When a story usually starts with “if you only knew,” usually there are just so many details that couldn’t be divulged in the public sphere that the story itself lacks substance.

So, if you all only knew, I used to hate the Christmas season. Well, that was after I liked it.

Earlier tonight, I joined my mother for a ride to her workplace. She brought with her some of the pancit that some of her co-workers have grown to like a lot. The food was for one of her teammates, a kindly black woman who brought with her delectable selections from her own Thanksgiving table. While waiting for the other half of this rendezvous, Celine Dion’s version of O Holy Night was playing at the lite rock station that my mom never dials out of. (For the entire holiday season they play Christmas tunes non-stop.)

For the first time in years I didn’t find myself tuning out, or even being irritated at the sound of a Christmas song. I even found myself singing along. And I realized that a big part of my history that I resented has basically fallen off my shoulders.

For three of my college years in the Philippines I spent Christmas eve alone. My cousin, who was my roomy, would go to his aunt’s on his dad’s side of the family, and celebrate it with familiar faces. I had a turbulent relationship with my brother, with who the holidays were unbearable, as I found out during my first year away from home. I had close friends who invited me to their places but I knew that, surrounded by their entire families, I would only feel bad about myself.

Christmas was a time for self-pity. I pride myself in being a good cook; I would cook three or four of my favorite dishes in small portions and have a small smorgasbord of them. I’d get some sparkling dry white wine to wash it down, and I would be asleep before midnight crept in. Christmas was the time when I felt the most alone. My mother and sister were here in the States, and after the usual phone call I would get about my way.

But I was so physically alone. And I hated it, and the season that reminded me of it so much. I didn’t “celebrate” Christmas, it was a storm I weathered.

I brought those scars with me to the USA, and the aloof attitude that I have fostered. But tonight, listening to Celine Dion (of ALL elevator-music acts, imagine that) with my mum in my car, I just realized something. She’s here. I’m here. My family is here.

It’s really late tonight, and I’m listening to Jewel’s Joy: A Holiday Collection. Outside the temps are set to freeze for the first time in two weeks. The brief late fall warmup is basically over; it looks like it may be a mild winter ahead. But no matter how the winter will be like, I know my shoulders feel light. It’s going to be Christmas for me for the first time in a while, and I’m feeling it all right.