Eva C. Visperas

 

THE sky was overcast, the kind that suggests rain but holds it back just long enough to let the day pass. Traffic crawled from Dagupan to Sual as I drove to my last coverage for the day, the steady red taillights ahead of me marking a slow but familiar rhythm of December in Pangasinan.

It was December 3, Wednesday, around 6:30 p.m. when Sualinians began filling the plaza—families, elders, children still in their school uniforms—gathering once more to welcome the season through their annual Christmas tree lighting.

Mrs. Garly Macaranas-Calugay, the gentle wife of Mayor Dong Calugay, stood before the crowd to represent him. Alongside local officials and LGU employees, she offered not just a message but a presence—warm, composed, and reassuring. It was clear that the community looked to her not just as the mayor’s wife, but as someone who carried her own quiet strength.

Though I had covered Sual many times, it was my first time attending their Christmas lighting. This year, my curiosity was deeper—I wanted to see how people who had weathered so much still found a way to stand together in celebration.

Super Typhoon Uwan had recently devastated parts of Pangasinan. Some families were still rebuilding, still clearing the remnants of fear from their homes. And yet, here they were—children laughing, mothers sharing street coffee, fathers lifting toddlers to see the tree come alive with a five-minute fireworks display.

Not all homes had Christmas displays this year—some had lost loved ones, others livelihoods, and many are still recovering from the storm.

One long-time resident whispered to me that the plaza used to shine brighter in previous years. Perhaps. But this year’s simpler Christmas décor carried a different weight. Modesty, after all, is not a loss—it is an honest reflection of what the community has endured.

When Garly spoke, her message was clear and comforting: hope. She reminded Sual that even in difficult times, there are still reasons to be grateful and to stand together. What struck me most was the sincerity behind her words—a quiet strength shaped by her own difficult days, yet offered with calm generosity.

I watched her closely, keeping silent as a reporter should, but taking mental notes not for a story’s sake but for understanding. What I admire most about her is a heart that forgives easily and helps instinctively.

As in previous years, Mayor Dong ensured that every Sual family receives a noche buena package—not as a grand gesture, but as a simple assurance that no table is empty on Christmas. More than food, it is a reminder of hope, love, and community.

Christmas, after all, is more than lights. It is more than songs. It is more than the sparkle we hang on trees. At its core, Christmas is a reminder—of love that persists after loss, of peace that arrives quietly, of joy that grows even in small spaces, and of hope that refuses to disappear.

But of these, the greatest will always be love.

As we enter this season, may we ask ourselves: Are we ready to open our hearts again? To forgive, even when it is difficult? To hope for better days, even when the present feels heavy? To give, even when we feel we have little?

Christmas invites us to do all these—not just today, not just this month, but every day that we choose to live with courage, kindness, and faith.