Those gorgeous Christmases past

Christmas carols in September? Not in my generation. The Christmases of the past began dutifully in December and not before. Each day was treated with deference where young ones were coddled beyond their expectations. You could actually taste the outpouring of goodwill and generosity. It gathered speed on December 16, the start of the nine-day early dawn mass and peaked on Christmas Day.

The Christmas rush was not that hectic that one had to forego a leisurely walk around the promenade-lined Luneta. The kerosene-lit kropeck and popcorn kiosk lent a holiday glow to the balloon man and other ambulant peddlers.

When it came to fine stores, Escolta was the area to be. It didn’t matter whether one was buying or merely window shopping, shops like H. Alonzo, Heacock’s, Walk-Over, Oceanic, Syvel’s and Aguinaldo’s, offered quality merchandise worth every centavo saved. They in fact outlasted fickle fashion.

For impeccable craftsmanship, Estrella del Norte and Velayo’s were the shops to visit and their hand-made pieces gave meaning to the word heirloom. They counted clients from many generations.

For one of a kind, no-branch-anywhere eateries, Savoy Chicken and MY San served basic dishes with Botica Boie as the special meeting place to eat and meet Manila’s who’s who. It was not only a traditional apothecary but boasted of a deluxe soda fountain that was the first to offer a set lunch menu that was changed daily.

Fifth Avenue Haberdasher featured a neat show window of suits and embroidered shirts. Its slogan "Tailoring to the stars" made walk-ins feel like celebrities although movie stars did count as its main clientele.

If one was looking for a vast library of Philippine love songs or popular ditties, Villar Records had them well stocked.

And when finally worn out from all that walking, eating and shopping, one could relax inside the cinema for an incredible sum of P1.20 at Capitol and Lyric theaters. Balcony tickets were sold for P1.80 while premier loge seats cost P2.40. Except, here’s a catch: Anywhere one sat, one would come out reeking of cigarette smoke if not freshly-rolled tobacco.

It’s hard to admit but my generation seems to be the last remaining link to comfort foods of the past. Take chestnuts.

When roasted chestnuts wafted through the air, especially when bought from that oriental variety store in Avenida called Hen Wah, cares were forgotten, hurts were forgiven as we cracked and ate the nuts in school, at the cinema and even begged our Kris Kringle mommy to buy a brown bag full of our afternoon snack. How can you go wrong with P3.20 a kilo?

Today, when I tried to offer a bag of hot chestnuts to a Gen X niece, she politely declined and asked for java mocca with choco chip cheesecake instead.

Christmas somehow gave me a certain sadness but for no apparent reason. It was admittedly the happiest time of the year because we were allowed to stay up late to eat, listen to carols or simply stand by the Christmas tree to be mesmerized by its dancing lights.

My mother, ever mindful of welcoming friends and relations, always loaded up the table by ordering extra sets of chicken galantina, lengua estofada and steamed lapu-lapu from the Arce kitchen through their catering outlet, Selecta.

I somehow found it incongruous to sing Winter Wonderland or Santa "climbing down" (huh?) the chimney in a tropical, monsoon-frequented environment so I sang Silent Night instead. For an encore, I sang Silver Bells because it didn’t mention snow, sleigh rides or jolly St. Nicholas.

My cousin, Remy Jose, tried to change my humbug, Scrooge-inspired attitude when she told me a secret, "Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone but I wrote Santa Claus and kept the note under my pillow. I asked him for a walking doll that had long, brown and curly hair with large eyes that smiled and winked back at me."

"How sure are you that Santa would find the note?" I asked.

She replied, "I drew an arrow on my pillow case."

The next day, Remy came by with her winking and walking doll. "The season isn’t over yet. You can still write Santa," she said. Following her advice, I wrote: "Santa, I don’t want a walking doll but I would like a miniature tea set from Japan."

I got my wish. Well, almost... Santa wrote back, "My dear child. I am so sorry but the tea set the elves were making was not properly fired in the oven and would take a few weeks to finish. May I leave you a Japanese doll instead?"

Hmmm...a Japanese doll? Why, she even looked like the one on top of my mother’s dresser mirror! That was the first and last note I ever wrote Santa.

Santa’s failure to deliver my tea set did not stop me from honoring family-held traditions even if I didn’t quite understand their history and significance. For example, honor your elders and godparents by bringing them token gifts on Christmas (but why wait for Christmas?)

My godmother was tall, regal and beautiful. Tita Michiko Suda-Jacinto was born and raised in Japan. She always made heads turn because of her striking resemblance to the movie goddess, Ava Gardner. I used to watch her go down the steps of her grand staircase holding a washi paper-wrapped box. In her broken English, she exclaimed, "Go, go, open my gift, neh? I buy for you in Japan. You like, neh?" Thinking they were Japanese cookies, I feigned excitement. My face almost fell when I saw the contents: a miniature Japanese tea set. You know, the one that Santa "failed" to deliver.

Did Santa conspire with Tita Mitchie San? I will never know.

Through the years, the meaning of Christmas became less gift-inclined and therefore more significant. The message was simple. Change happens. In our imperfect world, Jesus remains the one constant reason why we set a day to celebrate love, goodwill and kindness.

Someday, Christmas won’t be confined to just a single day. That’s His promise.

To one and all: Maligaya at mapayapang Pasko.