Work Text:
Christmas season in the Philippines starts on September 1st.
Qimir has no inkling as to why but it has been that way ever since he can remember. It is the first year that he’s back in the country since he began working abroad 7 years ago.
So when he arrived at NAIA Terminal 1 on September 2nd, every single speaker in the arrivals hall were blasting Jose Mari Chan’s Christmas In Our Hearts, Qimir couldn’t stop the biggest grin on his face.
Christmas pauses in the last couple of days of October to the first few days of November to celebrate Undás - All Saint’s Day. Halloween is very much non-existent in the country. You won’t see kids running around wearing terrifying and creative costumes on October 31st. Instead, you will all see them at home with their family, seated on a couch and watching Kabayan Noli De Castro’s Magandang Gabi… Bayan, a TV news program that turns into a show focusing on horror stories once Undás comes around, on their flickering TV screens.
It’s one of the most amusing times of the year for Qimir. On one hand, all the decorations at home, in the malls, and basically anywhere in the country, are festive and would reflect the Holiday spirit. On the other, the TV, radio stations, and practically everyone in the country are recounting spooky ghost stories and paranormal happenings.
For the first 5 years of his overseas life, Qimir’s Christmases were all spent alone locked up in the apartment he rented, eating sinigáng - a sour stew made with tamarind, vegetables, and either pork, shrimp, or fish - by his lonesome. Though not a Christmas staple in the Filipino household, it reminds him of home and the warmth of the holiday season in the Philippines.
When he came to the United States, Qimir could barely speak broken English. He often struggled to understand and comprehend what the customers in the restaurant he was working for were saying, needing to digest the words and their context. Hearing the words in English, translating them to Tagalog in his brain, formulating an answer in Tagalog, and translating it to English all in his head before he can give a reply. Customers would give bad feedback about him, and his employers, also Filipinos and kind-hearted, would politely apologize to the customers but they had to demote him anyway, back to the kitchens, scrubbing plates and pans.
“Pasenya ka na, Qimir.”
We’re sorry, Qimir.
“Ok lang, boss. Naiintindihan ko naman.”
It’s okay, boss. I understand.
This gave Qimir the drive to learn English. His best friend was a Tagalog-English dictionary that he’d read every single night and carry around everywhere. He’d read it during breaks at work and in the subway.
Sometimes, he’d read the words and their meaning out loud, his lips and tongue struggling to form around foreign words and almost always mispronouncing them.
For his first Christmas in the US, he bought himself a bunch of children’s books to read. By the following year, Qimir had become conversant enough to be promoted to head of the kitchen staff. He even made friends at work, despite the language and culture barrier.
Occasionally, he’d invite his work friends over for a couple of drinks.
One of them noticed his children’s books.
“You got a kid back home?”
The tip of Qimir’s ear turned pink, he stuttered when he said, “N-no! Those are for my - ano - my sister’s son.”
He lied, of course. Qimir has no sister.
He quickly offered them beer, hoping that his friend would not notice the way his face was turning red.
After that night, he kept his children’s book hidden away in his bedside drawer. Only taking them out when he’d read them before going to bed.
The years alone went by like a blur, spending most of his time working 12-hour day shifts in the restaurant and teaching himself English at night. Setting up his Christmas tree in his little rented apartment and playing Christmas songs as early as the first week of September.
His neighbors would shake their heads at him, saying that he’s got a loose screw in his head somewhere for being in the holiday spirit as early as September. But he’d just smile politely at them.
They wouldn’t understand.
It was the Spring of ‘93 when he met Osha, in his 5th year as an OFW - overseas Filipino worker. He remembers the exact date, the exact way that the golden glow of sunlight hit the bookshelves, and the exact smell of the old book he was holding in his hand inside the second-hand bookshop down the street.
She took a little peek at the book in his hands and smiled as she passed him by, telling him that he should get the book and it took his breath away.
He followed her with his eyes as she made jokes with the store clerk stacking books at the far end of the shop before slipping a lanyard over her head and pinning a nameplate over her left breast.
Why hasn’t he seen her before? He’d been a frequent buyer ever since he discovered the bookshop a couple of months ago. He took a couple more books in his arms and followed her to the register.
“Are these for your kid?” She asked politely as she placed the books he purchased in a brown paper bag bearing Sol’s Bookshop logo.
“No, I’m single!” he blurted out, which made her wrinkle her brows and giggle. It was the most magical sound to his ears, like the soft tinkling of bells on a Christmas morning.
“Here you go, Mr. Single,” she’d said as she handed him his bag, “have a nice day!”
He smiled his thanks, glancing briefly at the nameplate on her shirt.
Osha.
Ever since that day, Qimir has made it a point to always drop by the bookshop on his way home from work, just to see and admire her from afar.
Every single time he’d buy a book from cookbooks to medical journals to old fashion magazines - none of which he ever reads - just so he could interact with her. He’s been such a frequent buyer of the bookshop that the owner even gave him a loyalty card.
“This is from Sol,” Osha handed him the blank card the 8th straight week he’d been to the shop almost every day.
“You’ve been such a loyal customer that he finally thought of a loyalty card scheme for the shop and you’re the first to have one,” she said with a smile before ducking her head and rummaging through the drawer below the cash register for a felt-tip pen.
“What’s your first name? So I can write it down on the card,” Osha said, extending her hand for the card.
His throat was suddenly dry, this was the longest conversation they’d had in 8 weeks.
Qimir swallowed and his voice came out hoarse, “Qimir.”
His hand was clammy as he handed the card back, his thumb brushed briefly against hers. He prayed that she didn’t notice the way his hand was trembling or the redness of his cheeks or was grossed out by the coldness of his clammy hand.
She gave him another smile and scribbled Qimir Single before handing him back the card.
“Oh. Sorry, but my last name’s Santos. Not Single.”
This time it was Osha’s cheeks that colored red, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I thought you said that you’re Single! That’s why I’ve been calling you Mr. Single all this time!”
She covered her reddening face with her hands, her voice came out muffled, “Oh god, I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.”
Qimir’s cheeks reddened further as he recalled their first interaction and he stupidly blurted out to her that he was single.
With a pounding heart and clammier hands, he cleared his throat and said I am single .
Osha peeked at him through the gaps in her fingers. Qimir thought that she was so adorable his heart would burst.
“Okay, well, if that’s the case…”
Osha lowered her hands from her still blushing face.
Qimir tilted his head in anticipation of what she was going to say.
“I’m single, too.”
Qimir’s heart nearly gave out.
They started dating soon after that.
And just like that, his Christmases weren’t so lonely anymore.
It was October of ‘93 when Qimir first brought Osha home to his apartment. He watched her reaction as she stepped further into his world, praying that she wouldn’t find him too weird or too Filipino for her liking. He did start decorating for the Holidays in September.
Twinkling Christmas lights illuminated Osha as she walked farther into his dim apartment. She looked ethereal under the soft red and blue glow. She turned back to look at him then and smiled so tenderly at him he felt his whole world shift on its axis.
And from then on, Qimir vowed to himself - and if she allowed him to - he would spend every single Christmas with her and spend all the days of his life loving her.
He met her twin sister and her mothers on Christmas eve of the same year. He brought his famous sinigáng for dinner which Osha swore her family would love. Aniseya complimented his cooking and Koril could not get enough of it. But Mae gagged and nearly spat out the sour soup the moment it touched her tongue.
Osha burst out laughing and Qimir apologized. In the end, Koril and Osha finished the sinigáng , Mae did not even try to hide her displeasure with the meal nor her dislike of Qimir but Aniseya took down notes on how to make the sour soup.
“Don’t worry about Mae. She’s just a little overprotective. She’ll warm up to you in no time,” Osha reassured him with a soft kiss on his cheek.
It was their first Christmas together and despite Mae’s piercing glares at the back of his head, it was overall a nice dinner. Qimir was finally surrounded by warmth and family and his heart had never felt so full.
On their second Christmas together, he taught her how to make a paról - a star-shaped lantern made out of bamboo sticks and either Japanese paper or crepe paper with 2 tails - in front of his fireplace as Jose Marie Chan’s A Perfect Christmas played in the background and snow fell softly outside.
This year’s Christmas is their 3rd one as a couple but their first apart. Qimir’s work visa has expired. His employers did promise him a renewal in the new year.
“Saglit lang naman ang ilang buwan, Qimir. Uwi ka muna.”
It’s just a few months, Qimir. Go home for a while.
In the meantime, he’s back home in the Philippines and missing Osha more and more as the days go by. It is November now and according to his employers, they’ve already submitted his documents, and his visa is expected to be released by mid-January.
Qimir hails the passing jeepney and boards it, a small brown envelope under his arm. Inside are headshots of him from Jecki Lon’s Photo Studio.
His old dog waits for him in front of their gate where the jeepney dropped him off and escorts him to their front door. He gives its head a scratch before giving it a tiny treat.
Qimir removes his shoes by the door, leaving them on top of a shoe rack where his dog cannot reach them.
“Dito na ko, ‘nay,” he calls out from the doorway.
Mom, I’m home!
“Ok, anak, may merienda sa mesa. Kumain ka na at pupunta ako sa bahay ng tito mo,” came his mother’s reply from the living room.
Ok, son. There’s food on the table. Go ahead and eat, I’m going to your uncle’s house for a bit.
“Di po ako gutom, ‘nay. Sabihin nyo kay tito yung utang nya sakin ah, di pa ho nya bayad.”
I’m not hungry, mom. Tell uncle that he still hasn’t returned the money he borrowed from me.
With that, Qimir closes the door of his room and quickly changes into a tank top and shorts, tossing the shirt and pants he wore onto a laundry basket at the corner of the room. Qimir lays out the different headshots he’d gotten, picking one where he’s looking directly into the camera with a slight smile on his lips.
Qimir sits down on his old desk with a ballpen in hand, flipping the photo over, He begins to write…
November 15, 1995.
My dearest Osha,
It will be a few days past Christmas or maybe even a week when you finally get to read this. Please know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you dropped me off at the airport and told me to write to you often.
I miss you terribly, Osha. Someday, I will bring you here to the Philippines. Maybe next Christmas if the universe allows.
We’ll attend Simbang Gabi every night or early in the morning - whichever you prefer. After mass we’ll eat puto bumbong and bibingka in the plaza outside the church.
You know, there’s this old superstition about Simbang Gabi that if you complete all 9 nights of mass, whatever your heart’s desire it would come true.
I know that someday we will complete all 9 nights together. But for now, I will have to settle with attending mass by myself. Do not worry your pretty little head thinking about what my heart’s desire is for you are all that my heart desires, my dearest Osha.
I cannot wait to be with you again.
Mahal na mahal kita .
Qimir.
He slips the photo inside an envelope, scribbling Osha’s name and address, and seals it with a kiss. Qimir mails the letter the following day, hoping that Osha will not be lonely this Christmas.