The scrooge in me

By Rhona Canoy

SO… The thought of going out during the holiday season always fills me with dread. It’s ironic that in this time of holiday cheer and love for my fellow humans, I cringe each time I see someone approaching me with purpose in their eyes. Suffice it to say that I hate when everyone morphs into a shameless beggar with no social or ethical boundaries, and the gift becomes the currency of note.

Listen, I’m like the next person. I remember a time in childhood when the thought of receiving gifts truly danced like sugarplum fairies in my head. Hoping desperately that Santa would bring me the gift of choice and rushing out of bed on Christmas morning hardly able to breathe with excitement. Oh, yeah. I had a traditional American-type childhood—tooth fairy, Santa, turkey, the works. And it wasn’t so much that I believed in good old St. Nick, as much as it was the one time of the year when I was allowed to ask for something just because I wanted it and, in all probability, would get it on Dec. 25.

For some peculiar reason, I found a lot of joy in giving gifts to people more than receiving them. Not indiscriminately, though. It made me feel purposeful to give things to dear neighbors that I wanted them to have. A nice set of placemats for the family around the corner, because I thought it would make their noche buena table look festive. A tin of homemade cookies for my playmate across the street because I made them myself. Things like that. Because the thought of those smiles filled with surprise made my tummy warm.

Of course, that’s also about the time I got jaded. My parents (especially my mom) strictly forbade us to go about asking for “pinaskuhan” from anyone. Not from our ninangs and ninongs, not from our friends, not from our lolos and lolas. The admonition was that we should be grateful for what we already had and that anything else we would receive was a symbol of their regard and affection for us, and that’s what mattered most. And by the same token, we were taught the value and purpose of gift-giving. My mom came from simple beginnings and was blessed to have a mother who was pragmatic yet wise. So let me share some of the things I’ve learned from these two women.

A gift is meant to express, not impress. Don’t let the cost of the gift determine its real worth. Sometimes the most expensive gifts are the ones most taken for granted. It’s more the thought of what the gift receiver will think of you that seems to matter to a lot of people. I know some misguided humans who fret that the person receiving the gift will look upon it with disdain because it doesn’t cost much, or doesn’t have a designer name stuck to it. I don’t get the point. The gift is supposed to let you know what the person means to you, not what you think your friendship or regard should be worth.

Gifts are not reciprocal. Giving a present should never come with thoughts of getting one back. Exchanging gifts in most groups have always made me feel sort of weird. The thought of “I’m giving you one, you give me one” feels kind of mercenary to me. So if you don’t get one in return, do you feel gypped that you didn’t get one? Or if the gift you gave cost more than the one you got, do you feel cheated? I don’t get the point. I’d rather get a gag gift, in this case. Maybe a pair of panties with lights that flash.

It shocks me how brazen people become during the holidays. Where is the rulebook that says you can accost strangers, acquaintances, people you barely know to demand a gift? “Pinaskuhan, beh.” “Asa man akong regalo?” and statements of this sort cross all boundaries of politeness. And yet we allow it. I’m not one who will hesitate to make the situation awkward. Trust me. If you come to me asking for your gift, chances are I’ll tell you to give me one first. Since when are people comfortable with presenting themselves as needy? That’s the one that gets me most.

That people who barely know you, if at all, will preface the extortion demand with the qualificatory statement “Datù bitaw ka” stuns me. That people will assume your level of wealth based on God knows what standards stuns me. That strangers can try to lay a guilt trip on you stuns me. That people willingly throw away their sense of dignity and self-respect to demand a gift at Christmas time stuns me the most. At this point, I have a little bit higher regard for those mendicants who knock at your car window throughout the year asking for spare change.

Here’s the ideal scene playing out in my head (for my non-Visaya speaking readers, find someone who can translate this into English for you):

BUN (short for Baga Ug Nawong): Asa na akong pinaskuhan, beh?

ME (short of Me): Huh?

BUN: Pinaskuhan ba… mangayo ko.

ME: Unsa ma’y imong gusto?

BUN: Ikaw gud… bisan unsa lang.

ME (roots around the bottom of my bag, fishes out a couple of Storck candies and gives them to Bun): Ni-a, oh. Merry Christmas…. Aw, ihatod lang ang akong pinaskuhan sa balay,ha? Thanks in advance!

At this point, I would like to be a piece of tape stuck to their shirt so I can hear the expletives and the offending comments they are sure to make when they tell their friends that story. Of course, I would be laughing hysterically at all this. And their opinion of me? It didn’t matter then, so it sure as hell doesn’t matter now. What’s the big deal? We’re all going to get gifts this Christmas. I love businesses and banks. They always have something for you, what with this being the greatest advertising bonanza of the year. I just feel sad that fewer and fewer people are giving away those HUGE calendars that I hang up on the kitchen wall.

So stop bothering me asking for pinaskuhan. Believe me, if you get one from me, it means I like you… I really, really like you.