All roads lead home, the old saying goes. And tonight, it was true, because by sheer serendipity (it seemed), we had all found ourselves meeting in Loyola again, as the day was drawing to a close.

Because we had not talked for some time now, and, because we certainly would not get to talk again anytime soon— the stress of law school beginning for them again the next day— I. and I decided to go for an impromptu drive, having come back for her in Makati because she had earlier left her house keys in my CRV. Naturally, my car drove itself to Loyola.

Strangely enough, sometime later, a black car pulls up in front of the benches where we were seated, and hands began to wave: some of I.'s classmates were also out for a drive too, on their last night of freedom before their last semester in law school.

We all sat along the plastic benches outside the Rizal Mini Theater, fronting the driveway of Xavier Hall, when later, through the laughter of pretended reminiscences, we suddenly heard what we thought to be the gentle melancholic wail of a lone violin floating furtively from somewhere, we could not tell.

At first, we were unsure. But the violin persisted, and someone recognized the tune, slowly sang the words, together with the rising melody:

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Jack Frost nipping at your nose,
Yuletide carols being sung by a choir
And folks dressed up like Eskimos.

The lovely melancholy of the moment caught us all off guard, and for a while, we were lulled into the fuzzy bitter-sweet feeling of recognition: Christmas was here, again.

Unable to resist my curiosity (drawn perhaps by the virtuosity of the player), I stood up and walked toward the source of the sound, towards Xavier Hall, where students waited for their rides going home. What I saw: on the same plastic bench, a man, playing his violin, his back turned towards me, straight and dedicated; and beside him, a woman, drawn close, leaning her head gently on his shoulder.

They know that Santa’s on his way,
He’s loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh.
And ev’ry mother’s Child is gonna spy
To see if reindeer really know how to fly.

And at about that instant, it began to drizzle. Wonderful, I thought. Kill me now.

I promptly returned and told my waiting companions what I had discovered. The reaction, of course, was unanimous, coming as it did from a group of persons, alone at the prospect of another lonely Christmas. What was left for us to do, therefore, but sour grape: Iiwan ka rin niyan! Chocnut lang yan! Wala namang forever, e. But while none of us acknowledged it, retreating as we did into the convenient balm of humor, we all knew it was true—

Ano'ng gagawin mo ngayong Pasko
Nag-iisa ang iyong puso?
Dapat mong isiping
Mayro'ng ibang nagmamahal sa iyo.

At kung 'di makita ang hanap mo,
Mga kaibiga'y naririto.
Ating ipagdiwang yaring panahon
Tulad ng mga bata tuwing Pasko.

The most difficult time for me, of course, is during the first hours of Christmas morning, after midnight, when all the gifts have already been opened, the noche buena feast concluded, and the house falling silent to prepare for the activities of Christmas day. It is at this time when the heart is most full, yet also when the heart is most longing: for that special greeting, or that special phone call, or that special embrace.

It seems that it won't be much different for many of us this Christmas. And while some of us may feel that waiting does get a little tiring sometimes, we hold on to what Wong Kar Wai wrote in his movie 2046 (and what Wong Kar Wai writes is true because Wong Kar Wai knows love). He writes, “Love is a matter of timing. It's no good meeting the right person too soon or too late."

And so, we continue waiting for that perfect moment, hopeful and vigilant, always, for her advent. I guess that is what Christmas is, in a sense, after all: celebrating the coming of someone we never could have expected; and whose coming— all glorious surprise of it— made all the waiting worth it.