happy birthday to me

journal entries of the weirdest birthday of my life

June 22, 2025

It is June 22nd and I will be 29 tomorrow. It is 38°C and the air quality is very poor. I woke up to the news that Trump has bombed Iran and my heart cracked open like a shattering.

There is no way to digest this information. No way to expand on the worry for the home I’ve carved in this concrete city. No words to express the fear of what we cannot predict. I am an expat living in the Middle East, Bahrain is an implied target and the world feels like it should be at a standstill.

But I had work, I still took my morning shower, got ready and drove to work.

Every smile and good morning at a normal volume feels like a shout. People are tense aren’t they? It cannot be just me? I feel as though I am lightning and goo all mixed into one. I want to plant my feet to the ground and feel stable. I want to feel the air on my hair and go flying. I want to float at sea and see the ever expansive blue of a sky that will always be there.

An email. My mom and I scrambling to find a temporary home. A whatsapp reminder. My friends asking me if we’re okay. A request to make a report for a big client. The police knocking on our door asking my sister if they have another place to stay in tonight.

I left work early. The quiet panic penetrating my muscles and my mind racing, we need to find safety now. My family and I splitting up and driving all around Bahrain looking for a place to stay in.

Every place that can’t take us in tonight hits me like a freight train. It’s hard to have monetary constraints. It’s hard to also be at the end of the month.

Alhamdulillah. Praise God. Salamat sa Diyos.

A place popped up and we packed everything that seemed important enough and ran with a few bags on our backs. I didn’t even have a checklist.

The drive over to our temporary abode felt surreal. I had a weird feeling of disbelief, am I going to be able to return to my books, my journals, my poetry? I am living in such a privileged ledge, mourning about words I never got to share.

Unloading the last of our measly bags into the apartment felt like an exhale. The realization of being away from Juffair was a palpable sigh of relief. My family and I are cramped in a one bedroom apartment with no intention of coming back to our apartment.

I slept earlier than I’ve had in weeks.

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June 23, 2025

I woke up on a makeshift bed on the floor to my mother singing Happy Birthday. There is laughter and a bit of giggling. An incredulity to the situation at hand. What a way to celebrate turning 29.

We make coffee, the instant kind you can buy from the coldstore. I ate leftover baked pasta made by a friend from the other day. My current sleeping arrangements feel a bit like a sleepover at a too crowded house.

Last night I slept on a duvet on top of a banig. I don’t know why this feels like such a funny circumstance. It feels like camping, a reality where I still get to have some forms of comfort.

I then spent all day working on reports and proposals and requests from work. These came interspersed with birthday greetings from friends and colleagues. I ate an orange, it was sweet.

By the afternoon, my mother asked me to cook pasta noodles. As per the old folk tale on your birthday you have to eat something long to live a long life. I ate my noodles, with broasted chicken while watching the new Netflix movie KPOP Demon Hunters.

That’s when the sirens came.

The fear wasn’t paralyzing. It was electrifying. My body wanted to do something and the advice has been counterintuitive, even if it promotes safety. So I sit with my family. Our backs straight, thumbs twiddling, and our go bags by the door.

But I am so painfully Filipino, and we have always coped with humor. There’s been a couple of jokes about a memorable birthday. A bang up job at celebrating the end of my twenties. Anything, just so we can feel okay while waiting for the sirens to signal safety.

The group chats are all active. Everyone suddenly becoming family. A resounding agreement to keep each other safe. Sharing ways to stay sane.

The siren rings a second time. An all clear from the government that things are now safe.

It is a flurry of movement in the house. We didn’t pack food or water. We all go out to buy some supplies. A quick in and out. It’s safe, I plea into the clear night sky.

The logistical parts of our brain turned on, and yet we still have moments to joke around. Naligo na ba kayo? Sige nga, defense bilis, bakit ka pa mabaho?

I’m so glad we have humor. It has kept the panic attack that’s been simmering at the edge of my skin at bay.

I’m writing all this down hours after the sirens have long gone. But my heart won’t listen, will not keep still. I am awake as my family sleeps. A reluctant first watch.

I’m afraid I might miss the sirens in my sleep.

Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to me…