Death validates our existence. Without it we will never be remembered. Who wants not to be remembered? Birthdays are no exception. As long as I can remember, my birthdays were always met with pancit- a Filipino noodle dish believed to bring good health and long life, a round chiffon cake with icing, if lucky and wax candles shaped into numbers to be blown at the chant of the never-gets-old “Happy Birthday” song. On certain occasions, when my parents can afford it, my party would be a mini feeding program handing out paper plates to all my classmates, including teachers, with serving of everything on the same carte du jour. Luckily, Zest-O tetra packs were already available in the late 90’s so I had little memory of drinking the infamous juice concentrate called Sunny Orange that doesn’t taste like the fruit but more like orange flavored cough syrup served in almost all occasions in the countryside. Almost every birthday, I’d get tons of coin banks in different shapes, the classic porcelain pig, the cylindrical plastic decked with super hero images from marvel comics and weirdest by far, a Buddha coin bank. My parents wholeheartedly embraced the art of coin bank gift giving over plastic guns that promotes violence however it didn’t encourage me to save money. Seriously, how many coin banks can one kid have? So I wrapped it on a fancy paper, put some red ribbons and passed it on the next kid on the birthday list. Today, I’m not sure if celebration is even on my to-do-list. You celebrate because you merit yourself for achieving something, a milestone. Celebrating on your birth date does the same; you merit yourself for reaching another year unharmed and healthy.
Three days ago, I received my HIV test, I tested POSITIVE. 72 hours have passed and it felt like I was still walking along the vinyl tiled hallways of Makati Medical Center, clueless after an obviously gay doctor handed me a piece of paper called HIV Confirmatory Test Result. For a minute or two I was just lost in the crowd. My body occupied a single vinyl square tile in the middle of a busy hallway. It was 10:37 on the digital clock hanging on wall of the laboratory section where I had been. It felt like the world suddenly decelerated its pace, like a scene from the movie The Royal Tenenbaums when Gwyneth Paltrow got off a bus in a camel fur coat and walked in a very slow motion towards Luke Wilson, her hair slowly blown by the wind and everything around them moved like forever, only, my version was ill-starred. On my right, a pale skinned Chinese woman on a wheelchair was being pushed by her personal nurse. Towards the elevator was a frail looking old man with a mask pushing the elevator button non-stop. On my left, a couple hand in hand waited patiently for their number to be called at the waiting section. I thought, they all must have had close encounters with the angel of death or wishing it comes to their beds at night and takes them away painless and unconscious. After all, they have maximized their life span and had enough carbon foot print left in this world. I haven’t. I’m only 28. Three fucking days before officially turning 29, my death wish came. Three decades earlier than expected.
As always, my parents were the first to greet me. A happy birthday text message with unwavering words of encouragement and reminder to hear the mass if I can squeeze it on my schedule. They were less forceful now that I’m grown up. I wanted to say, Can we skip today? I’m really not in the festive mood. Of course that will make things worse so instead I replied;
“Thank u Mom and Dad! I have work 2day. C u dis weekend? :)”
Right after hitting send button, my phone started ringing. It’s my Mom. I left the phone rang for a few minutes until it ended and sent a message to my mom;
“In d shower, l8er. :)”
Needless to say, I am avoiding any possible verbal conversation with anyone as I don’t want my current state of depression echo in my voice.
6:15 am I went down wearing the same shirt and boxer shorts I slept into last night to buy something to eat for breakfast. There are mornings when I eat real breakfast meals; egg, bacon and rice with Milk tea or coffee. Today, I just want some bread and caffeine in my blood. Elevator beeps, opened its door, thankfully empty. I like the elevator to myself in the morning. It gives me a sense of ownership over a public space, even for a limited period of time. Cheesy bacon, Cheesy Tuna, Adobo, I picked the Cheesy Tuna sandwich from the open 7/11 fridge. Below it were slices of cake, chocolate and blueberry cheesecake. Chocolate tasted better. I rushed to pay for the sandwich, cake and coffee I got just below the counter and went back to my place.
