MANILA, Philippines — It's been 5 years since my last trip home to the Philippines at Christmas, where the season started in September when the first carols filled the air.

People in this largely Catholic — and warm — country make a huge deal of Christmas. Fake snow adorns plastic fir trees throughout Manila; at air-conditioned malls, wiry Asian Santa Clauses in fur-trimmed winter reds ho-ho-ho to shoppers wearing tank tops and flip flops.

Clutching their bonus envelopes, traditionally a month's pay, parents troll the shops, trying to stretch a budget built on the daily minimum wage of 382 pesos, or about $8.

Star-shaped parols hang in Filipino homes. The colored-paper lanterns symbolize the star of Bethlehem that in the Bible led kings and shepherds to the stable where Jesus was born more than 2,000 years ago.

Dec. 16 marked the start of Simbang Gabi, nine days of masses leading up to Christmas Eve. These take place in the slightly nippy weather before dawn, around 4 a.m. Bleary-eyed churchgoers believe that if they attend all nine masses, they will be granted their secret wish.

Breakfast is bought from vendors outside the churches: puto bumbong, steamed purple fingers of ground rice coated with grated coconut and sugar, wrapped in banana leaves; bibingka, rice cakes topped with sliced duck eggs and white cheese, cooked in clay pots over hot coals; and cups of hot salabat, a potent, sinus-clearing ginger brew sweetened with brown sugar.

Back home, my mother's kitchen is buzzing as cakes and cookies are baked, boxed and sent to friends and relatives around Manila. Our dining table is covered with ensaymada, buttery brioche-like pastries covered with grated cheese and sugar; tubs of lenguas de gato, paper-thin butter biscuits; pastillas, sweet candies of carabao (water buffalo) milk; and tablets of dark tsokolate to make thick, frothy hot chocolate.

On Christmas Eve, families gather for midnight mass. Incense perfumes the air and choirs sing as porcelain or wooden figures of the infant Jesus are placed in hay-covered mangers for altar Nativity scenes across the country. At the end of the mass, churchgoers line up to kiss the image of the newborn.

Then it's time for more eating: sweet and salty Chinese ham; sliced Edam cheese; plump chickens stuffed with ground pork, eggs and raisins; and baskets of imported apples, oranges and grapes. Lechon is the centerpiece of more affluent, decadent celebrations: a whole pig roasted on a spit for hours till its caramel-colored skin is crunchy enough to break off with your fingers and dip in sweet liver sauce.

Children perform for grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Filipinos love to sing, so many families splurge on karaoke equipment.

The older generation tosses handfuls of coins in the air while screaming children grab for money to put in their piggy banks.

On Christmas Day, children visit their godparents and other relatives, taking the hands of their elders and pressing them on their young foreheads as a sign of respect. In return, they're handed gaily wrapped presents or envelopes filled with crisp peso bills that smell of fresh paper and ink.

The parties continue until New Year's Eve, when the air grows thick from the noisy firecrackers that scare away evil spirits of the past year.

When we were children, my male cousins used to jump in the air at midnight, hoping that would make them grow taller.