BEHIND
THE SCENES
Alfred
P. Dizon
By Simeon G. Silverio
(I would like to share this story by
Simeon G. Silverio, Jr., publisher and editor of San Diego Asian
Journal. He wrote this in Dec. 20, 2003 but his account brings back memories of
days gone by in this Season of Joy):
“In the end, it is the
happy memories that you remember, not the expensive gifts that you receive”
It’s only a few days before Christmas, and as usual, those Filipinos who are
unable to celebrate the joyous occasion in the Philippine have to content
themselves with the good ‘ole memories of Philippine Christmas.
It is a paradox that
while we enjoy freedom from want and are able to afford most of the material
things we want in life with our credit cards and all, we still long for the
times when we celebrated Christmas in the Philippines with less than what we
have now.
This goes to show that
the enjoyment of Christmas cannot be achieved through material things alone
contrary to what many department stores would like us to believe. The happy
memories we now cherish are the result of genuine Christmas goodwill we were
able to give and receive from people around us.
Early
memories
My earliest memories of Christmas are from
the 1950s when I was about five years old. Our family lived in one of the
clusters of houses along Pepin Street between Dapitan and Laon Laan in
Sampaloc, Manila. Our maternal grandparents’ house was across the street, while
those of our aunts and uncles were on our side. One particular Christmas
morning I vividly remember was when I received a small toy car from an uncle.
My cousins of the same age received similar gifts. Funny thing about the 1950s.
I always remembered the days then as very, very bright, with people dressed
properly, just how the era is depicted even in today’s movies and film clips.
My grandfather had a unique way of giving gifts to us children. He would spread
flat a bunch of coins on a table, and he would ask each of one of us to scoop
as many coins as one hand could hold in one instant. It was a difficult task
and the most that we could get were three or four coins, but it was fun. One
Christmas, a cousin of mine decided to put one over my grandfather by putting
glue on his palm so that many coins would stick as he grabbed them. His
strategy worked and my grandfather could not do anything but impose a new rule
from then on, requiring everyone to have a clean hand before he could pick up
the coins!
Aside from our
grandparents, we had at least six maternal aunts and uncles, not to mention
their respective spouses, from which we received Christmas gifts most of which
were money. As we kissed their hands on Christmas day, we were handed piles of
money, which we could hardly spend during the next few days. I remember those
brand new, and crisp, green twenty-centavo and blue fifty-centavo bills which
we would count every now and then before sticking them inside our bulging
pockets.
Simbang
Gabi
Another exciting
Christmas experience during that time was attending the traditional “Simbang
Gabi.” Although it literally means “Evening Mass,” “Simbang Gabi” is celebrated
during dawn, at four o’clock in the morning from December 16 to December 23. On
the 24th, which is Christmas Eve, it would be celebrated on midnight and would
be called “Misa de Aguinaldo.” Those nine-day masses are considered as a novena
offering to Jesus Christ.
It was fun to go to
“Simbang Gabi,” although waking up at dawn would be very difficult, especially
during cold December mornings. Before going to bed, we would sign up for the
next morning’s “Simbang Gabi” and those not present at the appointed place and
time would be awakened by calls from the outside by those ready to go.
“Pableng, Pableng,
gising na (wake up),” we would call our chubby cousin who was fast asleep
inside their house. Sometimes, we would knock at their door or throw small
stones at their kapiz window shutters to awaken him. One time, Pabling, who was
about seven years old then, could not be awakened even by our loud calls. He
agreed to tie a string on his leg the next time, and let the sting hang outside
their window. We would simply pull the string and, presto, there was no way he could
not wake up from then on.
It was hard to rouse
oneself but once we were on the street on our way to the church, the cool early
morning breeze brushing against our faces as we pulled our thick sweaters
closer to our body to generate more heat, the walk became tolerable and
“Simbang Gabi” became fun.
Walking towards the
church was a unique experience, with colorful lanterns and bright Christmas
lights adorning every house, lighting our way. We would walk, about fifteen of
us, cousins and aunts, towards Laon Laan street, up to Dimasalang and then to
Concepcion street, about three miles away, where the Aglipayan Chapel is
located. Sometimes we would hear mass at the University of Santo Tomas Chapel
whenever our maternal grandmother, a devout Aglipayan, was not with us. We were
told that the father of our grandmother was the founder of the Aglipay Church
in their barrio in Culianin, Plaridel, Bulacan, and it was her duty to steer
her own family towards that particular church. For us, her grandchildren, it made
no difference but for my father, her son-in-law, it was a big deal, because as
it turned out, his ancestors were the bulwark of the competing Roman Catholic
church in the same barrio.
The Aglipayan chapel
is small and always became full whenever we, the Galang clan, would arrive.
Mass is said in Tagalog, and the priest, Isabelo delos Reyes, Jr., son of the
famous Filipino hero and labor leader, Isabelo delos Reyes, was always assisted
in the mass by his sons since Aglipayan priests, like Protestant ministers, are
allowed to marry and raise a family. I won’t forget Father delos Reyes’ booming
voice, with his crisp Tagalog words filling the chapel as he said the mass. It
was a welcome change from the Latin words that Dominican priests at UST would
utter since Roman Catholic masses were then said in the archaic language, and
it was up to the laymen to trust that the priests were saying the right and
proper words.
The long mass was
quite agonizing for us children, many of whom became sleepy once again. It was
quite amusing to see some heads in front of us slowly leaning to one side and
pulling back abruptly; maybe it was the reason why Father delos Reyes had to
say the mass in a loud and booming voice lest people fall asleep. Since the
chapel was quite small, we could smell the strong odor of the smoky incense
that came out of a small copper lantern that the altar boy would swing
ceremoniously at one particular stage of the mass.
Once the mass ended, each one of us would
line up on one side toward the life-size image of the Black Nazarene to pay
homage by kissing Jesus’ feet. When I was growing older, I thought it might not
be sanitary to kiss the same spot where people ahead of me had kissed many
times before, so I resorted to putting my hand over Jesus Christ’s feet and
kissing the back of my hand instead. I was sure our Good Lord would understand
my behavior and not mind my minor transgression.
Liberated lambs
The bells in the mini-church tower would then
peal loudly, proclaiming to one and all the end of the mass. We kids would feel
like liberated lambs as we knew that it was all fun the rest of the way. The
streets would still be dark, although the sun would slowly peek from behind the
clouds as the moon faded away.
We would eat
“bibingka” or “puto bumbong” on a small makeshift “bibingkahan” on the side of
the church, which was put up just for the occasion. With hot tea and grated
coconuts, those native rice cake delicacies were heaven to eat especially
during those cold December mornings before Christmas. Sometimes, instead of
feasting on “bibingkas,” we would pass by a bakery on our way home.
Its front door would
still be closed, but we would go through a side door and order fresh pan de sal
(dinner rolls) as we watched the pan de sal production line, with one baker
kneading dough, another shaping the dough into one long piece and cutting it
into pan de sal sizes, one putting them into the oven and still another taking
the freshly baked pan de sal and putting them in paper bags. The crunchy, hot
pan de sal was delicious to eat, with or without butter, on our way home.
The sights of the beautiful Christmas lanterns made of bamboo sticks and
colorful papers brought joy to our hearts. During that time, the art projects
for boys at our school was to make one lantern before Christmas. We would buy
bamboo from the market, and during our one-hour vocational class, we would cut
the bamboo into sticks, shave the sticks, tie them together to make a lantern
frame in the shape of a star. We would then cover the frame with colorful paper
called “papel de Japon (Japanese paper)” and add other decorations before we
submit it to our teachers for grading.
Small kids as we were, it would take us at least weeks to accomplish the task,
but it was a rite of passage for boys like us, just like making one’s first bow
and arrow in a jungle tribe. When the school would close for Christmas vacation
a week before Christmas, my mother, who was a teacher at our school, would
bring home the most beautiful lanterns “given” by her students to decorate our
home. The centerpiece of those pretty decorations was always my crudely made
lantern, which, though not exactly a beautiful sight, was I believe closes to
my mom’s heart.
Most
beautiful
The most beautiful
lantern in our neighborhood, however, was always the one made by a neighbor of
ours who lived in the only remaining nipa hut in the area with his family. We
had never seen this person personally. I did not even know until later whether
he was a guy or a girl, but we knew he lived in the house as we could see his
eyes peeking from a window occasionally.
His mother and his
grown up sisters told us that he was a leper. Instead of putting him in a
leprosarium, they opted to take care of him at home. During Christmastime, some
of the most beautiful Christmas lanterns I had ever seen during my entire life
would be hung on their front window for all the passersby to admire and
appreciate. One time, he made a carousel lantern using a thin white Japanese
paper shaped like a house, with a round base instead of square.
At night, the
silhouettes of different animals like horses, giraffes, elephants, ostriches,
lions and others would pass around, just like the shadows of carousel figures
being projected on a movie screen. The light projected by the candle inside
made the silhouettes possible but to this day, I am not sure whether the
objects moved around because of the smoke or the wind circulating inside the
lantern.
During Christmas time,
we would send each other Christmas cards at school. We would buy cards and
Christmas stamps from the school’s store and “mail” them to our classmates in a
“mailbox” made of cardboard box in our classroom. Each day, one student would
be named as the “mailman” for the day and deliver the cards to the addressees.
One of my least popular classmates always got most of the cards until we
discovered his secret: he was mailing all of his cards to himself!
Christmas
Carols
Caroling in the
evenings before Christmas was also exciting for us kids to do. We would make
musical instruments from scratch. We would pound soft drink caps on cement with
a stone until they became flat. We would then put a hole in them and string
them on a piece of wire with both ends tied together. By shaking them to a
beat, they could produce a noise that could pass for music.
For percussions, we
would get empty coffee or one gallon ice cream cans, remove the covers on both
ends, put a sheet of plastic made from an old raincoat tied by rubber bands on
one end, and it could pass for a drum. A bamboo filled with mongo beans could
pass for a “maracas.” One of us would get two big stones and strike them
against each other to a beat as we sang Christmas carols. It did not matter
whether we were out of tune, or whether we were croaking or singing, so long as
it was Christmas time, people would always have the same Christmas spirit to
hand us a centavo or two.
I still remember one
Christmas eve when four of us cousins, all boys ranging in age from five to
seven years old, struck it rich caroling. It was Christmas eve and almost every
resident in our neighborhood we sang for was in the mood to give us money. When
we divided the loot later that evening, I had twenty centavos all to myself!
It was the biggest
bounty I ever had then, not counting what I usually get during Christmas day
and believe you me, I had a hard time spending them all in one evening! After
buying and filling myself up with two “hopiang hapon (bean cakes)” and a piece
of chocolate bar from a Chinese store on the street corner, I still had ten
centavos left in my pocket!
One time, when we strayed away from our neighborhood, a group of teenagers went
after us on a nearby Trabajo (now renamed Manuel Dela Fuente after a former
Manila mayor) street. We all tried to ran away from them, scared by the thought
that “bad men” were kidnapping children carolers as our parents warned us. My
cousin Pabling, the chubby one, was not so lucky. Because of his heavy weight,
he was left behind and the teenagers caught up with him. We waited for a few
anxious minutes near our house for him, resigned to the thought that he was
kidnapped.
The last time we saw
him as we scampered away was when the teenagers were holding him as he was
yelling for help and crying his heart out. After a few more minutes, we decided
to tell our parents about his sad fate. It would certainly be a tragic
Christmas for all of us, with our chubby cousin Pabling forever gone. Suddenly,
from the dark end of the street, we saw the “kidnap victim” leisurely walking
towards us as if nothing had happened. The teenage boys, as it turned out, were
just making fun of us, and if they intended to scare us to death, they almost
succeeded.
Thousands
of miles away
Many years have passed since those Christmas
days of my youth. I am now thousands of miles and decades away from our young
carefree days in Sampaloc, Manila. My grandfather died in 1957 and his
Christmas gift-giving gimmicks were just tales I share with my kids and
hopefully conduct on my future grandchildren.
Of the twelve maternal
aunts and uncles that used to give us Christmas money, ten have already passed
away. My favorite cousin Pabling, the chubby kid with whom I grew up died more
than twenty years ago in his late twenties after suffering a long illness.
The dreams we used to
talk about during the many evenings we hung out together outside our house when
we were teenagers were left for me to fulfill. I could never bring back those
loving relatives of mine, but the childhood Christmas experiences that they
helped to become happy memories for me to cherish will always remain for me to
tell and share with others.
Merry Christmas to one and all and enjoy and savor your Christmas days while
they last. For in the end, it is the happy memories that you remember, not the
expensive gifts that you receive. - AJ
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