24/12/2025
๐๐๐ง๐๐ฅ๐๐ฅ๐ฌ | ๐ฆ๐๐ถ๐น๐น, ๐๐ต๐ฟ๐ถ๐๐๐บ๐ฎ๐ ๐ณ๐ถ๐ป๐ฑ๐ ๐ผ๐๐ฟ ๐ต๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐๐
People say Christmas has changed.
That it used to feel brighter, louder, softer in the heart.
And that maybeโjust maybeโthe last real Christmas was in 2012, when the world felt slower and children still believed parols could guide them anywhere.
Kikay once believed that, too. And just like her, many students does too.
But now, in her tiny boarding house room, December felt more like a deadline than a holiday. The cold wasnโt festiveโit was the kind that creeps in when youโre exhausted, when the highlights in your reviewer start to blur into one long line of panic.
Outside, laughter drifted along the corridors. Someone played โ๐๐ข๐ด๐ฌ๐ฐ ๐๐ข ๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏโ a little too loud. Inside, Kikayโs pen tapped against her reviewer like a clock counting down her hope.
โ๐๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ด๐ต๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ?โ she whispered.
And for a moment, the silence felt like an answerโyes, things really changed.
But then she heard it.
Soft. Off-key. Familiar.
โโฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐บ ๐ต๐ข๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐ฐ ๐ฑ๐ข ๐ฃ๐ข ๐ด๐ข ๐๐ข๐ด๐ฌ๐ฐ ๐ฏ๐จ ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ข๐ดโฆโ
Children singing outside.
Something in her chest stirredโlike a curtain gently pulling backโuntil her present faded into a memory.
She was small again, wrapped in the kind of excitement only December could create.
She remembered Mama bursting into their room at dawn, voice bright and urgent:
โ๐๐ข๐ฌ, ๐ฃ๐ข๐ฏ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฏ๐ข! ๐๐ฉ๐ณ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฎ๐ข๐ด ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ต๐บ ๐ฏ๐ข ๐ฏ๐ช๐ฎ๐ฐ!โ
And just like that, little Kikay would leap out of bedโbecause on that morning, everything felt magical. On the wooden chair by the door lay her new Christmas outfit: the dress Mama saved up for, the shiny shoes still smelling like the store, the pink hairclip she begged for at the market.
She would run her fingers along the stiff fabric, feeling like the whole world was giving her permission to sparkle.
There was no stress then.
No finals.
No deadlines.
Only childhood joy and a parol glowing softly in the corner of their home.
2012. Perhaps, this was the last time Christmas felt that whole.
Tears gatheredโnot from sadness, but from remembering a version of herself who believed the world would always stay gentle.
But slowly, she understood something:
Christmas didnโt die.
It simply changed its shape.
Back then, it lived in new clothes and school parties.
Now, it lived in the sacrifices she made for her dreams.
Back then, magic came from Mama waking her up.
Now, magic came from remembering who she was doing all of this for.
The memory dissolved like mist, and a voice pulled her back.
โ๐๐ฐ๐บ, ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฌ! ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ด ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ข! ๐๐ข๐ต๐ข ๐ฏ๐ข, ๐๐ข๐ด๐ฌ๐ฐ ๐ฏ๐ข ๐ฐ๐บ!โ
It was her motherโnot in memory this time, but in real life.
Kikay blinked.
She was home.
The smell of lechon manok filled the air. Fireworks burst outside like shaken stars. Her siblings laughed in the next room, arguing over chicken wings. And just beyond the doorway, her family waitedโeyes bright, smiles softโgrateful to be complete at the table again after a year of hardships, exams, sweat, and quiet prayers.
Simple.
Not like the shimmering Christmas of her childhood.
But warm enough to steady her heart.
Maybe Christmas wasnโt the same anymore.
But it wasnโt gone. It simply grew with her.
And in that momentโstanding at the doorway, wrapped in the soft chaos of homeโshe felt something deep and trembling bloom inside her.
A reminder that even when the world grows heavier, there will always be places where the soul remembers how to breathe.
So to every student who misses the magic of old Decembersโฆ
To every scholar who once woke up excited for new clothes and Christmas partiesโฆ
To everyone who feels the world moving too fastโ
Your memories are real.
Your longing is valid.
But so is your courage.
Christmas does not stay where we left it.
It follows us quietlyโinto dorm rooms, into deadlines, into the tired parts of our heartsโwaiting for the moment we finally pause long enough to feel it.
May you find your magic again,
Whether in a childโs off-key carol,
A motherโs voice calling you home,
Or the soft miracle of surviving another year.
So even when the world grows heavy
And we no longer feel as brightโ
Still, Christmas finds our hearts,
And teaches them to beat softly again.
Merry Christmas, MSUans.
Padayon sa inyong mga damgo. ๐โจ
๐ข๐ณ๐ต๐ช๐ค๐ญ๐ฆ | ๐๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐จ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ข
