MEDIUM RARE Jullie Y. Daza When it comes to giving gifts, we are proud to err on the side of excess. Look at those thick  crowds shopping in Divisoria. How can you stop a people overflowing with love for parents, parents-in-law, children, grandchildren, godchildren, neighbors, officemates, classmates, dorm mates, colleagues, associates, suppliers, contractors and contractuals, friends, best friends, former enemies (including the one pretending to be your spouse), future enemies (if only to show them you’ve got a bottomless Christmas budget), fellow members of a club or association, policemen, garbage collectors, doctors, dentists, nurses, former and current yaya and janitors and drivers, secretary, celebrity idol, makeup and hairstyling artists, manicurist, masseuse, street sweepers, cook, waiter, mechanic, gasoline attendant, newspaper boy, messengers working for your bank and insurance company. The list is by no means complete – whom did I miss? Oh, yes, your parish priest or confessor, maybe your landlord? Look at that wall of shoppers in Divisoria. How many of them are there for themselves? In one street alone, 72 cops were deployed to keep order, keep shoppers and vendors apart, keep their masks and face shields on. They told browsers to bring a shopping list so they could go in and out in less time. But how many percent of us are not impulse buyers? How many percent of the female population can stick to a list? So much to give, many to receive. Some of my oldest and closest friends have tried, ever so hard and faithfully, to cancel the gift-giving tradition among us girls. We are, indeed, too old to invoke the Christmas-is-for-children doctrine. Last month, my UST Philosophy and Letters seatmate for four years – she was V, I was Y, in alphabetical order – renewed the plea for up-to-date reasons. The usual traffic, plus the lockdown forbidding seniors from splurging on a shopping spree, plus the loving but needless chore of wrapping gifts and sending them out -- oh, the redundancy of it all. She explained, like a high priestess, “We’re friends whether it’s Christmas or after Christmas and beyond, our centuries-old love for each other is the best and most lasting gift of all.” So what does she do? She sent my grandson a gingerbread kit naming her daughter as the giver.