Chapter 54: Seeds Beneath the Soil

August 2021 came in quietly, the skies hanging heavy with monsoon clouds. But even as another surge of the pandemic swept across the Philippines, and people's routines were interrupted again, Carmela found peace in the gentle rhythm of the countryside. She was back in her family home in the province—the same sturdy cement-and-stone house she had gradually renovated through the years, thanks to her knowledge from past experiences and quiet investments.

The mornings were simple yet satisfying. Carmela woke up to the soft crowing of the neighborhood roosters and the rustle of banana leaves in the wind. While the rest of the world moved in a blur of breaking news and lockdown updates, her corner of the province remained grounded.

She sat by the window in her room with a mug of warm salabat, her laptop open on a wooden table crafted by a local carpenter. Outside, her mother and eldest brother harvested vegetables from their backyard garden—eggplants, okra, ampalaya, and some tomatoes. Her older brother, a Computer Science graduate, was inside preparing for his online duties managing their growing online sari-sari store, which he had turned into a modest e-commerce operation serving their town and nearby areas.

Carmela smiled as she reviewed her daily agenda. The virtual business she had quietly launched in July—KATALISTA PH—was growing, and the numbers spoke for themselves. More virtual assistants had been onboarded. Teachers were matched with students in Metro Manila. Former call center agents now worked as freelance schedulers and customer service reps for local businesses shifting online.

But Carmela knew that the success she was building required deeper roots.

That morning, she joined a Zoom call with her sister in Manila, the only family member who even vaguely understood the scope of what she was building. Her sister, always the level-headed one, had helped her screen applicants and even offered to refer displaced workers from their barangay.

"I've got three more referrals for the tutor program," her sister said. "They all have teaching experience, but no idea how to use Zoom or Google Meet."

"That's okay," Carmela replied, switching her screen to a training module she had created. "We'll start them with digital literacy classes first. I've partnered with a volunteer group to help them onboard."

"You're amazing, you know that?" her sister said. "This is like... bayanihan but digital."

Carmela chuckled softly. "That's the point. We plant seeds now so the harvest comes when people need it most."

After the call, she turned to her planner and began mapping out the rest of the year. She remembered well how industries and economies would shift after the pandemic. Having already lived through the events once, she knew this was the window to create something sustainable.

Not just for herself, but for the country.

That afternoon, Carmela stepped out into the backyard, where her mother had just finished hanging the laundry. The smell of damp earth and freshly washed clothes mixed in the breeze.

"Carmela," her mother said, wiping sweat from her brow, "you work too hard. You barely go out anymore."

"Ma, may ginagawa lang po akong project," she replied gently. "Para po 'to sa future natin."

Her mother gave her a proud smile, not fully understanding the depth of Carmela's mission but grateful nonetheless. "You were always the quiet one, but now\... you speak like you've seen the world."

"Maybe I have," Carmela whispered to herself.

She spent the next few days refining the back-end systems for KATALISTA. With the help of her brother, they implemented a dashboard that allowed virtual assistants to clock in and out, record work hours, and send invoices to clients. It was a simple system, but one that gave a sense of structure and legitimacy to the work-from-home culture many in the provinces were just beginning to adopt.

Raziel continued to support her quietly, serving as a technical bridge whenever the platform needed upgrades. He was in the city but always available through chat or late-night video calls. Their relationship was still undefined, a soft waiting space of mutual respect and affection.

One night, during a lull in their usual discussion of server uptime and app analytics, Raziel asked, "Do you think you'd ever go corporate? Like work for one of the big tech firms in the city?"

Carmela hesitated. "Maybe. But only if I can still do this. KATALISTA is personal. It's not just business."

"You're not just building an app," Raziel said. "You're changing people's lives."

They paused, and this time it was Carmela who spoke first.

"Raziel, do you ever wonder if this could be something more? Us, I mean."

The silence that followed was charged.

"I do," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But I wanted you to come to it on your own. No pressure. Just... whenever you're ready."

She smiled, heart full. "Maybe I am. Maybe it's time."

As August rolled forward, Carmela began integrating more features into the platform. She reached out to a group of young developers she found online—students from different universities who were passionate about building tech solutions for the Filipino workforce.

Together, they brainstormed ideas for a skills marketplace where KATALISTA users could offer niche services: digital art commissions, social media management, voiceover work, and more. The idea was to create a full-service talent pool that could adapt to the changing demands of the gig economy.

By the end of the second week, they had already launched a beta test for this feature. Five users made their first digital sale. It was a small win, but Carmela celebrated it like a milestone.

On weekends, she helped her family with housework and joined her mother in tending the small vegetable patch. They had recently planted malunggay, pechay, and lemongrass, and Carmela found comfort in watching things grow.

Sometimes she sat under the mango tree with her notebook, sketching ideas, writing short poems, or outlining future tech projects. Writing remained her creative outlet, but no longer her center.

Her heart had shifted toward impact.

One Sunday, her eldest brother returned from school with news. "They want to include digital entrepreneurship in the high school curriculum," he said. "If they do, I could use your story as a case study."

Carmela laughed. "Only if you don't use my real name."

"Fine," he said with a grin. "Let's call her... Maria Clara."

The household filled with laughter, a lightness they hadn't felt in a long time.

And in that moment, Carmela felt something shift. Not just within her family, but within herself. The weight of her past regrets had slowly begun to dissolve. She was no longer running from what could have been. She was building what should be.

Toward the end of August, another typhoon was forecasted. People braced for the worst, and Carmela prepared accordingly. She backed up all her data, checked the platform's resilience, and instructed her VA managers to take precautionary breaks.

"Safety first," she wrote in the team group chat. "Business can wait. Your well-being can't."

When the storm hit, it brought with it days of no electricity. The internet was spotty, and Carmela relied on her backup power supply and mobile data to keep things afloat. But the real breakthrough came afterward.

A message from a regional cooperative arrived in her inbox.

"We saw your presentation with the NGO last month. We want to partner with you to train rural women as VAs. We can help with connectivity and basic equipment. Are you interested?"

Carmela stared at the email, heart thudding. This was it. The platform was no longer hers alone. It was evolving into a shared vision.

She replied with a thoughtful proposal, crafted late into the night, detailing how the partnership would work. When she hit send, she felt the same sense of exhilaration she had felt when KATALISTA first launched.

She closed her laptop, stepped outside, and looked up at the stars scattered across the dark provincial sky. The power had yet to return, but the light within her was bright and steady.

"We are just getting started," she whispered.

Carmela wasn't just surviving the pandemic. She was growing through it.

One seed at a time.