‘See you at 4 p.m., Manila Pen,’ buzzed the message on my cell phone. It was from Ambassador Reynaldo Catapang, the venerable dean of the diplomatic corps. When I arrived, the hotel lobby was already alive-children laughing, adults mingling, a festive hum rising beneath the glittering chandeliers. The holiday spirit was palpable, swirling with the aroma of brewed coffee and nostalgia.
Ambassador Catapang, legal luminary Ramon Posadas, and I found ourselves swept into the warmth of the Manila Peninsula Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony, that annual ritual which signals, in this part of the world, the longest Christmas season on earth.
As we savored the merienda buffet-cochinillo, cold cuts, tapenade, and tuna nigiri-the conversation turned sentimental. We recalled the Christmases of our youth, when joy was handmade: when bottle caps became tambourines, tin cans our improvised drums, and we caroled house to house for coins and sweets. Between mouthfuls and laughter, memories tumbled out-moonlit games of patintero and tumbang preso, the trumpo spinning madly in the dust, and the neighborhood chorus of ‘Ang Pasko ay Sumapit.’ Those were nights when imagination outshone technology, and joy required no battery charge.
‘Today’s kids,’ we mused, ‘know neither piko nor tumbang preso.’ We sighed, half in jest, half in mourning for lost playgrounds and vanished laughter. Yet as the Peninsula Strings began to play Broadway tunes, we were children once more-three boys grown old, rediscovering wonder over shared food and story.
‘Christmas here is different,’ Ramon observed, watching as a drone hovered gracefully across the lobby, capturing the spectacle below. For him, it was a first at the Pen; for the Ambassador, a cherished tradition. I, meanwhile, found myself searching for the famed tree. It wasn’t immediately visible-just ornaments scattered like breadcrumbs of joy across the vast hall.
We chuckled as Ramon confessed he, too, couldn’t spot it. Conversation drifted to his forthcoming memoir, a chronicle of a life steeped in law and rebellion. He recalled how, as a student during the First Quarter Storm, he once defended himself in court even before passing the Bar-much like the young Marcos who argued his own case before the Supreme Court.
In a quieter interlude before the ceremony, Ramon narrated how, just weeks earlier in New York, he was nearly turned away from the Philippine Consulate after hours-until he invoked Ambassador Catapang’s name. The mention was enough; doors opened, warmth replaced cold. Such is the power of earned respect, the invisible currency of friendship.
At last, as the clock struck six, the lights dimmed-and then, burst! -the 45-foot Christmas tree came alive in a shower of gold and silver brilliance near the grand entrance. The crowd gasped; Ramon and I exchanged childlike grins. Then, the Battig Chamber Singers of St. Scholastica’s College began to sing, their harmonies rising like prayer. For a moment, everything-hustle, cynicism, worry-paused.
‘On this special evening,’ the Manila Peninsula proclaimed, ‘the city’s holiday season begins as our 45-foot Christmas Tree comes to life in a dazzling display of lights.’ Indeed, the air itself seemed to shimmer with hope, promise, and reconciliation.
And in that glow, I remembered a moment from history-the Christmas Truce of 1914, when soldiers from opposing trenches in World War I, weary from months of mud and gunfire, laid down their arms on Christmas Eve. They emerged cautiously from their dugouts, not with rifles, but with carols. They shared rations, exchanged souvenirs, and even played football in the no-man’s land that had divided them. For one night, humanity eclipsed hostility; peace, however fleeting, triumphed over fear. If men who faced death could find fellowship under frozen stars, surely, we too can pause our daily battles and rediscover compassion.
For the Peninsula, that spirit found embodiment in the children of Make-A-Wish Philippines, who joined in lighting the tree. Their eyes glowed with the kind of wonder that reminds us-the magic of Christmas shines brightest when shared.
As the carols swelled and the lights danced across the lobby, I felt it again-the miracle of renewal, the joy that never really leaves us. Christmas, after all, is not a date on the calendar but a melody in the soul-a reminder that even in our fractured world, light still finds a way through the cracks.