Many years ago, I flew to New York, my heart pounding with excitement and anticipation to experience my first white Christmas. You can imagine what that moment meant for me. For someone who grew up in the tropics where there is no winter, snow-covered pines and white mountaintops were just remote figments of a dream seen only on Christmas cards and occasional movies where the heavens sprinkled glittering snowflakes as skiers whisked through snow-blanketed landscapes.
As children, we sang carols with catchy phrases that got etched in our subconscious: “Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh,” “where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear the sleigh bells in the snow,” and “a beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight walking in a winter wonderland.” We grew up celebrating Christmas with wintry visions in our mind of the frosty magic of snow. We even sprinkled glitters on decor, hung tinsel icicles, and layered cotton on our Christmas trees to create the illusion of snow.
I arrived two days after Thanksgiving and noticed that Manhattan was already enveloped in winter’s cold, gray embrace. With stylish vengeance, New Yorkers donned their overcoats and furs, accenting their get-ups with colorful scarves, hats, and earmuffs. After a few days, the city put on its Christmas decor and holiday finery, lighting up the avenues, and turning the whole place into a dazzling shopping wonderland. Like a child with a brand-new toy, I fell into the euphoric commercial whirlpool, doing the wide-eyed rounds of department stores like Bloomingdale’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, Macy’s, and Lord & Taylor, the elegant shops along Fifth Avenue and 57th Street, the exclusive boutiques on Park Avenue and the upper East Side, the fun shops, and avant-garde galleries in the Village. No, no, it was mostly window-shopping that I did. For how could anyone resist peering at the sumptuous window displays of Bergdorf Goodman and Neiman Marcus, or peeping with bated breath at the glittering treasures at Cartier, Harry Winston, and A La Vieille Russie? Just looking overwhelms the senses and gets one to marvel at all the stunning ideas and brilliant creativity. Then there were the museums to savor, the Broadway shows to relish, and the antique shops and flea markets to browse. A few days before Christmas, a friend invited me for dinner with his wife at their New Jersey home. The house was decorated in wild abandon with Christmas wreaths, colorful balls, crèche angels, and golden ribbons. They had three magnificent Christmas trees all ablaze with flickering lights and crystals, and a non-working fireplace with a mantel draped in evergreens, pinecones, silver balls, satin ribbons, and artificial birds. While having after-dinner coffee and dessert, it happened. Tiny snowflakes started to flutter down like little feathers visible through the window panes that reflected the lighted candles on the dining table. I ran to the window and marveled as I watched nature put on its glorious show. With Christmas music playing in the background, the scene for me was cinematic and quite emotional. On my insistence, we went out to feel the snowflakes in our hands, but they immediately disappeared upon touching down on our warm palms. I even wanted to know how fresh snow tasted on my tongue. No taste; just cool, clean, and magical. Gradually, the snowfall developed into a snowstorm. My hosts convinced me that it would be safer to sleep over and drive back to Manhattan the following morning. Through most of the night, I stared at my window watching the blizzard under the light of the street-lamp outside. The leaves painted dancing shadows on the window pane as the wind howled. I could hear the song White Christmas ringing over and over in my ears. I was excited about my first snow experience and while visions of me, my brothers, and sister singing carols back home ran through my mind, I fell asleep.The next morning, we went out to check the yard. There was a good three-inch snowfall covering the grass and bushes that glistened in the soft morning sun. We made snowballs and threw them all over like kids. I was amazed that the city maintenance workers had already cleared the snow off the road. Parts of the sidewalks covered with snow had started to turn into slush; the whiteness had become unappealingly brown and muddy.
Back in Manhattan, I visited some Filipino friends and found out that they were busy packing their bags, luggage, and balikbayan boxes full of gifts and goodies. They were all dreaming of a brown Filipino Christmas and were very excited to fly home. Strange, I thought, that while I was excited over spending my holidays abroad in the cold, they were doubly excited about going home to the sea, the sand, the heat, and the sun.
Many of my Filipino friends went back to the Philippines that Christmas. I felt deeply melancholic as one by one they flew out, leaving me almost on my own in the concrete jungle of Manhattan. When Christmas Eve came, the gloomy feeling became almost unbearable. Thanks to New York’s energetic pulse, unending city happenings, the bright lights, and a few friends who stayed behind, I was able to survive my first-ever Christmas away from home. On Christmas evening, as I watched Central Park from my hotel room turn white in the snow, I felt my heart long for a brown Christmas. Yes, just like the ones I used to know.
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Maligayang Pasko, everyone! May all your Christmases be brown, sunny and bright! For your comments on this article, e-mail DeroSeminar@yahoo.com or text 0905-3130990.