The first week of May 2020 unfolded with the heat of summer pressing against the stillness of quarantine. In the small town where Carmela now lived full-time with her family, the roads remained quiet, the market operated at reduced hours, and every movement required a pass. Life, for many, had ground to a halt.
But not for Carmela.
Inside their home, the youngest of the family had turned one of the guest rooms into a digital command center. A desk faced the window where the sunlight poured in, making her workspace feel less boxed in. One wall was now plastered with sticky notes and printouts—course schedules, blog topic ideas, financial goals. Her whiteboard was filled with arrows, lists, and even a quote scribbled in bold letters: "Thrive, don't just survive."
Every day was planned with intention. Morning workouts on the patio, followed by a hearty breakfast cooked by their mother. Then came hours of study, coding practice, writing tutorials, and working on freelance gigs. Her afternoons were split between managing her growing online community and attending webinars. Nights were for reflection, reading, or calls with Raziel.
It wasn't just productivity for the sake of being busy. Carmela had a timeline. A mission.
The world had been brought to its knees by the pandemic, but she had already been preparing for this chaos since 2019. In truth, since 2008. Her past-life foresight had given her the edge that many lacked.
Long before crypto hit the mainstream, Carmela had bought Bitcoin in 2009—mere cents per coin—and stored them in cold wallets. At the time, it had been an experiment, something she vaguely remembered would blow up. And now, it was a vault of untapped potential. Unlike many who panicked at the volatility, she let it sit quietly in the background of her portfolio, untouched but watched.
Her investments were carefully structured. Before the market crash in March, she had sold a portion of her matured stock investments and diversified them. Some remained in global tech and healthcare feeder funds, others moved into USD time deposits and digital savings platforms. She opened a new brokerage account to buy US stocks as soon as the Philippine market became too volatile.
Meanwhile, the digital learning space was booming. Her course, "Tech for Beginners," had reached 500 enrollees. Most were working students, stay-at-home parents, or people who had lost their jobs and needed to pivot quickly. Carmela launched a Facebook group for her students and began hosting weekly live Q\&A sessions.
It was during one of these sessions that an unexpected opportunity arose.
A former IT professor from another university messaged her after the stream:
"Hi Carmela, I've been watching your progress since March. Are you open to collaborating for a digital upskilling initiative in the provinces?"
Her heart skipped. She typed quickly:
"Yes. 100%. Tell me more."
The professor was part of a small government-backed project that aimed to bridge the digital divide in rural areas. They were looking for grassroots tech advocates to create simple, localized digital courses in Filipino and regional dialects. Carmela fit the vision perfectly.
The collaboration started small. She helped redesign their materials, advised on webinar structures, and even recorded voice-overs in Tagalog for their video guides. But as the weeks passed, her role grew. By June, she was leading content development for the youth modules.
The irony wasn't lost on her. At 20, she was creating education material for communities twice her age. But this was the world now. Age didn't determine impact—initiative did.
Her family watched in awe as she navigated everything from investment webinars to government calls to private mentorship sessions. Her oldest brother, now a high school teacher, often asked her about blended learning platforms. Her other older brother, a Computer Science graduate who managed their family store and business, sought her input on streamlining operations using cloud-based tools.
Her only sister, who lived in Manila with her own family, began asking for guidance on how to transition her baking hobby into an online business.
Even her niece, just in junior high, wanted Carmela to teach her coding.
Yet, behind the discipline and results, Carmela still had moments of doubt.
She often found herself lying awake at night, the ceiling fan humming softly above. The question always returned:
"Am I doing enough to secure a future not just for myself, but for all of us?"
She knew the pandemic was just the beginning. The economic aftermath would stretch for years. Businesses would collapse, education systems would struggle, and mental health issues would rise. But she also knew this chaos birthed innovation. And that was where she wanted to be.
Her dream was slowly shifting.
It wasn't just about stability anymore. She wanted to build a platform—an ecosystem where people like her, born in the provinces and overlooked by centralized systems, could learn, grow, and lead.
By July, she was drafting a business plan for an online learning portal called "Lihok: Digital Literacy for Every Juan." It would start with basic tech literacy but later expand to freelance training, financial literacy, and community building. She discussed it with Raziel, who offered to design the interface. Her old classmate from UPLB, now stuck in Metro Manila, volunteered to help with content writing.
Momentum was building.
But so was her relationship with Raziel.
Their nightly calls were now routine. Sometimes, they didn't talk about work at all. They played online games, watched Netflix together over screen share, or just lay in silence, listening to each other breathe. It wasn't romantic in the traditional sense, not yet. But it was deep, rooted, patient.
Raziel had loved her before she loved herself. And slowly, she was learning to let him in.
One evening, during a break from editing her new course module, Carmela finally said it out loud:
"I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship yet. But I know I want you in my future."
On the other end of the line, Raziel smiled gently.
"Then let's keep building that future. No pressure. Just presence."
And that was enough.
By August, the second wave of lockdowns hit Metro Manila. The digital divide became more apparent, but Carmela was already ahead. Her platform was almost ready. Her blog was now generating affiliate income. Her online courses were being translated into Bisaya and Ilocano.
She had also begun speaking in Zoom webinars for public schools and LGUs, discussing how young people could leverage the internet to survive economically. Each time she logged off, she felt a strange combination of pride and disbelief.
"This is really happening," she told herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
She wasn't just rewriting her life. She was rewriting the narrative for many others.
The world had stopped. But Carmela moved forward.
And she wasn't stopping anytime soon.