The Christmas family reunion is over. The lechon is gone, your bags are packed, and you’re ready to hit the road. But wait — Tito and Tita aren’t done with you yet.

What should’ve been a quick goodbye turns into a full production. Tito brings out his “mechanic” moves, while Tita loads your car with more food than a fiesta. Before you know it, your trunk is bursting and your car smells like adobo.

Tito starts with a tap on the hood. It means nothing, but he acts like it does. “Okay naman ang tunog,” he says, nodding like an expert.

Then he moves to the tires. “Parang flat ‘to,” he mutters, squinting at a perfectly fine wheel. Before you know it, the hood is up, and Tito is staring at the engine. He doesn’t touch anything. He just stares.

You tell him the car was serviced last week, but Tito ignores you. “Pacheck mo pa rin, parang may naririnig akong something eh,” he says, as if he’s just saved your life. If you’re lucky, he’ll let it go. If not, he’ll grab a flashlight and poke random parts, mumbling, “Parang may ganitong tunog din yung problema ng Lancer ko dati.”

While Tito inspects your car, Tita is busy packing. “Eto, adobo,” she says, shoving a container into your cooler. Then comes the lumpia. Then a bunch of nilagang saging na saba. Then the tray of leche flan. “Kunin mo na lahat,” she insists, like you’re going abroad instead of back to Manila.

She’s not done. Tita comes back with a bag of crackers, a few bottles of water, and a stack of bimpo. “Pang-meryenda. Baka ma-traffic kayo,” she explains, squeezing everything into the last bit of trunk space.

You mention that the cooler is full, but Tita just waves it off. “Konting ayos lang, may space pa yan!” Her logic is unstoppable. If there’s a molecule of air in the trunk, she’ll find a way to use it.

Tito sees the packed trunk and shakes his head. “Hindi tama ang pagkakalagay,” he says, like a Tetris master ready to fix the “mess.” Bags are pulled out, food is rearranged and chaos ensues.

Tita hovers nearby, ensuring her kakanin gets VIP treatment. “Yung suman at bibingka, madudurog!” she warns, shooting Tito a sharp look as he shoves a cooler into place. Tito nods like he understands, but you know he doesn’t.

By the end, the trunk is crammed full, your other bags are exiled to the backseat, and you’re lucky if your legs get any space at all. The car now resembles a food bazaar on wheels.

Just as you’re about to leave, Tito delivers his safety tips. “Huwag kang magmadali. Dahan-dahan lang sa highway,” he says, pointing to the road like a seasoned driver who, ironically, always treats every road like a racetrack.

Tita hands you another towel. “Uminom ng tubig. Wag magpatuyo ng pawis sa likod,” she reminds you, as if you’re venturing into the wilderness. Finally, she shouts, “Text mo ako pagdating n’yo sa Maynila!” even though she’ll probably be too busy watching her favorite teleserye to notice.

On the road, the real fun begins. The car smells like lumpia, adobo and a hint of leche flan. Somewhere in the backseat, a piece of saging na saba is rolling around like it’s trying to escape.

Your once-organized car is now chaos on wheels. But it’s also a reminder. Tito’s hood taps and Tita’s endless baon aren’t peculiarities — they’re love in action. They’ll miss you, so they send you off with everything they can give.

Sure, you’ll be eating baon for days and finding sticky saba residue in odd corners, but deep down, you know this is their way of showing love and care. And honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.