Nine Nights
the first night
The first night is always the most exciting. The start of a timeless tradition. The noises quiet down to a whisper the moment the church opens the door to the commoners. You sit in a row filled with people, with strangers. The expression of their faces revealing their motives. Maybe boredom — with a teenager being squished in a row filled with family members just attending a tradition for tradition sake. Or an elderly woman kneeling and mouthing the rosary, devotion dedicated to her entirety? Or maybe a couple at the far end of the room, begging for a wish to come true?
the second night
The alarm rings at two in the morning. You groan and hit snooze. The rooster is still asleep, and grudgingly, so are you. But still, the phone unrelenting, you get out of bed and put your feet on the ground. The stars are still dancing, and the sun is still in her slumbers. All for the sake of tradition, and all for the sake of a wish you don’t know what to whisper, with no guarantee it’ll come true.
the third night
The crowd begins to grow thinner. You have an unofficial “usual seat” at church. Laughter breaks in small spaces, groups begin to form. Motives start showing up with the conversational chatter. Wishes begin to pop through the air. “Praying for a work opportunity abroad.” “It’s a family tradition.” “We just want to feel religious.” “Because why not.”
The parties are starting and so are the celebratory nights. Universities have the unspoken competition: who has the grandest fireworks show? Who gets to invite the famous bands? Who gets to present the grandious lantern festival? Who gets the most creative Christmas tree? Competitions among universities dont just exist during basketball games, and cheerdance competitions, theres also the most extravagant christmas traditions too. For my university, it was the famous Paskuhan with the indie bands and the free food. For the other schools, it was the lantern feetivals, or the minicarnivals held in the middle of the open grounds. Take your pick.
the fourth night
There’s this tradition in the Philippines called simbang gabi. The literal translation would be church at night. For nine nights, those who are willing, will wake up and attend mass at four in the morning (times may differ), every night, starting at the sixteenth until the twenty fourth, or Christmas Eve. And to those who are committed, the saying goes those who would complete the nine nights, will be granted a special wish or a prayer answered.
I guess you could say, “extra credit but make it a perfect attendance” kind of church agenda.
I was never a morning person. I would wake up at the last possible minute, and just hope no inconveniences happen so i’ll be on time.
But this year, I found a dream worth waking up to, and I’m betting my nine nights for one prayer: that in three years time, I can come home to you.
the fifth night
Maybe I can be a little bolder with the prayer. After all, what is four nights more? We are more than halfway there! The crowd continues to dissipate, the crowd moves slower, the people linger long after the mass has ended.
Can I pray that in three years time, I can go home to you? And if God is gracious enough to answer the boldness of the whispers of my heart, can I ask Him that we can build our own home together?
The fifth night is the valley, and what a valley it is. You wonder how many more alarms can you take, and how mang more sleeps til it ends? But the waiting is always most painful when its at the middle of nothingness. We just have to hang tighter a little while longer.
the sixth night
The nights pass by and waking up before the sun has become a habit (how I wish it was true! — but I am awake at 5:50 in the morning now and gasps writing — so that is a win.) a tiresome habit.
How tiresome it is to wait for three years. The days I wish I can come home, and the nights I long for you to be by my side.
How I long for bibingka and puto bumbong to be filling the church doors the moment the priest mentions “Go in peace.” How the vendors would sell their rice cake desserts, and how everyone would be hungry for either fish balls, or rice cakes, or maybe a rosary to bring home.
But longing with a purpose means a reward worth waiting for. And if that is the case, maybe the pining for a future where we can celebrate the same holidays (together), wouldn’t be so bad.
the seventh night
The buzz in the rooms hit different, the crowd weaves in, the air being hard to breathe as the people remember the tradition once again. Christmas is oversaturated in the Philippines, you see. We’d start celebrating in September, my family included. The moment the calendar turns September, my mom would put out the Christmas tree in the living room. (Useless trivia, the Christmas tree we have is older than i am). My brother would wait for the go signal to turn on the fairy lights, and My dad would blast the radio even louder at the song of“Christmas in our hearts.” While the rest of the world had Mariah Carey and Michael Bublble, we’d have Jose Mari Chan and Ben&Ben blasting in the malls and in our houses. While the rest of the world goes busy, all I wanted was to be quiet.
Was that similar to the nativity scene, I wonder? With the busyness of the inns and everyone with their own agendas, what Mary and Joseph really wanted I assume, was a quiet place to stay. Not even a home, not a mansion. Just a place for where two of them can finally become three.
the eighth night
The nights become quieter, yet louder at the same time. The excitement and unease in the air, knowing Christmas is at the tip of their fingers, yet also knowing after the mass, its just one more night before the timeless tradition draws to a temporary close.
Nobody minds sleeping in again, and maybe just waking up to some good leftover food they had from Christmas eve. The honey glazed ham, the slightly burnt hotdogs, the ice cream that was a last minute decision at the nearest convenient store. The seemingly humane moments becoming more significant with traditions passing by.
Almost the ending, abittersweet and nostalgic one, but knowing traditions have beginnings and ending, and repetitions worth practicing.
the ninth night
Christmas eve. We can hear the merry cheer. Literally, we hear it. The announcements, happy Noche Buena: the feast of food with the comfort of family being with us. The smell of the bibingkas aromatizing the air as the rice cakes quickly disappear in the plates. The parols shining brightly, competing with the night sky and the constellations. The joyful shouts. The happy karaoke songs. The endless christmas carols.
Forget the wishes, what we have now is something worth celebrating.
There’ll be a time when I’ll recall the prayers and wishes. And there’ll be a day when I’ll ask for the promises made to me: a perfect attendance in exchange for a wish. But right now, I’m living in one of the many answered prayers I used to mumble in the church, at the airport, and even at home.
Christmas and thanksgiving might be two different holidays, but the festive season does remind us a lot of what we are thankful for: for family, good friends, great company, for a gift at the Nativity, for the jawdropping state of witnessing the now, and for the existence of love.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays.