E·N·Q·U·I·R·Y
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
Scrooged!
Sunday, 12 21, 2003
My family and I were busy preparing fort our trip to Baguio for the holidays, vacationing from politics before I get involved in it headlong until victory is achieved in May 2004 – as my daughter Kristin handed me a sheet of paper which I stuffed into my shirt pocket. (Kristin studies at UP preparing for that day when she gets to be a lawyer like her parents.) Later, on the road, I finished out the sheet and started to read:
“The Christmas season is once again upon us, and this gets me ranting at the sight of people acting like a bunch of hypocrites, all claiming that they are happy and obliged to give away gifts, when in fact they suffer from anxiety disorders, are beset by the feeling of self-coercion (then regret), and, much later, by the misery of being broke to the last centavo. With this I get hedenophobic since I do not want to see myself falling into the same spell as they.
“The Christmas ghosts arrived at my doorstep early this year, carrying loads of memory boxes for me to open.
“The first Christmas ghosts woke me up at 3 a.m., just as I was drifting into the REM stage of sleep, and she showed me a Christmas long past. Christmas eve 1992: I am nine years old, and on my right hand is a piece of sweet ham while I hold the hand of my three-year-old brother Kevin with my left. We are both staring at the Christmas tree (and the packages under it) in the living room of our house. I can hardly wait for the moment to rip open the wrappers of gifts labeled for me that I have been standing there earlier than the usual time my family opens the presents. Mama sees me and Kevin peeking at what is under the tree. She smiles at us and then says, “You want to open your gifts? Okay, this first.” She hands me a big red paper bag, which I rip open, and in there is a pink teddy bear with a pink satin ribbon around its neck. I have never liked the color pink, but the teddy bear is simply cute, and it is a gift from my mother – a justification as good as any why I should like the present. Waiting for the whole family at the dinner table is a very hearty Noche Buena: Lola Long’s roasted chicken, Tio Stanley’s empanada, Kathryn’s pancit palabok, Papa’s favorite bagnet, Lola Conching’s special adobo, Kenneth’s longganisa and Auntie Clemen’s black forest cake. We consume all that food as if we were all benighted Hansels and Gretels, stuffing ourselves with God’s bounty as we share stories and sing Christmas songs. That night, cuddling the pink teddy bear, I sleep with great satisfaction and gratitude.
“The second Christmas ghost came at 4 a.m. and led me through scenes of the present, or rather, what will soon be present in a matter of days. Christmas eve 2003: I am once again in Baguio - a place where I have practically grown up. Before lunchtime, I get up from the sofa which I claim to be my bed in the country club hotel. My whole family is dressing up to go down to the veranda and get a taste of the food we have been eating for the past years. Although I feel queasy and reluctant to take brunch, I mumble that I’ll just catch up with them. After taking forever in the bathroom to prepare a face for faces that I’ll meet, I emerge out of the room, take the elevator, and find myself sharing the space with two coño kids – juveniles suffering from the “chosen people syndrome,” as one of my favorite UP professors likes to say. Their infuriating Taglish and mismatched designer clothes make me even more queasy. At the lobby are more coño kids, milling around the Christmas tree as if they were hoping to outshine the lights by the inanity of their chatter. As the day wears on, I revisit the familiar sites of the city and I notice a tinge of sadness in the way the simple folks greet each other. Despite the sadness, the sincerity, however manages to shine through their greetings. How very unlike the contrived and vacuous outpourings of those coño kids back in the hotel! This trip is supposed to be as exciting as the Christmas season is, but having seen reality today, I am overwhelmed by a heavy sense of frustration and disappointment. I have come face-to-face with the Biblical chastisement that “the poor will always be with you’ – and the reality that those privileged to do something to alleviate this situation are looking the other way, congregating in fancy places, congratulating themselves for their good fortune. That night, after dinner, my family goes back to the hotel room to rest – they look forward to tomorrow, and I do not. Until I fall asleep, I keep telling myself, “This is not the Christmas heralded by angels 2,000 years ago.’
“The last Christmas ghost came at 5 a.m. and showed me the Christmas that will happen if I decide to make a difference after this year’s holiday disappointment. Christmas eve 2011: Within the warm comforts of my very own sanctuary overlooking the city, I prepare food for my family and friends. Then I decide to take a joy ride for myself, to feel the cold breeze, and watch Christmas lights, people in smiles and greeting each other with sincerity, kids knocking on their neighbors’ doors singing Christmas carols, and families spending the holiday with complete happiness. The veil of poverty has vanished, carrying off in its wake those coño kids and their useless parents. Just before the ghost of Christmas future faded from my dream-filled sleep, I asked her how all this will happen. She said it is all up to me – to do what I must, in my own small way, so that poor men’s unlit hovels will be transformed into brightly lit houses where people of good will live in peace and prosperity.
“In spite all of these, my pessimism toward the season still remains as long as hypocrites and uncaring people exist. People will only have to understand that the season is not really meant for gift-giving and ostentations, but for celebrating the arrival of God’s greatest gift to mankind, and sharing this with everyone. It is that simple. Remembering almost two decades of Christmas has made me view this season in a different light. Still, in the spirit of the Christmas future, I would like to wish for everyone a Merry (little) Christmas.”
With a lump in my throat, I refolded those sheets. Was Kristin trying to send me a message – a condemnation of my generation? I am reluctant to ask her; I fear what her answer would be. For a while, I felt calling the whole trip off by telling Geronimo to turn the van around so that we could go back home to contemplate – beyond Noche Buena and gift-wrapped presents and contrived merriment – the message of that Baby born at an oxen’s stall.
Naimbag nga paskua yo amin apo.
For comments about this website:Webmaster@tribune.net.ph
No comments:
Post a Comment