Yes, New Year's resolutions. Those whispered promises to the universe, often scrawled on napkins soaked in champagne tears, of gym memberships to be swiped, diets to be conquered, and savings accounts to be fattened like a lechon at Lola's birthday party.
It's a tradition older than granny's recipe for adobo, older even than the pyramids, though probably less stable over time (except for that pyramid made of discarded gym memberships on Mount Gymnesia).
The roots of this ritual sprouted way back in ancient Babylon (really?), where folks vowed to return borrowed oxen and pay off debts — not exactly the life-changing aspirations we crave in the 21st century.
Then there were the Romans, who promised Jupiter himself to be better people, usually after a particularly raucous New Year's Saturnalia, the kind that would make even your grandmother blush. What's this fixation with granny?
Centuries whizzed by, and resolutions evolved through the ages. Medieval knights vowed to slay fewer dragons (progress?!), Puritans pledged to quit excessive cheese consumption (gasp!), and Victorians resolved to be more punctual.
Fast forward to the roaring '50s up to the '70s, and suddenly self-improvement was all the rage — no flappers were vowing to tango less, mind you, but maybe to smoke fewer cigarettes or wear looser corsets, or sweat pants.
And what about us Filipinos? Oh, our resolutions are a fiesta of their own! We vow to finally master the art of pakikisama, the delicate dance of office politics that makes "Survivor" look like a game of hopscotch.
We promise to conquer traffic jams with the zen of a meditating monk, even if our inner jeepney driver screams, "Bilisan mo pa, koyang!" We swear to speak English more often, only to stumble upon meron po ba kayo ng…?" every time we order at Starbucks.
But let's be honest, our resolutions have the lifespan of puto bumbong after Christmas. We start strong, fueled by the glow of new beginnings and the sheer joy of having avoided relatives asking about our love lives.
We join gyms, only to discover a newfound love for Netflix marathons. We attempt to eat healthy, but succumb to the siren song of kare-kare. We vow to save money, then blink and find ourselves at the mall, clutching a new pair of shoes (fancy those thick-soled Converse?) that "practically begged to come home."
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why torture ourselves with these annual self-flagellation marathons? Perhaps it's the inherent Filipino optimism, the belief that a new year automatically grants us a clean slate, a chance to be the best versions of ourselves (even if that version still loves karaoke and Christmas bonuses).
Maybe it's the thrill of the challenge, the adrenaline rush of promising ourselves the impossible, like finally learning to play the ukulele without sounding like a cat in distress. And, hey, some of us actually succeed! We quit smoking, master the art of lumpia-folding, even learn to say "no" to unnecessary Christmas parties (though at what emotional cost?).
But even for those who don't reach Mount Goal-dore, there's something beautiful about the ritual itself. It's a reminder that we're not stagnant, that we have the power to dream and strive for something better, even if that "better" involves perfecting the art of the afternoon siesta.
So, this New Year, instead of stressing over unrealistic resolutions, let's embrace the Filipino spirit of pagpapatawad – forgiving ourselves for the past year's slip-ups and celebrate the joy of new beginnings.
Let's vow to be kinder to ourselves, to laugh at our inevitable stumbles, and to face the year with the same resilience and good humor that allowed us to survive family reunions without needing therapy.
And who knows, maybe this year, instead of promising to eat less bagoong, we'll finally learn how to make lola's legendary recipe.
Mabuhay to the year ahead, and may our resolutions, like Filipino desserts, be sweet, sticky, and enjoyed in copious amounts, even if they don't always last as long as we'd like.
