The full-of-hope Yuletide carol "I'll be Home for Christmas" by the bestselling Bing Crosby has become the de-facto anthem to individuals in foreign shores — due to school terms, temporary work or permanent residency — who have spent their holiday seasons at a home away from home. Me, included.

Some metropolis dwellers were fortunate enough to fly, sail or drive home for their family reunions and even former colleague and classmate catch-up sessions in their respective hometowns — all while exploring once again the sorely missed rural Christmas rituals.

But, sadly, not everybody was favored. Some of us could only hum to the lyrics, for it was too painful to say the words, "I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams."

I had my fair share of similar episodes while on service duty at the only then-one-star hotel in Makati, where I had to oversee Christmas dinner shows — so all hands were absolutely required to be on deck — no leaves allowed, no vacation requests approved. It all seemed so cruel to be in Manila, and yet still unable to go home an hour's flight away.

How times have changed. During my first foreign assignment in Los Angeles, I spent some end-of-year holidays in San Francisco with close friends for a distinct California Christmas, and Las Vegas with other sets of couples to be amazed at the series of spectacular themed extravaganzas, where one tried to outdo the other.

I likewise still remember my stay in a snow-enveloped New York — a winter wonderland — where I visited the brightly lit Rockefeller Center with its iconic talk-of-the-town Christmas tree and Midnight Mass with tickets to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. I can still hear the choir!

A core memory comes in the form of London, my residence close to 13 years, where on the 26th — called Boxing Day — the non-British friends noted that all the Christmas decor were already removed and stocked away. We soon learned that many commercial pine trees came with huge plastic bags so they could be immediately wrapped up and left outside homes, to be automatically collected and repurposed.

In balmy Malta, a friend invited me but with a caveat — her clan's patriarch was a cardinal of the Catholic Church. So, we sat through ritual upon ritual upon ritual — the commemoration was centered on these rites. Then a fiesta followed, much like our very own.