Assalamu alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh.

Yesterday, I joined my Muslim brothers and sisters in observing Amun Jadid, the beginning of the Islamic New Year. For many Filipino Muslims, it is an occasion that arrives not with fanfare but with quiet significance. Families gather, prayers are offered, and conversations often turn to the year that has passed and the one that is beginning. Yet outside Muslim communities, Amun Jadid remains one of the country's least understood religious observances.

That has always struck me as a little unfortunate because Amun Jadid is part of the lived experience of countless Filipino families, particularly in Mindanao. Whenever the occasion comes around, I find myself thinking about home.

I remember relatives arriving early in the day, exchanging greetings that seemed warmer and more deliberate than those on ordinary visits. The adults would settle into long conversations over coffee while the children greeted relatives and played. There was always laughter somewhere in the house. Someone would inevitably bring up a memory from years before, and before long, another story would follow.

As children, we did not think much about why the day mattered. We just knew it was different.

The adults carried themselves differently. There was less rushing around and more sitting together. Conversations flowed. Family members shared news of relatives living elsewhere and milestone events of the year that was. Looking back now, I realize those gatherings were as much about remembering as they were about welcoming a new year.

Amun Jadid commemorates the Hijrah, the journey of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) from Mecca to Medina and marks the beginning of the Islamic calendar.

Growing up, I heard that story many times. Like many stories first encountered in childhood, it revealed different meanings as the years passed. What remains with me today is how naturally it was woven into family life—not as a lesson, but as part of the conversations and traditions that connected one generation to the next.

This year, though, it is difficult to think of Amun Jadid without thinking of the many families affected by the magnitude 7.8 earthquake and its aftershocks that struck Saranggani and neighboring provinces in Mindanao, which damaged homes and infrastructure, leaving people with feelings of uncertainty and fear.

Despite these, we have seen familiar scenes. Neighbors checking on one another. Community members sharing food. Volunteers helping where they can. Local officials are moving from one affected area to another. These are not extraordinary stories in Mindanao. They are simply part of how communities respond when difficult days arrive.

Perhaps that is why the earthquake has brought back memories of those Amun Jadid gatherings from years ago.

The circumstances may be different, yet both bring people together in much the same way. During Amun Jadid, people gather to pray and reconnect with family and friends. After an earthquake, people gather because uncertainty has a way of drawing communities closer together.

Today, as Muslim families observe Amun Jadid, many households across Mindanao are doing so while still dealing with the impact of the earthquake. Some are repairing homes. Others are staying with relatives. Many are moving forward one day at a time as they try to restore a sense of normalcy to their daily lives.

Even so, I suspect that many traditions remain unchanged.

There will be prayers offered in homes and mosques. Families will share meals and stories. Older relatives will recall occasions from decades ago. Younger family members will listen with varying degrees of interest, much as my generation once did.

And years from now, some of those children may find themselves remembering these gatherings in the same way I remember mine today.

The details may fade. The food, the conversations, and even the dates may become harder to recall. What tends to remain is the feeling of being surrounded by people who know your story because they helped shape it. It is also how people looked after one another. Looking back, that is where I saw hope, love, and resilience most clearly—not in words, but in what people did for each other.

Beyond budget, amid the challenge of rebuilding, families continue to gather, pray, and spend time together during Amun Jadid. In many ways, that is what I have always associated with the occasion: not only the beginning of a new year, but also the chance to reconnect with the people who matter most.

As Citizen Mina, Amun Jadid always brings me back to Mindanao. This year, my thoughts and prayers are with the many families finding their footing again after the earthquake, and with the people who continue to show up for one another in big and small ways. In the neighbors sharing what they have, in families opening their homes to relatives, and in communities helping one another rebuild, I am reminded of the hope, love, and resilience that have long been part of life in Mindanao.

(Amenah F. Pangandaman is the former Secretary of the Department of Budget and Management.)