THE CHRISTMAS TREE OF HOPE

It was already the holiday season, but the air in Barangay San Isidro didn't smell of roasted ham or sweet bibingka. Instead, it smelled of mud, damp clothes, and the faint scent of loss. Typhoon Tino had swept through the town just weeks before, leaving behind broken homes and shattered memories. Families now lived under rows of tents lined along the barangay road, just by the river.

- By Zaida Marie A. Tambis

Among them was the Dela Cruz family. Mang Panyong and Aling Mila tried to stay strong for their children, Liza and Junjun, even if the sound of dripping rain still made them flinch every night. Their small tent was filled with salvaged things. They had a half-broken chair, a soggy blanket, and a rusty kettle. It wasn't much, but it was what was left of home.

One cold morning, Liza looked around the camp and sighed. "Nanay," she whispered, "it's almost Christmas, but it doesn't feel like it. I miss our home."

Her mother gave her a weak smile. "Christmas isn't about the house, anak. It's about being together."

Still, the girl's eyes wandered to the other tents, where children were quietly playing with bottle caps and sticks. She suddenly had an idea. "What if we make a Christmas tree?" she said eagerly.