Bawal ang Absent sa Christmas Gathering!

Long Commute, It’s Raining, and Our Journey Home

In this cold and wet December, when rain comes suddenly and unapologetically, we crawl the Southern Route to Batangas City, gritting our teeth through slow traffic in areas where road widening seems to extend forever. In my brother’s “garden suite,” where he was forced to cage his dogs for a day, messages poured into our FB thread called Batangas Peeps:

“On the way na.”
“Malapit na.”
“Stuck lang konti sa traffic po.”
“Lakas po ng ulan dito ngayon.”

Meanwhile, my sister dons her event planner/organizer persona, decorating our venue. My sister-in-law assists her (though the place is hers), supplying all demanded party plus-plus: tables, a Christmassy background for picture taking, Santa Claus socks hung on a flimsy but cute décor. She even bought new chair pillows.

Honestly, this is already enough reason why I can’t treat our family reunion as optional.

A Feast That Symbolizes Family (and Grace)

As the house slowly filled and nephews and nieces, with their little ones, came eagerly in cars loaded with gifts, laughter rose even before greetings were completed. Someone immediately asked if the food was enough, but no one needed to worry. Family brought pancit, lumpiang shanghai, sinaing na tulingan, embotido, humba, nilagang sitaw at kalabasa, Jollibee fried chicken, suman sa lihiya, suman sa gata, puto, kutsinta, chocolate tart, piña, grapes, saging—too much food in fact, that after the party, everybody brought home a Sharon share of the pot.

We ate with enthusiasm and without restraint, because this is a no-holds-barred affair: you eat without apology, knowing that tomorrow you will still be family. For me, the excess food was symbolic of God’s ample grace. There is always enough. The reunion reminds me that abundance is the rule of God’s blessings; scarcity is never the norm in His economy.

Gifts, Games, and Good-Natured Chaos

We did our traditional gift giving, everyone gives everyone a gift. As usual, we don’t really care what the actual gifts are. They are often perky, cute, sometimes corny, sometimes weird. But it’s not the price; it’s the thought. That someone thought of you, picked something with you in mind, wrapped it with care, wrote your name on the tag, and handed it over with a smile.

As I shopped, wrapped, and handed my gifts to every member of the family, I was conscious of how much I’ve always prayed for each one by name. Remembering them this Christmas is only a segment of that routine.

Then came the games with my nephew as emcee, now a pro at inventing games that make everyone temporarily lose their dignity. Simple, easy mechanics that everyone ignores anyway. Laughter explodes when someone is eliminated. Raffle prizes, small and actually, what are they? are announced with exaggerated suspense. Someone complains her name was never put in the jar. Losses are disputed loudly. Wins are celebrated like championships.

In this ritual, silence would have felt wrong.

Kids in Their Own Universe

The kids set up camp. My brother placed a tent in one corner of our meeting place, so it became their headquarters. Inside, they secretly ate candies their parents warned them about, opened their tablets, and played Minecraft, zipping the tent closed so no adult could say, “Stop the tablet!”

Their shrieks and laughter sometimes rose above adult chatter. And I’m reminded: reunions are also about letting the children feel what it means to belong to a family. It’s not the rain or the traffic they’ll remember. It’s the tent. The cousins. The feeling of being known.

Updates, Teasing, and Tender Interrogations

Meanwhile, us adults wanted updates. We annoyed the Gen Z nephews and nieces with questions about work, plans, dreams, love lives. We masked our curiosity with tender urging, wanting to know where they stand on the edge of becoming.

One nephew, fresh from a government office where the budget miraculously returned, got roasted for being part of the “suddenly-rich” squad, “financially enabled,” as we teased, while he grinned and pretended not to flex his new status. Meanwhile, our January bride-to-be basked in the spotlight as we cornered her fiancé, dragging him into the games and threatening (with dramatic flair) to boycott the wedding if he dared to sulk or sit out. Everyone else got the mock-warning too: cross our niece and consider yourself “disinvited”, family banter code for we adore her and you better, too.

A full house does something to my spirit. It reminds me I am part of something that did not begin with me and will not end with me.

Showing Up Is Non-Negotiable

This gathering is not merely convenient. It is necessary.

Everything can be postponed, rescheduled, or attended virtually. But a family reunion resists isolation. It insists that showing up matters, that presence is irreplaceable.

Bodies in one space, voices overlapping, shared meals, curious interrogations, these are not optional extras squeezed into a busy life. They are the scaffolding that holds our personal histories together. Before we became busy, accomplished, tired, or carefree, this is where we were: this family. We see one another not as roles, but as people, growing, aging, changing, maturing.

My brother made sure the sound system was loud enough to disturb the barangay. There was dancing, picture-taking, and eating with our hands or disposables, with a trash can just nearby to avoid an eventual mess. Families wore coordinated outfits, that is, one color per unit. My sister-in-law made sure everyone went home with ham and a bag of leftovers.

The Gift of Presence

The family reunion is a gift. It’s something nobody should miss, even just for the assurance of a presence that enlarges the heart and lifts the spirit. When the afternoon was dim enough for everyone to go back to their busy lives, we stretched our goodbyes, returning tables and chairs to their corners. In this Christmas gathering, where everybody made sure they were present, we had some happy rest in our family’s embrace.