I don't want to be the Grinch, but my heart is crying for the good ol' days when caroling was fun both for the carolers and their listeners. It shouldn't be, but the festive Christmas feel earlier today as I and my family prepared for noche buena and rushed wrapping gifts were dampened big by annoying carolers. Back in the day (god I feel so old), we took caroling a tad more seriously rehearsing almost every night before Christmas Eve, learning the proper tunes of classic carols we know will bite the hearts of the old. We mastered the entire Jackson Five album, learned the beautiful but relatively unpopular "O Little Town of Bethlehem", "Count Your Blessings", and "Little Christmas Tree", sway-synchronized to "Feliz Navidad", and fought off tears singing "Frosty the Snow Man" which I find really depressing. We had musical accompaniments, but on days we don't, we made sure we sounded good acapella.
It appears that today carolers only know "Sa May Bahay ang Aming Bati" and "We Wish you a Merry Christmas" (in this exact order) and then just yell out "Mamamasko po!" as soon as their two-song repertoire ends and you are still to decide how much you want to give them. Imagine listening to carolers singing these two songs more than 10 times (I lost count after) and repeatedly bombard you with begs for alms masked as caroling. They could have simply asked for money and saved their voices (and our auditory nerves) a great deal, wouldn't make a diference anyway.
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But of course, they're children, and the season is about them after all. They couldn't have known better, especially if all they listen to is the Papaya song and the other ones about things you do with a pepper shaker (iyugyog or itaktak).
This truth hit me hard this year upon realizing a general decrease in my excitement levels on the days leading to Christmas eve. When I was younger, I'd be sleepless beginning Dec 21 onwards, anxiously hoping that when I do fall asleep I'd wake up already on Christmas day so I'd be allowed to open my gifts.
Now, all I want to do is rest and sleep all day on the 25th. I didn't see it coming but it appears my transition to adulthood has passed its first stage. I was no longer the kid who does nothing but open gifts come Christmas; I am now playing Santa to dozens of pamangkins, inaanaks, and the neigborhood children. It's not that I don't like giving; I'm just really the type who find shopping (especially for gifts) extremely stressful. I don't do well in crowds and I am impatient when choosing things to buy. I just hope having my own family is not the next game in this "as you grow old and more mature" party. Mainly because I feel so unwelcome. I'd welcome a baby boy though. I'd name him Desmond.
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To turn things around, I decided to go with my parents to church, something I had not done in years. I was hoping to re-live a Christmas habit we did when I was younger, but I wasn't expecting I'd miss the ritual; I can still remember having imaginary heated debates with the priest and my parents every single Sunday we went to mass. But I guess, greater than the meaning we ascribe to it, the act has its own value as well. So there I was in the middle of the packed church, not listening to the sermon but happily basking in the warmth of believers, the parents who can't control their toddlers from running around, the babies who would cry like tiny banshees, and the elderly who couldn't keep themselves awake despite the havoc that the young monsters wreak around them. I can't believe I missed them all. If I could no longer be the kid who cared about nothing but his gifts, at least I can be the kid who attended Christmas eve mass with his family.
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I hope everyone lets out the child in them even just for this one time of the year. Who knows, we all might be a little bit happier albeit nostalgic for the merrier Christmas we used to know, and stay up in the early hours of Christmas day listening to Ray Conniff and Andy Williams do the real caroling.
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