By Anton T. Tanquintic “Oh! It’s going to be Christmas again!” The realization finally sets in as I gaze wide-eyed and mouth agape at the large and colorfully bright Christmas tree displayed in front of me. I live in Japan, and in the scenario I’m sharing I’ve just arrived back at Kyoto Station via bullet train from a week-long tech expo in Tokyo. I feel silly admitting that I hadn’t realized the fact sooner, but I guess my own work preoccupations and the different culture here are responsible for that. The Japanese celebrate Christmas as a holiday for couples as well as a huge PR stunt for KFC chicken—no kidding! So while some semblance of the holiday exists, the experience is still rather different. For the many Christians here, the various foreigners culturally indoctrinated in that season of gift-giving, and especially the Filipinos, this is hardly enough. It’s the same thing every year. Come the holidays, Filipinos living away and abroad weigh the choice of going home or not, even for just a few days. The rule of thumb is to book months in advance, lest you be faced with exorbitantly high prices, the leftover tedious routes home, or no seats left at all. Those who stay either immerse themselves in work or find other ways to while away the season. Daikaidan Grand Stairway, Kyoto Station My first Christmas here, also my first one abroad, was definitely one to remember. Christmas had always been that mysterious season that evoked ambivalence in me. I loved what it stood for, but years racked with an unsteady personal situation have left me regularly confused and anxious about it, even to this day. For my first Christmas away, I resolved to treat it as any normal day and not celebrate it. To concretize this defiance, I planned to stay indoors as well. Not the most brilliant plan. The days approaching Christmas Eve found me in lowering spirits. And in denial about it! The 24th came and I was frustrated. The extent of my plans included a bottle of Japanese sake I intended to last me the week until New Year’s, and a Netflix subscription with a backlog of shows to catch up on. The season would have gone on for me in this way had it not been for friends in the neighboring prefecture of Nara. The Philippine community of their university was celebrating a traditional Noche Buena, and friends were gracious enough—bless them!—to think of inviting me. A phone call to join and stay the night was all it took, and against all lonesome considerations and rationalizations I made in the days prior, I got dressed.

As pleasantries were exchanged and introductions made with each arriving Filipino or international guest, the same familiar atmosphere of a Christmas party in the Philippines began to take form—idle chatter, wonderful food, and fellows in high spirits to share it with.

One thing remained was that I still felt pumped with frustrated energy from the recent slump. I needed an outlet, and so in a rush of madness—call it my Christmas spirit bursting forth, if you will—I made the decision to bike all the way there. On an average day, the route to their university takes a cumulative one-hour commute by train and bus. I looked up a map, took my chances, and began pedaling through highways and towns never before visited. The journey was incredibly cathartic. The scenic views of the Japanese countryside, the highs and lows of conquered slopes, the thrill of navigating uncertain roads to get there in time—all of it a fantastic rush of much-needed yuletide endorphins. Less than two hours later, I arrived after a distance of over 13 kilometers. Think the distance of Smart-Araneta Colosseum to Mall of Asia, for reference. I was exhausted but revitalized and ready to party. I arrived at the lobby of their dormitory just in time to find them setting up and cooking. As pleasantries were exchanged and introductions made with each arriving Filipino or international guest, the same familiar atmosphere of a Christmas party in the Philippines began to take form—idle chatter, wonderful food, and fellows in high spirits to share it with. Needless to say, the Christmas party went splendidly, as fun and lively as Philippine gatherings can get, with dishes of the Motherland made with Japanese ingredients cooked with spices and seasoning mixes brought over from the last trip home. By the stroke of midnight, greetings of “Merry Christmas,” “Maligayang Pasko,” and “Merii Kurisumasu” rang across the room. Late into the evening, between a sip of wine and a forkful of pancit, while waiting for my turn in the board game we were playing, I gazed around and tried to absorb as much of the scene as I could. I was grateful to be within their company, as a last minute Christmas visitor of sorts, and thankful for both my dear friends and my change of heart that all this happened. A last-minute Christmas. Fast-forward to two years later, and here I am about to celebrate my third Christmas here. There are plans for a party again with a much-anticipated poker game, and also some talk from another group of friends about a trip to go snowboarding in the prefecture of Shiga. I’m a bit wiser now, I like to think, so either way or whatever plan comes up, I know I’ll be okay. There really is truth to that old adage: It’s not just about what’s under the tree that matters, but also the people you’re with around it. So go have a merry Christmas, everyone. And don’t forget to share it!