New beginnings in February

Life either gives you so much that you have many things to write about, or so overwhelmingly that you cannot write at all because you lack the time and headspace to process it.

The fact that I only had the chance to start writing about how I am beginning 2026 on the last day of January hints at what kind of new beginning this is, and what I wrote then captured how unsettled I was. Had I written this on the evening of the New Year, the narrative would have been totally different.

Usually, I start the year by securing government clearance, so I have it ready in case I decide to switch jobs, and by taking identification photos of various sizes, prepared for applications I dare to make. My birthday, too, falls after the first week of January, so all merrymaking for me happens during this month. I am used to this convention of beginning the year happy and ready before I plunge into the plans I have for the rest of the year.

But for whatever reason, this year sure is odd, like how the year that preceded it 10 years ago went. In 2016, I spent my 18th birthday in the hospital, attending to my aunt and holding her hand, only to let her go 10 days after. This year, just a few days before my birthday, I was with my father in an ambulance. With no medical background, I asked the nurse we were with if his condition was serious. We rushed him to the emergency room after a cardiac arrest, and discovered he needed a procedure to remove blockages in his heart, or so we initially thought. It did not end there. After the angiogram, the doctor recommended major heart surgery instead, explaining that in my father’s case, a stent would be riskier than bypass surgery. Once we understood the risks, we were made to choose between accepting them or risking losing him to another cardiac arrest that could happen at any time.

A day before my birthday, I needed to travel to Metro Manila from Baguio City for the oathtaking needed for my pending promotion, then travel all the way back to Baguio City to care for my father in the hospital. After the oathtaking ceremony, so full of guilt, no one knew that I also attended a Broken Hearts Club Concert with a ticket I secured weeks ago, before returning to Baguio City.

Sleepless on my birthday, the first thing I did was cry in secret when I heard my mom greet me as I arrived home, only to prepare to leave again for the hospital. Never in my life have I felt older, adult enough to spot a couple of my own gray hairs and pay taxes, yet still small and useless. I wept, asking why I couldn’t be happy on this occasion and celebrate being promoted for the first time. Why did I feel like I was winning but not really?

I remember signing the consent form for my father’s operation that same day, and that was the first time I wrote my age, 28. As I was writing my age, I wished to tell the medical attendant it was my birthday, but how could I? I felt like I aged one year more, and the universe decided to grant me another taste of an adult problem for my coming of age. I felt that fate was rife with cruel teasing.

A week after my father’s operation and days of carefully watching over him in the recovery room, I managed to squeeze in getting four new piercings at once just to have a pinch of reality and make sure I was not dreaming. I was not, and what I felt from getting the physical pain from the piercings provided only a short and satisfying controlled discomfort that just could not compare to how January pierced me.

But I have decided that no matter how core-shaking January has been, robbing me of moments to call mine, and despite it not being ideal, there is still so much time left in 2026. It must be a grown-up thing to realize that I can begin when I want to. While the start of the year made me restless, February began gently, allowing me to breeze through the plans I had relegated to the sidelines.

The first week is done, and I was already able to do things I wanted to do before classes started for the spring semester. I most loved the paragliding experience that gave me a bird’s-eye view, reminding me how small I am, how small my problems are. I enjoyed watching a concert without the guilt, and crying over an orchestra rendition of the classic song “You Raise Me Up.” I was in awe receiving attention for doing the things I love, like a street photographer noticing me while traveling in a laid-back city, for the way I dressed as myself, and offering to photograph me. Most of all, I had the time to ease my mind and reflect, then put into words what I am becoming and still beginning at 28.

With every beat of my father’s heart as a constant reminder, I am carving beginnings past the fireworks and blank slates of January.

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Miah Damian, 28, lives her not-so-mundane and not-so-exceptional life holding on to courage, independence, and understanding, not knowing where it will lead her.