How simple life was then
I received my first Holy Communion on Nov. 30, 1920. It thus came to be that after two weeks, I was allowed to join the grownups for the Misas de Aguinaldo.
Those days, such Masses were always said at 4 a.m. for nine consecutive days, to be climaxed by the High Mass which was celebrated at exactly 12 midnight on Christmas Eve.
What do I recall about those dawn Masses? The big, beautifully decorated church filled to overflowing with people of all ages, the Latin Mass and the backs of priests, the sonorous sermons, the majestic sound of organ music, the smell of incense mingled with the aroma of pomade used by the men and the rich perfume of the ladies, and the feeling of excitement and expectation… The Infant Jesus would be coming! I would steal glances at the huge belen put up by the side altar, the figures of Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the animals; but my gaze would linger on the empty crib which would soon be occupied… soon… on Christmas Eve.
After the Mass, my family and I would squeeze our way out only to be met by the cold December air and the smell of bibingka roasting over hot coals, the sight of blue-violet puto bumbong slathered with real butter and sugar, and sprinkled with flaked coconut. We would traverse the plaza quickly, but at some point I would look back and enjoy the view of the façade of the Binondo church aglow with lights and breathe deeply of the clean, unpolluted air.
I still remember the old Plaza de Binondo. There was a stone fountain in the center, spouting water all the time, a lot of shady trees, benches placed strategically where the yaya would sit while watching their wards at play, and a big stone trough on the side facing the San Nicolas bridge where the horses pulling the calesas and carretelas would be brought to drink. Of course that plaza has “gone with the wind” along with the tranvias… to give way to progress.
After nine consecutive mornings, preparations were made for the culminating activity—the High Mass at midnight of the 24th. The 24th itself was a big day for confessions. Everyone lined up before the mahogany box of the padre chino, who was not Chinese but a Spanish Dominican missionary from China. Because I was already seven I was also included in the fasting and abstinence for that day, a ruling of which our families now have never heard.
Let’s go to the Midnight Mass. It was always a sung Mass and lasted close to two hours. But no matter the length, we did not complain and afterwards left the church with good feelings and a joy we could not contain. Everyone greeted everybody else “Felices Pascuas!” and rushed home to a long table groaning with traditional media noche delicacies—chicken and pork nilaga, Chinese ham and jamon en dulce, galantina, mechado, steamed lapu-lapu with mayonnaise, roast chicken, queso de bola. The centerpiece was always a tray of fruit—bunches of banana, lanzones and grapes topped by chico, lechias, apples and naranjitas. But what I always looked for and gorged myself with were the surtido from La Suiza or from Palma de Mallorca.
The media noche was for the immediate family. Christmas Day lunch was a reunion of extended family members and friends. The menu would be basically the same except for a lechon brought by a favorite uncle. In those days, what we now call “buffet” was not yet in vogue, and so every party was a sit-down affair no matter how many guests there were. One just had to wait for one’s turn. If you were elderly or important, you sat at the primera mesa; otherwise, it was the segunda or tercera for you.
As a child, I did not receive expensive presents as do the kids today. At that time we received candies (the striped red and white peppermint cane was a popular giveaway) and money, usually 50-centavo or P1 coins. If one got a P2 bill, that was a luxury indeed.
Gift-giving was reserved for Jan. 6—the Feast of the Three Kings which was a Church holiday. The practice at home was for us children to put our shoes on top of the window sill of our rooms on the night of the 5th. And bright and early the next morning, eagerly and excitedly, we went to look for our footwear and were rewarded with beautifully wrapped gifts underneath them. The insteps likewise would be filled and spilling out with coins, castañas, apples and grapes. The rest of the day was spent visiting our ninong and ninang, kissing their hands and receiving their blessings and simple gifts.
Come to think of it, how simple life was then. We felt so at peace and secure. There was an atmosphere of wellbeing… and a sense of order—qualities I sorely miss in the hassle-filled, pressure-driven, and success-oriented consumer society of today.
Felices Pascuas y Prospero Año Nuevo!
Lourdes Syquia Bautista, 91, is a retired professor of the University of Santo Tomas, widow, mother of 12, grandmother of 27, and great-grandmother of 14. Please e-mail comments to [email protected].
