A Season of Waiting, A Promise of Love: A glimpse of how Dabawenyos of the Archdiocese prepare for Christmas

For me, the joy of Christmas doesn’t only begin on December 25. It begins when my alarm rings way too early, when the sky is still dark and the world feels quiet and sleepy. Here in the Archdiocese of Davao, Christmas starts at dawn, with the nine mornings of Misa de Gallo. As a young person who grew up joining the Misa de Gallo, there are times wherein I find it difficult to get out of bed as early as 2 o’ clock, but every time I do, I am reminded why this tradition has stayed in our hearts for so long. Wrapped in a jacket, still half-asleep, I walk toward the church, listening to the church bells that seem to call not just our feet, but our faith.

During Misa de Gallo, I see something beautiful that I don’t always notice on ordinary days. I see families praying together, parents holding their children close, grandparents quietly whispering their prayers, and people like me trying our best to stay awake while offering our intentions to God. These nine days feel like a journey, not just toward Christmas Day, but toward becoming better, more hopeful people. Each Mass reminds me of Mama Mary, who trusted God even when she did not fully understand what was ahead. In those early mornings, I feel closer to her, and somehow braver in facing my own worries and dreams.

When the Mass ends and the sun slowly rises, Christmas feels warmer. Outside the church, the smell of kakanin fills the air wherein there are vendors of puto maya, sikwate, bibingka, suman. These simple treats taste different during Misa de Gallo mornings. Maybe it’s because they are shared. We greet neighbors with sleepy smiles, laugh at how early it is, and enjoy food that feels like home. As a youth, these moments teach me that faith is not only found inside the church, but also in the small joys we share after.

As the days go by, I notice how Christmas slowly takes shape all around Davao. Parols light up homes and streets, shining brightly even in the darkness. Every time I see one, I remember the star that led the shepherds to Jesus, and I feel hope, the hope that no matter how heavy life gets, there is always a light guiding us. Christmas lights turn ordinary streets into places that feel magical, and suddenly, the city feels kinder and more alive.

At home and in churches, the belen quietly reminds me what Christmas is really about. I find myself stopping to look at it, even if just for a moment. Seeing the belen awaiting the Baby Jesus in a simple manger makes me realize that Christmas is not about having more, but about loving more. It tells me that God chose to be close to us, to understand our struggles, and to be part of our everyday lives.

As Christmas draws nearer, the city also celebrates the Pasko Fiesta. Music fills the streets, lights shine brighter, and families gather to celebrate together. As a young Dabawenyo, I feel proud seeing our city come alive in joy and unity. Pasko Fiesta reminds me that Christmas is not meant to be celebrated alone. It is meant to be shared with family, friends, and even strangers who, for a moment, feel like family too.

In the Archdiocese of Davao, Christmas is something I feel deeply, not just something I celebrate. It lives in early mornings and tired footsteps, in warm cups of sikwate, in glowing parols and humble belens, and in the laughter shared during Pasko Fiesta. It is nostalgic and comforting, and every year, it brings me back to what truly matters. Christmas, for me, is where faith meets family, where hope feels real, and where I always find my way home.