The 24th always starts with footsteps echoing through the living room. Tita Nene steps out of her new van with her second husband—a fat, blue-eyed expat she met “at work.” In one hand, she clutches a Prada purse; in the other, her shiny new iPhone 16. It fits in the purse, but what’s the point of an iPhone if her sisters can’t see it?

I’m ushered to greet them. “Oh, tumaba ka na, beh!” she exclaims, laughing. I smile. We both know it’s uncomfortable.

Tita Linda emerges from behind, spatula in hand, claiming she’s been cooking since 3 AM. Tita Nene pulls her into a hug, saying “You shouldn’t have bothered, Ate! I ordered lechon anyway!” Tita Linda laughs through gritted teeth.

Tita Nene’s towering husband trails behind her. Tito Otek—an extrovert drunk—offers him a glass of Red Horse; he awkwardly accepts. Too deep now, he sits beside the other titos, nodding and laughing like he understands their kanal humor.

The karaoke screeches in the background, Lola’s voice cracking through a ‘70s song no one knows about. The titas gather in the corner, commencing the annual show-and-tell of their children’s academic achievements from elementary. My cousins and I exchange awkward glances but don’t talk willingly. 

A handful of titas surround a cousin in her twenties: “Bakit wala ka pang jowa? You’re not getting any younger! How about kids?!”

My mother introduces me to at least three strangers who apparently saw me grow up. Three elders suggest I change courses and become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. Tita Betty, fresh from Switzerland, brags about freezing abroad while reminding us how “lucky” we are to enjoy tropical weather. 

Soon, the lechon is set in the center of the table. Quezo de bola is beside the ham from Papa’s free holiday basket. Fruit salad sits beside the menudo tita Linda has been boiling since dawn. Everyone brings out their specialties—lumpiang Shanghai with a side of “Mas gaganda ka kung maputi ka,” buko pandan with slices of “I saw your Facebook posts. You’re so photogenic!” palabok sprinkled with “Kailan kayo mag-aanak?” and mango graham cake sweetened by “What’s your job now? Ayaw mo mag-abroad?”

Dinner kicks off with Papa’s “chikboy” stories and Lola’s “no’ng panahon ko” anecdotes. Laughter overflows the room, Red Horse fills the titos’ glasses, and compliments mask insults—the traditional flavor of Filipino Noche Buena.

The 24th always ends with footsteps echoing through the living room. Leftovers fill old ice cream tubs and Tupperwares. Excuses of early flights and deadlines are whispered. Once everyone has been captured by the mandatory family pictures for tita’s Facebook, they leave out the door one-by-one, promising to return for the same madness, same time next year. 

- Cassandra Janine L. dela Cruz
(Illustration by Alexandra Lim/FEU Advocate)