the birthday bash[ed]

This is the perfect time.

It’s my 33rd birthday, and in the past years I refuse (if not, avoid) dealing with people on this day. I run away from possibilities of greetings, surprises, special attention, etcetera etcetera.

I used to love birthdays–my birthday. I have no clear memory but photographs of my unforgotten 2nd birthday reveal how it was a big celebration, people were invited to celebrate me on my birthday. And despite that I had tantrums for waking up mid-afternoon to blow a birthday cake, Inay appeased me. I had pictures of myself scooping from a pint of ice cream, holding balloons while other kids wait for the moment to have the taste of the cake (and spaghetti, I suppose).

I used to love birthdays–my birthday. Before our barangay celebrates May 1st for feast activities, it was first celebrated during first Sunday of the month. This meant I have birthdays celebrated on the same day people celebrate fiesta. My relatives jokingly remark how the entire barangay celebrates for me, and everyone has their own handa (food prepped for visitors). Those were fun big birthday celebrations.

I used to love birthdays–my birthday.. until the pandemic happened. My girlfriend (that time) and I had to stay in Tagaytay for the time being. Living in a small house, our room is adjacent to my grandmother’s. It was a moment of sparked argument between my girlfriend and me. It was petty, but at 2 o’clock in the morning. Inay heard it, and immediately intervened and had uttered some unpleasant words toward my girlfriend; it went as far as highlighting my girlfriend’s uselessness in my life, questioning my choice of being with my girlfriend. I was hurt; so was my girlfriend.. so I protected her, the girlfriend. I immediately messaged my aunt next house to ask if we could stay in one of their guest rooms. She agreed. At dawn, we sneaked into my aunt’s house, brought some of our stuff. With disdain and pain, we left my grandmother in our house.

There was never a birthday she didn’t celebrate. Inay values birthday celebrations so much, that even when she knew we were not in good terms, she cooked pancit. I didn’t bother to eat. I know she waited that I would at least tell her we’re staying on my aunt’s house.

I never bothered to tell her. I left her. For my girlfriend’s sake.

All those years of taking care of me, fending for my needs (and wants), nodding in agreement on my life’s wrong decisions.. and still, left her.. amid pandemic, amid the possibility that it might be the last years she can cook pancit for me, or would greet me a happy birthday.

I could not forget her face when I sneaked back into our house to get more stuff. She was staring at me, as if asking “Why?” but just like in most of my life’s decisions, whether she likes it or not, she would nod in agreement.

This pacified though some weeks after when I had a connection with a friend whose spouse is from the military. It was 2020, and the only way we could travel back to our apartment in the city (from our province) is if we’d be with authorized individuals who can pass through checkpoints. My birthday was May; early June we went back to the city. We went back to continue with our lives, our work, our own things.

I was able to go back to our province in October of the same year.. but just few months passed, she has developed a huge lump on her neck. This was the trigger point of her hospitalization later on. I remember buying her a big convertible chair that she wants. I thought it was enough to compensate the fact that after the birthday drama, she requests that I come back home for good. That was 25th of October. Of course I said no, and went back to the life I “chose.” She then asked me again after a few weeks, I finally agreed and promised to come back home ASAP.

I was late. We were never anymore home together after that day.

In December 17th of the same year, she was rushed to the hospital. Her lump caused so much difficulty in her breathing. I finally went home the next day. I went home for good. And when there’s a need to look after Inay, even when I was so afraid of hospitals and all, I said yes. Maybe that moment, I never wanted to say No to her anymore. Just as we thought she was transferred to a regular room, things happened. Her breathing worsened. There was no choice but to put her under ICU.

I saw her in that bed, slowly in deterioration. She was at first aggressive but groggy with a lot of injections and meds. She was in hallucination seeing her dead brother, asking me to put her clothes on, when she wasn’t naked. The nurses had to loosely tie her hand, so she couldn’t remove IVs. She lost her voice eventually when she had to be intubated. She had no idea when I had to write and sign for palliative care and no resuscitation will be done in case there is any untoward moment. She gradually lost life from oxygen level of 50 till everything was flat. It was 11:36am.

I was staring at her lifeless body, as if asking “Why?” but just like how she has been in most of my life’s decisions, whether I like what I was seeing or not, I nodded in agreement. That was it.

But what happened to going back home? How do I make sense of hoping I could still make it up to her on my next birthday? That I assure her I will no longer leave her alone anymore? How do I continuously ask for apology that the decision of leaving her that day is now my life’s worst regret? How can she now defend me in arguments she wanted to protect me from? How do I grieve from thinking that I can no longer freely make “bad decisions” because I no longer have a fallback like her? How do I move on and get back to the life I wanted with her? How do I apologize? To whom should I call for help and apology?

I could not know.. just like how I would address the fear of hearing the like-breathing sound that a respirator in an ICU room makes. No one knew of the post-incident trauma. No one has to hear the sound of sobbing and weeping on moments when the force is no longer with me on May 4th. #