There’s a special quality to the chill this December, though I’ve had similar ones back during childhood holidays in the land of Mayon.

It’s the kind that makes you want to grab a light shawl and wrap yourself in a hug, shivering a little inside, but not because you’re cold — you’re excited about this season.

You’ll see family, the bigger circle, the “clan,” if you want to call it that. Friends make time to see each other, and oh my, the feasts! Not that you get to eat much over the hubbub, the endless catch-ups. You feel full, bloated by all that goodwill and holiday flurry.

That was then.

At some point, all that can change. A year may come when the center of your world departs, or a beloved passes on, or a dear friend, or a constant presence is just no longer around.

This year, we lost a colleague. His name was Jojo, and in years before that, we lost Cris, Isah, Au and Joseph. We are not in the frontlines of war in a world at constant war, but we might as well be. What may kill us instead is far more insidious, not viruses or biochemicals, but the germ of loneliness.

This December, I lost two more colleagues in the industry — one named Ed, a veteran in entertainment journalism, and Tricia, a friend I made through another friend in the lifestyle circles.

I have always made sure to be there in times of grief, but this time, I could not bring myself to go. The last one I went to was for Lissa’s mom last November. Heli, another sister in sorority, lost her husband just days later. Three of my officemates lost their dads, too, this month.

In a month of goodbyes, I said hello to my own grief.

I had not realized I was still deep in the sadness of my parents’ passing, my mom in 2018 and my dad in 2022. I had cried, but held myself. The structure of work kept me going, and my mind was off many things my heart kept trying to say.

But I saw how these losses took a toll on the fabric of our family. Some things unraveled, some things frayed. What do you do when the glue that held you together is gone?

This period of darkness also threw light on connections I had never questioned. And I learned — those who leave, let them go. Those who stay, treasure them.

Some things you never see coming, but are gifts in disguise — like the loss of vibrant, talented, beautiful Tricia whose hands made watercolors of memories to keep; or your fur baby, an arrival that teaches you to make more room in your heart; or of finding something you thought you would never have in your lifetime.

You see, that’s how we end up with Christmases like this, where the chill in the air holds a special kind of meaning — a thrill, a poignant memory, an expectation, a sad note, a joy. Let them all twinkle in your mind.