I have almost forgotten what Christmas felt like.

I confess I am not the type to enjoy all the hubbub, the cheerful tunes on the radio and television, the clamor of people looking to lounge around public spaces with their friends or families, and the carols of children house hopping in hopes of getting pamasko (gifts or cash).

Outside, all was bright and full of life. Strings of incandescent holiday lights dangled from everywhere, from the trees to the walls surrounding the church.

People stood up from their seats as the priest announced the end of the Misa de Gallo (Midnight Mass). Christmas hymns echoed throughout the grand halls of the cathedral. Some of the churchgoers took to the Belen and snapped photos of the tableau of the nativity before finally walking out of the place of worship, smiles painted all over their faces.

My eight-year-old brother held my hand and pulled me away toward the huge church gates decorated with colorful Yuletide ornaments.

The air carried a sweet scent, that of puto bumbong and bibingka being cooked over charcoal in a clay pot. The aroma was enticing. Long lines formed in front of the stalls that offered the Christmas staples.

The streets were crowded. Littered around were vendors of all sorts of goods, kids selling necklaces of sampaguita, and peddlers pulling at strings of superhero and cartoon-themed balloons.

The room was filled with the music of minus one tracks, clanking dishes from the busy kitchen, and the non-stop babbling of relatives. I am not the type to enjoy all the hubbub. But now I long for it.

The atmosphere was light and cheerful. While I do hate noise, the chatter of people greeting one another a merry Christmas was music to the ears.

Parols hung on every street post. The racket from “performers” pouring their hearts out to “My Way” by Frank Sinatra, and the partygoers shouting at the top of their lungs “Tagay! (Cheers)” as they drank like there was no tomorrow, could be heard from every other block. Gleeful sounds brushed the ear as the white moon shed light on a night sky that brimmed with shimmering stars.

“Mama, what time will Santa go to our house?” My brother asked my mom as he swung around, our fingers still entwined.

“Why? Were you a good boy this year?” My father teased.

“I am!” My innocent sibling proudly replied.

The loud sound from the karaoke machine welcomed us as we entered our house. My titas were still preparing the Noche Buena.

The room was filled with the music of minus one tracks, clanking dishes from the busy kitchen, and the non-stop babbling of relatives. Children played around while we waited for midnight before we indulged in the holiday feast together. I looked at the chaotic but happy scenario, savoring each and every moment.

It’s been more than a year since we had a get-together like this.

I am not the type to enjoy all the hubbub. But now I long for it. —Pam Rapal