Namamasko Po.

The Christmas celebration and preparation are all around the universe. Three more days and the Big Day will be here.

But like other years, the joy of anticipation has always been the best for me because on the actual day itself, the climax has become anti-climactic.

Like a movie that's been over-hyped through promotion, Christmas Day's real story has been buried beneath the pile of unnecessary spiels.

To experience the true feel of Christmas, I always embark on a journey of the past Christmases of my childhood. Childhood memories, like the taste of one's first imported chocolate always feels authentic and real even after so many years.

I pine for the years when Christmas carollers were plain neighbourhood kids who didn't have to give advance notices to the residents just to serenade them. All they did was pull up their pants, pick up their musical instrument fashioned out of flattened soda caps and bravely but innocently belted out "namamasko ko po," message to the houses within their territory.

I long for the scent of "pinipig," (light rice flakes) and the Filipino hot chocolate drink, "cacao"  from Batangas,  laced with ground peanuts and drank straight from "espresso" little cups.

I especially wish for my mother who never failed to hang her freshly ironed window curtains and laid out her special China collection on the dinner table for the family's traditional Noche Buena and Media Noche meals.

My mother's Christmas Tree and Lantern had always kept the whole brood reminded even today of the Star of Bethlehem, the light that shone for the Birth of the Messiah - Our Saviour.

Missing the Gross.

I have not seen any gross movies lately. By gross, I mean blood spurting out of stomachs, body holes punched out by bullets, noses bloodied by punches, bones cracked by karate kicks, and so on.

I have relegated myself to being square and bored. When I pass by the cinema at the mall, I only take a cursory look at the faces of the actors plastered in posters. Sometimes, my eyes could not avoid the movie ads lined up along the escalator route.

What happened? I used to enjoy the "Kill Bill series," The Transformers, The Die Hards, the extra terrestrials, the T-rex's.

I simply looked at other things. The spiritual, basically.

But did it pay off? Was being more God-centered rewarding?

I remember suddenly Shirley McClaine and her "Out on a Limb" book, and Madonna and her "Kaballah" experience, and the lighted faces of inspirational speakers.

I am tasked now with building a group who'd become presenters and facilitators. Big job.

It's painful, sometimes. Takes a lot of time. No pittance. No thank you.

Who is it for? Take a guess.

People who transform themselves spiritually say it's for the Higher Being. But deep within and basically, it's for oneself.

We want that inner peace, that outer glow, that ultimate high.

But the real transformation overtakes the selfish self.