Merry Christmas... in January
As early as the first week of December, I’ve been trying to set lunch or dinner get-togethers with my friends, only to receive answers that have become more and more common in recent years, depending on what category of friends they fall into.
Friends who cannot say no: “Susubukan ko.” (“I’ll try.”) “See you soon!” (Then bails out at the appointed date, like a great Netflix series that gets canceled after Season 1.)
Friends who set terms: “Ok, unless something comes up.” “Sige. Paki-organize na, ha?” (“All right. Please organize it, ok?”) “Can I bring along my jowa (or my toddler)?” “I’m vegan, so let’s limit the meats, please.” What starts as dinner now feels like planning a wedding, minus a wedding planner.
Location-specific friends: “If it’s in Makati or BGC, might not be able to make it.” “Can we do it in QC?” (Nope.) “Can we do it in Alabang?” (Yes, yes, yes!) Apparently, crossing city boundaries now requires the emotional readiness of Frodo leaving the Shire.
In other words, those Christmas presents you carefully, lovingly selected will have to sit under the tree during the holidays. Just remember if any of them are perishable; you don’t want those XL Korean pears turning to a slimy mush by January, or that Chinese ham becoming a fiesta meal for the bugs and rats in your house.
What hafen, Santa? When did Christmas ever take a back seat to everything else?
It used to be that once the lanterns lit up, everything else followed. Deadlines dimmed. Excuses evaporated. Traffic remained a fact of life, but people endured it like the weekend warriors that they were.
Sadly, folks have become weekend wimps, and Christmas has turned into a soft launch—nice if it happens, but not worth rescheduling the yoga class or visit to the doctor (at least those who aren’t on vacation).
Nowadays, being busy is like a badge of honor, with workers trying to look the part without doing anything particularly fun or enjoyable. It also appears to be the most convenient excuse to take a rain check on every friendly dinner invitation. Overnight, “burned out” has turned into something to crow about instead of a life-altering condition that naturally accompanies adulthood.
“Adulting” is an informal neologism pioneered by millennials to acknowledge their transition into grown-up responsibilities, albeit with humor. Like transforming from being a teenager to “becoming like mom (or dad),” they use it to self-consciously and ironically celebrate completing everyday stuff (frequently using #adulting)—from the mundane routine to delayed traditional milestones like homeownership or marriage.
Doing house chores, organizing, budgeting expenses, or DIYing practically anything? That’s Adulting 101. Choosing a quiet weekend at home with Netflix, a pet, and a soft body pillow over joining your tropa for a day at Masungi Georeserve or an overnighter at Mount Pulag to watch the sunrise? That’s your advanced course.
How to reconcile this with neo-culture—which is still heavily influenced by the FOMO/YOLO duality—is a tricky balancing act that requires loads of patience and understanding.
You’re expected to hustle like every character in Succession or Billions, yet chill like Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat Pray Love or engage in some intellectual foreplay like Jesse and Céline in the Before Trilogy. Travel, but don’t be a spendthrift. Be present, even for a short while, but document everything. Say yes to experiences, but protect your peace.
Using this logic, it’s no wonder Christmas has become optional, negotiable, and faintly exhausting for the kids. Tradition seems to be welcome only if it aligns with wellness goals and doesn’t require traversing EDSA or C-5 after 6 p.m.
So, in a world that treats everyday choices as if they’re TED Talk topics, even a simple Christmas meetup may feel like a long-term commitment. What if the traffic is bad? What if I’m too early? What if I can’t book a ride home? Faced with these questions, you might as well head straight home from work and binge on Marvel’s What If…? on Disney+.
We’re not even talking about friends who treat any invitation like a Terms and Conditions page you forgot to scroll through. You suggest a simple dinner, and dietary restrictions are aired, emotional support requirements are disclosed, transportation logistics are debated. As Ely Buendia sang, “Maliit na butas, lumalaki.” Adulting tells you to just forget it.
And how about user-friendly friends you’re reluctant to invite at all? “I’m a bit short. Is it okay if I treat the next time we meet?” “Can you drive me home? I’m afraid to get a cab or Grab at this hour.” “Can I crash at your place? Our Wi-Fi sucks.”
They’re mostly good people—lovable, earnest, and perpetually under-resourced—but inviting them requires the stamina of Captain America and the patience of Yoda. Congratulations if you manage to sleep soundly after hosting, financing, chauffeuring and providing tech support to your misunderstood pal.
Finally, let’s not forget the seasonal promise-makers. December is when everyone becomes aspirational. “Let’s do this before the year ends!” they say, with the confidence of someone who has absolutely no intention of following through.
By Dec. 20, the tone shifted. “Let’s just do it January?” January—that mythical land where everyone is suddenly heavier and poorer, but physically and emotionally available. January, where (sometimes recycled) Christmas gifts and old stories are exchanged.
Still, there’s hope. Every now and then, despite the disclaimers and delays, people do show up. Someone cancels something else to make it. Someone braves traffic anyway. Someone brings out the good plates, even if it’s already past New Year’s. The Korean pears are still firm. The ham survives. Laughter happens, and all is well.
Maybe Christmas hasn’t disappeared. Maybe it’s just late for some, stuck in traffic like the rest of us. And maybe one day, we’ll remember that the best part of the season was never the perfect timing, the ideal venue, or the optimized guest list, but the showing up.
