You know those scenes during Home Alone when Kevin hated his family but after spending days without them he ended up missing having all of them around? Or in How The Grinch Stole Christmas, he loathed everyone in Whoville, but seeing them all singing around the giant Christmas tree, holding hands despite their stolen presents and broken ornaments, made his heart grow two sizes too big? Or in every Christmas movie really, from Ryan Reynold’s comedy Just Friends to Disney’s heart wrenching tales in Mickey’s Christmas Carol, everyone valued the presence of family, friends, and the warmth from having the people you love surround you during the most wonderful time of the year.

My life every December was just like a delightful Christmas movie. Up until I moved to Canada.

Christmas is and will always be my favourite holiday. If not my favourite everything. If Christmas were a person, we’d be wearing matching BFF necklaces that I handcrafted myself, and I’d always pick Christmas first in gym. And what shaped my relationship with it was the way my entire family – parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, quite literally the entire family tree – celebrated it over the years as I was growing up.

Whenever people here in Vancouver would ask me, how does your family celebrate Christmas?

Well…

Every year on Christmas Eve, my mom, dad and siblings and I would drive all the way to my (now late) grandmother’s house a good two or so hours away from where we lived. But it didn’t matter because it was tradition. So we drove there always excitedly. Every single year everyone would drive there, no matter where my aunts and uncles have ended up living (one lived a good three hours away), and we’d place our presents (one for each kid (the adults ended up doing Secret Santa to save money)) under the giant Christmas tree in the living room. Then we’d all break out into groups; the kids would play, the adults would smoke outside, drink and chat, and some of the moms would help out in the kitchen. Right before midnight we’d all gather around the dining room and help ourselves to Noche Buena with tradition Filipino food plus Filipino specialties reserved only for Christmas time (again this was tradition. Law, almost). After so, we’d all sit around the tree and the kids would grab presents, read the cards attached and hand it to whom it was for. We did this one a time to document each surprised (some glad, some disappointed) face after unwrapping their gifts. Then the adults would take over but us kids would stick around and watch (mostly because it was way too hilarious – the amount of times my dad got socks from his siblings, not the mention the word ‘SALE’ still attached on the price tag). Then we would all break out again and play with our presents, parents laughing at each other when one demanded for their gifts to be exchanged, and some to even have some more food.

The decorations, the music, the laughter and warmth and presence of my family around me that was what shaped my meaning of Christmas. Highlighted with the way Philippines just highly valued the holiday in general. A countdown would start on our local news even before Halloween ended (All of us already brimming with excitement even when the bold numbers still read ‘81 DAYS!’). Lights all over the trees decorating the highways, the malls, houses and even lamp posts. Christmas music (both English and Tagalog versions) on loop on the radio and blasting from people’s houses. Christmas really was the best time of the year for them, for us. For me. Christmas was our favourite break, our favourite chance of reconciling with family, our favourite feeling that even now I can never put into words. Christmas was home. Or at least, it defined home. It represented home.

I wish I could pluck a specific story from fourteen different Christmas Eves I’ve had back home. But they have managed to blend together. I’m no longer sure which present was from when I was eight or which year was when my aunt laughed so hard she fell so far back on her chair, she toppled to the floor as my mom told some ridiculous story about my dad. It was basically the same every year. But it wasn’t the boring kind of same. It was the anticipated kind. Like how you’d get excited when there’d be a Harry Potter marathon on ABC despite having seen each at least eight times. It was the kind of tradition that we celebrated, loved and enjoyed. Each year was different but still the same and all of each I’ve grouped into this one giant story I love to always think about when I miss home, make me smile when I’m sad because I haven’t seen any of them in six or so years.

Since we moved to Canada in 2009, my family of six would celebrate with just each other. Sometimes with friends, but we’d rather keep it in the family (That sense of tradition followed us all the way here). From a group of twenty, only six now gather around the tree, only six presents to pluck instead of a ball pit of them, and only about two dishes sat on the dining table rather than the whole feast we Filipinos loved.

It’s still family. It’s still Christmas but this is where we live, not what we can really call our home. It’s sadly lonely despite our attempts to try something to make it bigger each year (more presents or food or inviting friends). It will never be the same.

There’s just quite no place like home.

(We unfortunately left our photos back in the Philippines, so these ones are from Christmases we celebrated here. I also included a Youtube playlist of Tagalog Christmas songs in case you guys wanna hear them!)

Works cited:

Olivares, Angela. “Christmas in Canada 2012 (1).” 2012. JPEG.

Olivares, Angela. “Christmas in Canada 2012 (2).” 2012. JPEG.

Panales, Rodel. “Part 1: Paskong Pinoy OPM Christmas Song Collections.” Online video clip. Youtube. 6 November 2013. Web. 5 June 2015.