May 2022 unfurled with humid mornings and the faint scent of mango blossoms drifting through the windows of Carmela's childhood home. The fields beyond their backyard were vibrant with life—lush rows of palay dancing with the wind, carabaos trudging slowly through muddy irrigation paths, and children chasing dragonflies barefoot on the warm soil. There was something alive in the air, something urgent and renewing. It was a season of sowing, not just in the fields, but in Carmela's life.
Carmela had just finished facilitating another workshop for KATALISTA, this time with a youth group in a neighboring barangay. Her calendar for the rest of the month was packed with mentorship calls, system updates for the platform, and strategic meetings with their microfinance partner. But today, she let herself rest.
Rest, for Carmela, meant being home in the kitchen before breakfast was done. She liked watching her mom flip rice cakes on the charcoal stove while the radio played old kundiman songs. Her eldest brother came home from teaching and joined in making morning coffee, while her other brother handled online orders for their family sari-sari and agri-supply store, which had steadily grown since Carmela helped modernize it with a POS system and delivery booking.
"You could manage a franchise one day," her brother teased as she typed something on her laptop.
"Not interested," Carmela replied with a grin. "I want to build the first generation of local digital cooperatives. Not franchises."
Her mother looked over from the kitchen and smiled, proud and puzzled at the same time.
Later that morning, Carmela reviewed the business health of her family's store. Their quiet investment in digital logistics had allowed them to stay afloat even during peak lockdown. With her brother's degree in Computer Science and her vision, they streamlined orders via Facebook Messenger bots and Google Forms. Payment gateways were integrated using GCash and Maya. She planned to propose an expansion: small satellite branches that could double as pick-up hubs for rural delivery services.
By noon, Raziel arrived on his bike, wearing a sun visor and bringing a tub of fresh carabao milk from the town dairy co-op.
"Para sa boss," he joked, handing it to her.
"More like for the boss's family," Carmela laughed. "You're early."
"I needed an excuse to come early," he admitted, pulling out his tablet. "Want to review our logistics dashboard prototype? We're almost ready to soft launch."
Together, they sat at the outdoor table shaded by bougainvillea vines. Raziel's updated project—a rural logistics and fulfillment network called Barangay Byte—had officially started rolling out in two nearby towns. It had been a leap from his original ideas, but one rooted in Carmela's early advice: build something that answers real problems in the provinces.
"You know," Raziel said after a while, tapping his screen, "this could grow into a whole ecosystem. We already have local riders, pickup points, even basic warehousing."
Carmela nodded. "Add financial tools next—digital payment solutions for cash-on-delivery clients. That'll close the loop."
Their conversation moved between dreams and logistics, numbers and hopes. The whole time, Carmela felt her heart slowly knit itself into something bigger—not just work, not just mission, but shared purpose.
That evening, as the sun began to dip and a chorus of cicadas rose from the fields, Carmela walked with Raziel along the riverbank. The golden light caught in the ripples, and silence stretched between them like a soft blanket.
"Have you ever thought about the future?" Raziel asked, voice gentle.
Carmela laughed lightly. "Always. But mine is always a five-year plan."
"Mine too," he replied. Then he paused. "Except when I think about you. Then it's more than five years."
She looked at him, startled.
"Carmela," he continued, standing still now, "you know I've waited. Not just out of hope. But because I see something real in what we've built—not just systems or projects, but the way we talk, the way we understand each other. I don't want to rush anything. But I want you to know, I will be here, I will be with you wherever you go."
Her breath caught. All the years of patience, of gentle waiting, of quiet support—it all led to him.
She reached for his hand. "Then let's keep walking. Together wherever the road take us."
Raziel smiled, eyes crinkling with a touch of love. "Deal."
Back at home, her mother looked out from the window, watching them return from the riverbank. She didn't say anything. Just smiled and turned back to her embroidery.
The world outside was chaotic—inflation was rising, the news spoke of upcoming elections, and many of her classmates in UPLB were still adjusting to the new hybrid learning system. But in their corner of the province, life held a rhythm.
Carmela knew change would come, but she was ready. She had weathered two lives, learned from her regrets, and rebuilt piece by piece.
May 2022 was not a peak. It was a foundation. And from here, anything was possible.