why does all this charity only make an appearance during the season? We have the rest of the year to care about our malnourished children, about our less privileged brothers and sisters, about the medical missions to help in their well-being. So many things confuse me. If you only do it once every year, do you have the right to call it a feeding or a gift-giving program? Even if you do it once a month, does that qualify as a program? Our hungry kids need more than an occasional meal of porridge and milk.

The parcels being sorted and apportioned out, ready to be put into eco-bags to be distributed in the mountains, or the squatter areas, all in the name of Christmas—what does it serve? The rest of the year, these people still need these things. And the rest of the year, we don’t have an ounce of concern for what we can share with our neighbors in need. The rest of the year, we languidly wave away the beggars who knock on our car windows. Yet, come Christmas time, we hand over our 5 peso coins without hesitation. So seasonal, this attitude of compassion and human kindness.

I keep seeking for the answer. What’s it all for? Are we trying to buy our ticket into the pearly gates? Can rare random acts get us a discount? Or a free pass? I spend too much time trying to teach children how to find the goodness in themselves. And yet, it doesn’t seem to become a habit. Only an occasional realization because Christmas is fast approaching, and religion reminds the believer that someone up there is watching. I don’t want to get into an argument about this. I’m just making my yearly observations.

My angst is seasonal as well. When September rolls around, it begins to stir in the pits of my consciousness. And it grows more uncomfortable as the weeks roll by towards that big day when everyone loads up the dining table for media noche. That’s something else that kind of pokes at my sensibilities. We will pick the more economical (in truth, cheaper) items to give away to the poor. And yet our dining tables will be laid out with enough food to feed the neighborhood or cost even more than what we gave away. No wonder we all wake up with a slight case of indigestion the morning after. Maybe it’s not indigestion. Maybe it’s the guilt that we push so far down so as not to inconvenience us.

And yet… and yet… the twinkling lights make me smile. The shiny ornaments hanging on Christmas trees which I get a glimpse of as I drive by the neighborhood make me smile. The holiday chachkies in the department stores bring out the urge to touch them, as I resist the temptation to look at the price tags so that I don’t feel horrified. Hotel lobbies boast professionally decorated faux fir trees which also make me smile. So you see, my angst is real. I feel like I’m two people in one.

But my holidays are frugal because that’s the only option I have. My grandson will get fish for his aquarium. I don’t like to get gifts because I would have to return the gesture and I’m too poor and too lazy to do so. Either way, I truly wish the generosity and compassion which explodes at Christmas were a year-round thing. That would make me truly happy.

Except Jose Mari Chan. I’ve had it up to here with Jose Mari Chan. Please use headphones when you listen to him.

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