Filipino Yuletide just heating up

Yuletide in the Philippines does not end on Christmas day. Only halfway through after starting on December 16 with the first of nine misas de gallo, it’s just beginning to heat up.

December 25 in the barrio is spent with children visiting baptismal ninongs and ninangs. For quick kisses on the manos, they get aguinaldos, presents of crisp new peso bills whose scent is as associated with Christmas as that of apples. Even infants unable to walk or talk join the fun, courting goodies with klos-open hand tricks that of late have given way to gimme-five and apeer. The barrio musikong buho (improvised marching band) would also make the rounds of the bigger houses, for bigger treats of cash and kind. By nightfall the tots are tired. It’s the parents’ turn to make merry by hosting family reunions, made livelier by homecomings of overseas kin with huge balikbayan boxes. As they wine and dine and reminisce the Panunuluyan of Christmas Eve at the church courtyard, they plan the next party only three days away.

December 28 is the teenagers’ day of celebration. It is Holy Innocents’ Day, when King Herod ordered his soldiers to slay all newborn baby boys, to prevent the One whom the Magi prophesied from establishing a greater Kingdom. Street gangs would deploy to each house, disguised under bed sheets, singing dirges of the poor babies’ souls in Purgatory and begging for prayers – and all-important Christmas treats. The hosts had better comply. Or else, their beautiful parols (Christmas lanterns) might be punched with holes, their chickens set loose, or their potted plants end up at the plaza, courtesy of those pranksters. Usually they serve arroz caldo, salabat (ginger tea) and kakanin of suman or puto, plus the local inebriating spirit of tuba, lambanog or basi.

In Gasan, Marinduque, home of the moriones, the Pangangaluluwa is a continuation of the Panunuluyan of Mary and Joseph at the manger. Baby Jesus already is born. On this day a man wearing a mask of the insane Herod rambles through town, chasing little children and demanding to know where the Christ Child is. At the end of the street play, Herod retires to the plaza where he hangs himself. The Herod character can be funny and famous. Acting like the pusong (jester) of the summertime comedia, he parodies the small town’s politicos and gets away with it.

The Feast of the Three Kings is Pasko ng Matatanda among the Tagalogs and Bicolanos. It used to be January 6, until the Catholic Church fixed it on the first Sunday of the New Year, to mark the Epiphany or presentation of the Baby Jesus to the Magi. On this day compadres and comadres renew ties and exchange gifts. These range from wares they manufacture and trade, to leftover holiday feasts like lechon paksiw or choice fried chicken cuts, or recycled presents from relatives from the big city. Conscientious couples visit wedding godparents also to give gifts. The Christmas spirit of sharing extends to this last day, as rich relatives dole cash to needy family members. In the poblacion smart kids hang out shoes, in lieu of stockings already filled with loot, for one last shot at Christmas treats.

Again in Gasan, also in Gapan (Nueva Ecija) and Malolos (Bulacan), this day is for street plays. A portion of the Panunuluyan is reenacted in extended version. The Three Wise Men follow a giant parol in their search for Baby Jesus. The star disappears when they draw near Herod’s house. The wicked king, in verse, demands to know the location of the newborn Messiah. The star reappears when the Wise Men leave Herod’s court. As on Christmas Eve, they wind their way to the sabsaban (manger) at the churchyard where, also in verse, they offer gifts of gold, myrrh and frankincense. Herod, meanwhile, goes on a rampage and orders his guards to catch all the young boys in the audience, who shriek and hide under their mothers’ saya. An avenging angel casts a spell on Herod, who goes mad, rambles again through town, and then hangs himself a second time as on Holy Innocents’ Day. The street actors then file to the house of the head of the comite de festejos, usually a prominent member of local society, to be fed and paid for the season’s services.

And so on that day ends the long Filipino Yuletide – all of 22 days. The barrio slowly recovers from the tiring festivity. Homecoming relatives pack up for the journey back to the city, while the barrio folk shake off the hangover to resume the daily grind of work in the fields. Some do not bother to take down the parol, letting it hang the year round, a sad-happy memento to last them all of twelve long months – till the next Yuletide.

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