A fistful of Aguinaldos

So many Christmas traditions are special to the Philippines — the noche buena, borrowed from the Spanish but made uniquely Filipino with cheese and ham feasts after midnight; the star-shaped parol lanterns decorating barangays and streets every December; and of course that quaint tradition still observed in many provinces — Aguinaldo time.

This is when kids and young adults line up during Christmas day to accept folded peso bills dispensed by the more mature, usually seated lolas, for which gratuity the children “make mano” — touching each benefactor’s extended hand to their foreheads, all the way down the line.

In the olden days, the smallest paper currency here was the five-peso bill, which bore the visage of President Emilio Aguinaldo — hence “Aguinaldo time.” Nowaways, since the five-peso bill no longer exists, but inflation does, it’s more likely to be “Quezon time” (P20), “Osmeña time” (P50), “Roxas time” (P100) or, if you’re really lucky, “Aquino time” (P500).

It’s quite a spectacle, watching fresh-faced boys and girls line up to accept their Christmas money — some of them well beyond the age of school lunchboxes and Morning Towels stuffed down their neck collars. Some of the “kids” at today’s “Aguinaldo” lineup even sport cell phones, iPods — hell, some even carry car keys. Yes, it’s no secret that Aguinaldo time has extended beyond the kiddie crowd to include those who are, shall we say, between careers, underemployed, or simply not above lining up for a handout.

There is a ritualized hierarchy to Aguinaldo time: the handout starts with little kids, who receive small bills and coins, which makes their faces light up; then come the tweens and young teens, who may appear a bit more sulky about having to line up for their cell phone load money; then comes the announcement for “everyone above the age of…” and that tends to include a surly lineup of adults who look like they’ve been caught by the camera crew from Cops or TMZ coming out of a strip club at three in the morning. They tend to be a little more discreet about making their way down the line, heads bowed, quickly tucking the proffered money into folded palms and moving along. 

But it’s not really that shameful. If it were, there’d be fewer people lining up every year. And after all, 2009 was the year of the Big Recession. People lost jobs, worked fewer hours, got hit by typhoons and rising costs. Think of Aguinaldo time as a kind of stimulus package. I’m sure it will stimulate lots of 20-somethings to buy more DVDs and Starbucks drinks. This must help the economy in some way, right?

Sure, we make our wisecracks — those of us sitting behind at the table, well into our earning years, as we trade silent glances that seem to say, “Are you, ahem, joining the walk of shame this year?” We joke when we see the usual people in their 20s and 30s slinking across the floor to queue up once again for their moolah. But don’t let that fool you: it takes a certain steely determination to brush off those shame-throwers and proudly stand, hand extended, year after year. As one recipient said to me upon returning to the table, his hand fanning out a lineup of 20s and hundreds, “It feels a lot better leaving the line than it does joining it.” He was grinning as he said this. So there are compensations.

Full disclosure here: since I’ve been living in the Philippines and attending such holiday festivities for many a year, I know firsthand what it’s like to participate at Aguinaldo time — I, too, have stood on line Christmas days, more out of social compulsion and habit than from any financial need. I noticed it somehow brought a smile to the faces of the wiser and more financially settled lolas to see even adults happily willing to take candy from their elders.

Well, I had to give up that ritual. It got too embarrassing.

True, there is no established cut-off age for receiving the “Aguinaldo” — the lineup includes kids as young as two or three, and adults pushing 45. It’s more like an internal clock that tells you: “It’s time to stop.” Maybe it’s like trick-or-treating at Halloween: every kid knows when they’ve gone out there one year too often. After that, it just gets pathetic. When you notice you’ve worn the same Dracula get-up one too many times — say, when your beard stubble is starting to clash with your plastic fangs — then it’s time to quit.

Now granted, Filipinos like to indulge their kids. They want them to have the best. They pamper and spoil them, if only in the certainty that all this lavish attention and expensive singing and piano lessons will pay off by turning them into capable performing monkeys at social functions. So lining up for the Aguinaldo is just another way of perpetuating that adolescence, and nurturing a budding sense of utang na loob.

And after all, when else but during Christmas time can you share that wonderful feeling that someone has got your bills covered, that all your problems are taken care of, and that you don’t have to concern yourself with life’s realities? Hey, everybody should be allowed to believe in Santa Claus at some point in their lives.

I’m just not sure it’s particularly healthy for adults.