When I was a child, my mother wouldn’t let me eat chocolate. Well, at least, not too much of it. It wasn’t because she thought sugar would make me more hyperactive than usual because she didn’t know this, then. It was because chocolate was a luxury we could do without.
But during the holiday season, my mother would put up this magical Christmas tree that made all my dreams come true.
At the base of the tree, my mother would pile layers upon layers of cotton to simulate snow. And on top of the fake snow, she would expertly lay out all kinds of chocolates. So, while I never dreamt of a white Christmas, my mouth drooled at the sight of all the chocolates I dreamed all year of eating, all laid out.
Because my paternal grandfather lived with us, my uncles, aunts and cousins would come visit us every Sunday. And on one of those Sundays every holiday season, my mother would put up this magical Christmas tree filled with all the chocolates I dreamed all year of eating.
My father loved bananas so much, we had to stop him from eating three a day especially after he developed diabetes. No, it wasn’t the bananas that made him diabetic or if it was, how lucky he was to have developed it only in his 90s. It was all the sweets he loved to eat on a daily basis.
We always wondered why he loved bananas so much.
Papa, who was born and raised in Bohol, was sent by his father to Cebu when he was in high school to study Chinese. Papa said he always looked with longing at all the bananas hanging at the fruit stands in Cebu because he couldn’t afford them.
What bananas were to my father, chocolates are to me.
My father loved bananas all his life because his memories always took him to those days when he couldn’t afford to buy them. So, when he could, he couldn’t get enough of them.
I love chocolates because my mother wouldn’t let me eat them as a child. But also, because they remind me of the world my mother created for me during Christmas: sweet, joyful, magical. So, I make it a point to put some chocolate in every Christmas basket I prepare in the hope that I can pass on that sweet, joyful and magical Christmas to someone else.
It’s been 55 years since I last saw a glimpse of that magical Christmas tree with all the chocolate confections I could only dream of all year, laid out like a feast to me. I was only six when my grandfather passed away and the family gatherings stopped. But that magical tree and all the joy it gave me is still with me.
The chocolates laid out at the base of the magical Christmas tree were nothing extraordinary. Nothing expensive. Nothing imported. Nothing fancy. No mind-blowing poetry or woke messages on the packaging. Yes, nothing artisan, either.
Truly, the best times in our lives were those when it took so little to make us happy.
While I’ve been a chocolate monster all my life, I no longer love all things chocolate. I don’t like chocolate cake, dessert or ice cream anymore. Now, I only like what I remember at the base of the magical Christmas tree of my childhood: chocolate bars and cookies and their iterations and amalgamations.
Never underestimate the power of a memory to give you joy, pain or longing.
No one is stopping me now from eating all the chocolate I want but my body can’t afford to eat all the chocolate it wants, anymore. So, it remains a luxury but also a guilty pleasure.
I should avoid the chocolate aisle in the supermarket but I don’t. Every time I go through it, I fervently pray I see nothing I like. Sometimes, God helps. And sometimes, He jests. But every Christmas, God tells me to spread the joy.