The Christmas Eve

The Christmas tree with its tilted star and the fresh scent of bamboo leaves. Toys, old toys, and reused Christmas cards adorn the tree. The crib with baby Jesus is covered in wood shavings — the figures of Mary and Joseph around baby Jesus.

The smell of homemade sweets from the kitchen. New clothes and shoes are stacked in the almirah — newly painted walls. The garden was swept clean — furniture repolished — new curtains on doors and windows. Everything is new.

The celebration begins at midnight on Christmas Eve, the 24th of December, with the midnight mass in the church, a walking distance from home. Kids are not allowed to stay up; we need to sleep early. The midnight mass is for adults only in my family. I am tucked in by eight.

My father and mother put on their best clothes. Then, they leave home, leaving my grandmother to watch over the little ones. While I am sound asleep, my parents are at the church. I don’t know anything, for I am sleeping in my dreamland, curious about the midnight service, which I am not big enough to participate in.

The following day, I am perplexed and curious to know what was so special about the evening service. Why am I not taken? Why am I not allowed in that exclusive club of midnight mass attendees? Instead, why do I attend the morning mass with my grandmother?

I want to go to midnight mass the next time. I am big enough to join my parents. That opportunity comes again after 365 days. I make a pact with my parents to allow me to go to mass with them the next time.

A year passes by. It is December again. Christmas season comes. The preparations are repeated, the Christmas tree, the manger, the new clothes, the cooking, painted walls, newly polished furniture and fresh curtains. I remind my parents about the promise they made last year. They agree to honour the deal. My father will wake me up at night on Christmas Eve.

I go to sleep at eight pm. I am happy. I sleep well, thinking of the beautiful wonder of the midnight mass with its regalia, imagining my first time at a midnight mass, staying up past midnight.

When I wake up, the sun is shining. It is no longer night. It is Christmas morning, on the 25th. What happened last night? I am shocked. Nobody has woken me up. I did not fulfil my dream. Why didn’t they wake me up? I am angry. I cry.

My father comes in. “I woke you up, but you did not get up. You turned the other side and slept through”.

I don’t believe this. “No, no”, and I cry.

“Why didn’t you wake me up again?”.

My mother says, “We felt bad to wake you up; you wanted to sleep through”.

I continue to cry. Tears flow.

I am sad that I have to wait another 365 days to go for the coveted midnight mass.

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