THIS is the 14th year I will celebrate Christmas without my father, and the 16th without my mother.

My tatay died when I was seven, and my nanay went to Singapore to become an overseas Filipino worker when I was three.

To be honest I can’t remember if I ever shared a Christmas Eve with my nanay since she left. Maybe I was too young to remember or there is really nothing to dredge up in my memory bank.

What I remember is that when I was four or five, it was the first time that I rushed out of our house for a package, which I thought at that time to be a big box — filled gifts — and could not even be wrapped because there is no available gift wrap of that size, that was delivered. I even tumbled down the stairs in my haste to get hold of The box.

Together with my brother and sister, and my cousins, we sat around the big box, waiting for our names to be called. When my name was at last called, I could not contain my excitement as out from the box came a white teddy bear. I grabbed and hugged it. That became my favorite stuffed toy.

Years passed and the big box became an annual thing. Later on, I found myself not rushing anymore. I realized I was no longer that eager to know what my nanay sent me this time. I began looking at all my stuff, and would feel something in my heart hurts. It was like an ant bite, or a pinch. But I brushed away those feelings.

Until one day while I was on my way home, I saw a kid — both her hands raised because her mom and dad were holding it on each side. And then suddenly the dad hoisted his child up on his shoulder, making the kid smile, giggle and laugh. I didn’t realize I was smiling too, but at the same time I felt the ant bits again, but this time it was equal to 10 ants of pain.

For the rest of that day, I kept myself busy with household chores and spent just a little time playing. I didn’t realize it at that time, but looking back, I think I was trying to pre-occupy myself so that I wouldn’t have time to feel that I miss my nanay and tatay.

Every morning, as I prepare myself for school, I would find myself longing for my parents.

There is no nanay or tatay in the kitchen. When nanay is home, she always cooks breakfast, and that makes me miss her more.

In the afternoon, when I get home, I wish that my parents were home so I can tell them about my day in school. But they are not there.

During school programs, I miss seeing my parents’ faces in the audience. And I miss them in all those times when I had a fight with my siblings, when my playmates teased me, when my grandmother beat me, when my first menstrual cycle arrived, when I had dysmenorrhea, when I was sick, when my crush snubbed me.

And I miss them when the Christmas season starts.

For years, ants have been biting my heart. Now that I am old enough, I have found a way to deal with those ants, but they’re still there. And it’s not the big box that takes the pain away.–Roselle Gale, Colegio de Dagupan

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