The early days of April 2021 came in warm, with golden light spreading across the rice fields and mango trees heavy with fruit in Carmela's home province. Summer was in full bloom, and so was the uncertainty looming over the world. The COVID-19 pandemic had stretched into its second year, and though vaccines were rolling out, the Philippines was still in a cautious limbo.
Carmela sat at her childhood desk, the morning sun spilling through the bamboo blinds as she updated her digital journal. Her laptop hummed beside her, reflecting the multiple tabs she had opened: stock charts, government health updates, online class schedules, and a half-drafted blog post about remote learning challenges. Despite the chaos in the world outside, her room was an oasis of order, every detail arranged with care.
Her family had long accepted that she was the quiet planner, the one who always had backup plans for her backup plans. What they didn't know—and would never know—was that behind her calm was a lifetime of experience from another life, a life Carmela had lived once and was determined not to waste again.
She glanced at the calendar pinned on the wall. April 5, 2021. Her classes for the semester would resume in a few days, all still online. But this summer felt different—heavier. More important. She had reached another turning point.
"Ate, may tawag ka!" (Sister, you have a call!) her youngest cousin called from downstairs.
Carmela jogged down, holding her phone as she answered. It was Raziel, calling on video.
"Hey," she greeted, settling onto the porch where the afternoon wind stirred the drying corn laid out on woven mats.
"Hey," Raziel smiled. Behind him was the view of his workstation, his robotics prototype blinking quietly in the corner.
"I was just about to message you," she said.
"Beat you to it. Wanted to ask how you're doing before the new term starts. I know it's been... a lot."
She nodded. "It has been. But I think I'm okay. I've been reviewing some long-term plans, revisiting some of my investments, and helping out around the house."
Raziel leaned back, eyes curious. "Investments like... your stocks?"
Carmela nodded. "Yes. I've been studying trends, seeing what moved during the first wave of the pandemic. I'm considering reallocating some funds, maybe pulling out from underperforming holdings and redirecting to recovery sectors."
He raised an eyebrow. "You make that sound so casual. You talk about investments like they're grocery lists."
She smiled softly. "It helps to have years of hindsight... even if no one knows it."
Raziel studied her face for a long moment, then said, "You're not like anyone I know, Carmela. You've always been ahead."
They talked for another hour, catching up on mundane things—weather, school work, and his growing online orders for 3D-printed tech components. When they finally ended the call, Carmela felt a lingering warmth.
But she didn't allow herself to linger in emotions too long.
---
Later that evening, she pulled out the old ledger she kept in a locked drawer. Inside were detailed notes and summaries—her hidden fortune from the 2008 Lotto winnings she and her older sister secretly secured. Her sister, now living in Manila with her own family, had helped Carmela silently. Not even their brothers knew. They had always lived modestly, using only what was needed to enhance their home, grow the family store, and finance small business efforts that looked ordinary from the outside. But bigger business plans for the future is on Carmela's mind but will be created after the pandemic is resolved.
That secrecy remained Carmela's best protection. Money changed people—she had seen it in her past life. She had no intention of repeating those mistakes.
She opened her laptop and pulled up her cryptocurrency portfolio. Bitcoin was at an all-time high again, nearing peaks she remembered from the other timeline.
"Too volatile," she whispered. "But useful if handled right."
She transferred a small portion of her crypto into a dollar-pegged stablecoin, securing part of it from sudden market drops. Then she scheduled a future sale order for one of her older tech stocks, predicting a rise based on post-pandemic projections.
It wasn't just about money. It was about leverage—positioning herself so that when opportunities came, she could act quickly. Whether for her family, Raziel, or herself.
---
By mid-April, their small town began setting up local checkpoints again. A fresh wave of infections had begun in Metro Manila and threatened to spill over to neighboring provinces.
Carmela helped her mother adjust their herbal soap business for another round of digital orders. With her brother's help, they redesigned the online store, installed a chatbot for inquiries, and offered bundle packages.
"You're becoming more tech-savvy than me," her Kuya joked as she automated their stock inventory on Google Sheets.
She laughed. "I have to keep up. The world is changing fast."
Their eldest brother, a high school teacher, had shifted completely to online learning for his Masters. He often sat across from Carmela on the terrace, their laptops facing opposite directions, both deeply absorbed in screens.
"I miss the classroom," he once told her. "But maybe this will push our schools to modernize more."
"Maybe," Carmela said. "Or maybe we'll find a way to blend both worlds."
---
On April 24, she received a message that made her heart skip:
**\[Jean]**: Girl, UP just announced another extension of remote learning. Fall sem might go hybrid by next year, but we're still mostly online.
**\[Coleen]**: At this rate, we'll graduate with pajama degrees. 😅
**\[Jasmine]**: I miss campus food. I miss hugging people. I miss *life*.
Carmela sighed. Even with all her planning, she couldn't control the weight the pandemic was putting on people. So she began planning something small.
She messaged Raziel privately:
**\[Carmela]**: Think we can organize a virtual tech circle? Nothing fancy. Just a way to keep our batchmates connected.
**\[Raziel]**: Yes! Let's do it. I can make a Discord server.
A week later, their small tech circle went live. They hosted talks, invited guests from local startups, and held casual project demos. It was a bright spot for many students who felt isolated.
"You did this," Raziel whispered one evening after a live Q\&A.
"We did," Carmela said, but in her heart, she knew this had been her way of reaching out—to help others find hope again.
---
On the final night of April, a soft summer rain tapped at her window. Carmela sat beside it, watching droplets trace lines down the glass.
Her journal was open.
*April 30, 2021*
*The world is still uncertain. The future is shifting. But I feel ready in a way I never did before. Maybe because I've seen what it's like to be caught unprepared. This time, I made sure I wouldn't be.*
*My family is stable. My heart is slowly healing. Raziel is patient. My path is unfolding.*
*And as the world bends toward recovery, I'm not just watching. I'm building.*
She closed the notebook gently.
Tomorrow was May, and with it would come new challenges, new choices, and maybe—finally—the beginning of something even greater than she had dared to plan for.
She looked up at the night sky and smiled.
"We're almost there," she whispered.
And this time, she truly believed it.