Parang, pastelles & people: Trini Christmas lessons

By Dr Marlene Attzs, Economist

Email: marlene.attzs@gmail.com

There is something about a Trini Christmas that stirs the soul. Maybe it’s the first hints of ponche-a-crème in the fridge, or the announcement that the pastelle-making date has been set, so everyone must get ready for the assembly ‘lime’ (freudian slip, fully intended).

Maybe it’s that sudden, inexplicable urge to wipe down every window, reorganise every cupboard, and scrub tiles you haven’t seen since 2000. But whatever it is, Trini Christmas has a way of calling us back to who we really are—a people who love, laugh, fuss, pray, sing, and share, even in hard times.

This year, as December rolls in, I found myself thinking about two pieces in The Catholic News that perfectly capture the Trini heart of the season.

On page 5 of the CN issue of Sunday, December 7, Fr Robert Christo gives us that classic Parang warning—’Before yuh parang de wrong house…wait nuh!’—a reminder wrapped in humour that beneath all the merriment, Christmas still carries a holy seriousness.

On page 6 of the same issue, a beautiful reflection titled ‘Neighbour, Oye!’ gently nudges us to rediscover each other—not with a quick nod/bow at the Sign of Peace, but with something deeper, warmer, more human.

Sadly, I had noticed that warmth slipping away long before COVID-19 trained us to keep our distance. Together, these two articles form a kind of Christmas duet, telling us: Find your joy, yes—but find each other, too.

Seasoning the Season

Let us be honest—Trinis take Christmas personally. We don’t simply celebrate it; we prepare for it with Olympic athleticism. There is a whole Advent drama in deciding whose pastelle recipe is the true and holy one.

There is the spiritual warfare waged in buying ham early, freezing it ‘just in case’, then buying another ham because the first one suddenly looking too small.

There are debates over sorrel sweetness that could easily qualify for mediation by the UN.  And then there is Parang.

We live in a season of deep fragmentation—economic pressures, anxieties about crime, and the emotional fatigue of a country that feels like it has been waiting a long time to exhale.

In that environment, it becomes easy to draw inward, to limit ourselves to our immediate circle, to avoid eye contact when we enter a pew or supermarket aisle.

But ‘Neighbour, Oye!’ challenges us to truly see the people God places in front of us. Not the polite head-tilt or the quick smile, but genuine recognition—the kind that says, you are seen, you are welcome, you matter.  That is the heart of the Christmas story. God coming close. God drawing near. God choosing to dwell with and within us, not simply above us.

Imagine if this Christmas we forget the mall and the online shopping for a moment and give the kind of gifts you can’t swipe for—kindness, a helping hand, a visit, a plate of pastelles, real connection.

The kind of gifts that look like greeting the neighbour you haven’t spoken to all year, sending a few pastelles or a slice of cake down the hill, checking on the elderly couple who no longer put up their gallery lights, or calling a friend you know is carrying quiet grief.

Simple gestures, yes—but deeply Catholic, deeply human, deeply Trini.

Christmas in hard times

Of course, it would be dishonest to pretend that things are easy. Families are struggling. The cost of living is rising like sponge cake that had too much baking powder; groceries and basic items are stretching pockets thinner and thinner.

Many households will have fewer gifts under the tree this year. Some will have empty chairs at Christmas lunch, reminders of loved ones lost.

And yet, Christmas has always been a feast born in the middle of struggle. The Holy Family found themselves in an overcrowded town, searching for shelter, navigating uncertainty, and meeting God’s promise in the least comfortable of circumstances.

It is a story tailor-made for people like us—people who know about resilience, who navigate traffic, shortages, high bills, and still manage to share a slice of black cake with a neighbour.

This is why the humour of page 5 and the neighbourliness of page 6 in the CN December 7 issue matter so much this year. They gently remind us that faith does not deny reality. It transforms it.

Faith takes our sorrows and gives them shape, takes our burdens and gives them hope, takes our fears and gives them community.

A little more love, a little more light

And maybe that is the invitation this season—to reach for joy even if it feels different this year. To hold on to hope even if the country feels weary. To welcome Christ not only through carols and candles, but through compassion, humour, patience, and generosity.

So yes, parang your heart out. Make the pastelles, hang the curtains that will mysteriously only make sense on Christmas Eve. Laugh with family, hug your neighbours, dance in your kitchen to Scrunter and Daisy Voisin. But also, let Christmas challenge you—quietly, tenderly, beautifully.

Let it soften what has grown hard, warm what has grown cold, mend what has grown thin and weary.  Because at the end of the day, Christmas is not simply about tradition or festivity. It’s about God coming right into the middle of our real, everyday lives—our kitchens, our living rooms, our worries, our joy, and our communities.

And in a nation that needs healing, connection, and renewed hope, that message feels more powerful than ever.

So, as we enter this holy Christmas season, let us take to heart two message—prepare, really prepare, your heart and greet your neighbour like you mean it.  Because that, more than anything else, is what will make this a truly Trini, truly Catholic Christmas.

May your homes be blessed, your faith renewed and, importantly, may you always parang the right house. That’s my point of view!