28/11/2025
LITERARY | The Little Voices that Kept Christmas Alive
Every December, the barangay turned into a sparkling, chaotic Christmas playground. Parols swayed on fences, lights twinkled like tiny stars. That magical feeling that only amihan wind and the smell of bibingka and p**o bumbong floating through the cool night air could bring
For the kids, it was battle season—for coins, treats, and the ever-elusive bente-bente. For the adults, it was survival season—how to dodge the carolers without being seen.
Down the street marched the brave caroling squad:
Tonton with his heroic one-string guitar,
Lira with her tambourine that sometimes refused to jingle,
Rico with his paint-bucket drum that somehow sounded like a marching kaldero,
and two little cousins squinting at a flashlight to read their crumpled, half-wet lyrics.
“Rules,” Tonton whispered, shivering in the December air.
“Kapag nag-off light sila… retreat. With dignity. And don’t trip over extension cords again.”
Everyone nodded.
First house: lights off.
Second house: curtains drawn.
Third house: pretend-sleep mode activated.
The kids were losing hope. Rico muttered,
“Parang lahat ng may bahay nawawalan ng kuryente pag nag carol na tayo.”
Until—they reached the far end of the street.
There it was: THE HOUSE.
Glowing parols, lanterns hanging like tiny stars, and warm light spilling onto the street.
On the balcony: two kids, faces shining brighter than any parol.
Mika and Ben.
These two didn’t hide from carolers—they lived for them.
“Guys! Dito na kayo!” Mika who is hiding behind one of the pillar shouted, cheeks red from excitement and cold.
“Start na kayo!” Ben added, bouncing like a Christmas pogo stick.
The carolers straightened, hearts full, instruments ready.
“Sa may bahaaay, ang aming baaaati—”
Mika clapped along and Ben conducted like a tiny, overexcited maestro.
Even the neighbor’s also joined with a howl.
When the song ended, Mika and Ben ran downstairs with money in hand.
“Hetooo, bente-bente para sa inyo!” Ben said proudly.
“Salamat sa kanta!” Mika added, grinning like she just won the Pasko sa Barangay raffle.
The carolers stared. Coins and bills weren’t expected—they got aguinaldo from kids!
And it didn’t stop there.
Mika and Ben’s mom appeared, holding a steaming plate wrapped in festive cloth. “Pagod na kayo? Eto, bibingka!” she said warmly
The smell hit them instantly: sweet, buttery, faintly smoky, just like Filipino Christmas. Soft bibingka, golden at the edges, melting in their mouths.
Pockets jingled, stomachs warmed, spirits soared higher than the parols above.
As they walked away, Rico whispered, eyes wide: “Guys, future caroling missions should always end HERE.”
Even as they passed another house… lights off.
Tonton sighed. “Back to battle.”
But it didn’t matter. No matter how many houses hid behind curtains, pretended to sleep, or had dogs barking suspiciously...
Somewhere in the barangay, two kids were waiting on a balcony, cheering like their personal audience.
Somewhere, the soft glow of parols lit every smiling face.
Somewhere, A Nanay whispered: “Anak, dalhan mo sila ng bibingka.”
And that—right there—was the true Pinoy Christmas magic: Tripping over extension cords, almost dropping bibingka, laughing with your friends, cheering like crazy, and knowing that no matter how many houses refused you, somewhere, there’s a balcony with two kids waiting to make your night feel like Christmas.
For a Pinoy kid, that night wasn’t just Christmas—it was everything about Pasko: lights, music, laughter, generosity, bibingka, and that warm, happy chaos that makes you feel like the whole world is celebrating with you.
✍🏻: Kate Andrea De Guzman
