i. 10 years old

• Lotss of food
• Stuf bunny
• Gitar
• Beeg toys
• Bibingka

During Christmas, your parents would let you write down the things you want the most on a piece of paper. Once you jot down your latest interests, your mom would fold the piece of paper carefully, and then tuck it in the small, makeshift tree they put up once December rolls around. So Santa knows where to find it, your mom says, patting your little head. Strangely, you were the only one who partook in this tradition. When prodded, your dad will scoop you up and messily smooch your face. You whine and push at him, your mom’s laughter light in the background. She joins the embrace, saying that adults don’t need to wish because they can do things on their own.

“What else can me and mama ask for, when we have our wish come true right here,” your dad assures, cradling you as he goes upstairs. During the long and cold nights of the holidays, your parents let you sleep between them. Your little body burrowing in their warmth. Even as a child, you can’t help but notice the things you have less. You don’t have grand Christmas decorations and a big tree. This feeling however, of a heart full of love and the solid weight of four arms around you, is what the holidays meant for you.

Peering over your parents, the neighbor’s Christmas lights shine on your face as you look at the window. I know I didn’t include it in my list Santa, but if I’m a good girl, can you promise to make me grow up faster? So I can be the one granting mama and papa’s wishes. Thank you!

(You have written countless lists during the holidays. Yet they barely get heard. Looking back, your roof may be littered with holes, but not large enough to fit the stout, red clad man. Even if by some miracle did Santa get in, your spelling was horrendous. On Christmas morning, you wake up to the smell of your favorite bibingka. You notice the area under the makeshift tree is bare. Yet the warmth from the pastry and your family was enough.)

ii. 10 years later

Blinking lights illuminate your path home. It’s pretty late, yet people are out and about, enjoying the cold night. People are lining up for puto bumbong or heading to church for Simbang Gabi. Your place isn’t the fanciest, yet it comes alive during Christmas.

You pass by Aling Nena on your way to your dingy apartment, her tutting as a subtle yet rude cue to pay up on your rent, or do you want to be homeless. You pay her no heed, too busy dragging your feet up rusty stairs. As you finally cross the threshold of your shoddy, one-room-or-oversized-coffin apartment, you heave out a sigh. If Aling Nena is so uptight on rent, then maybe the money she siphons out of you should reflect the state of this building. Sigh. Whatever.

The apartment is quiet, save for your own breathing and the echoes of your neighbors. Distantly, you hear a child laughing. It doesn’t do anything to ease the suffocating feeling in your chest.

You toe off ill-fitting shoes, soles worn down to thin barriers. Exhaustion ripples through your body in waves, bones sore and achy from standing behind a grocery counter all day. As you unpack your stuff, a nondescript, crumpled receipt falls out of your bag pocket. On the back, are scribbles you probably made during break.

• Rent - 3, 500
• Electricity - 1, 000
• Water - 500
• Mama’s chemo - 10, 000
• Food budget - 100

Your stomach churns, and you don’t know whether it was hunger or dread. A series of computations and scratches litter the back of the receipt, overlapping to the point of incoherence. Too many zeroes and too little cash. You haven’t even visited your mother for almost a month, fearing that your chest will just collapse on itself at the sight of her.

You remember the old times, back when you had a reason to celebrate Christmas. Those silly little lists you used to make. Will Santa think you’re too old for wishes? That his elves don’t have the equipment to make a cure for cancer? You scoff at your own thoughts. If there’s one thing Santa did fulfill, it’s you being an adult too fast and too young.

You think back to what your mom said about adults doing things on their own. You wished she mentioned just how hard and lonely it is. To be the sole conductor of your life yet having nothing to show for it. It is an irony; you as a child wishing to grow up faster, while your adult self yearns to crawl back to your parents’ embrace.

Sitting in this cold and cramped room, you look at the dazzling Christmas lights and parols outside. Too grounded in reality, you now know not to ask for things. But, for once, you allow yourself to wish for warmth.