Chapter 55: Shifting Currents

By September 2021, the Philippines remained deep in the grip of the Delta variant surge. Lockdowns returned in waves, and even in the province, stricter border controls and curfews began creeping in again. Hospital capacity updates filled the news, and vaccines remained scarce in some regions. Yet amid the national chaos, Carmela's world moved forward with quiet determination.

She remained in her hometown in Laguna, where the rain came nearly every day, turning the streets to mud and cloaking the hills in mist. Her family's home had become a reliable refuge and her command center—a place where she could work undisturbed and dream forward without the clutter of the city.

By now, KATALISTA PH had gained its own pulse.

The virtual business platform had grown more robust, not only in size but in purpose. What began as a modest network of tutors and virtual assistants was now a structured organization with its own set of trainers, account managers, and back-end developers—mostly freelancers who resonated with Carmela's quiet mission: empower, sustain, and uplift.

Her schedule had shifted drastically. Mornings were for system checks and team meetings. Midday was spent in content creation—tutorials, marketing videos, and onboarding materials. Afternoons and evenings were for client consultations or team training. Despite the village-wide brownouts and unstable signal in bad weather, she had backup routers and two prepaid SIM cards from different telcos ready to switch.

Carmela's sister, still in Manila, remained her silent partner. Though she only knew part of the truth—that the funds supporting KATALISTA came from a well-kept secret—she respected Carmela's leadership and marveled at her persistence.

Meanwhile, Raziel had grown into his unofficial role as co-founder. Though he had his own work in the city, he managed to support her with technical strategies, cybersecurity suggestions, and occasional virtual pep talks. They were no longer just friends or collaborators. There was a steady current between them now, unspoken yet undeniable.

One chilly morning in early September, Carmela found a surprise email forwarded by Raziel.

"Subject: Potential Collaboration Inquiry – Regional Tech Training Program"

An educational NGO, impressed by KATALISTA's grassroots growth and digital impact, was proposing a pilot program. They wanted to train out-of-school youth and displaced workers using Carmela's platform, providing them government-issued certificates and seed money to start their own freelance ventures.

Her heart raced as she read the proposal. It wasn't just validation. It was momentum.

She quickly responded, tweaking the program proposal to match the regional context of CALABARZON and suggested a hybrid model that used downloadable modules for offline users. That same week, she presented a full roadmap in a Zoom call with the NGO and two LGU representatives.

"You're ahead of your time, Miss San Jose," the NGO director commented.

"I think I'm just catching up to what the times are calling for," she replied with a modest smile.

Behind the smile was a girl who once felt she had no control over her life. Now, she was guiding others toward stability in the midst of national uncertainty.

---

September also brought a subtle shift in her connection with Raziel.

Their daily conversations evolved. No longer just limited to system reviews or training schedules, they started exchanging thoughts about life—about how exhausting the news cycle had become, how the pandemic exposed systemic cracks, and how sometimes hope had to be manufactured like a product.

One evening, after a particularly long day of training three new KATALISTA batches, Carmela messaged Raziel.

**Carmela:** "I'm starting to feel it. The pressure. The fear of letting them down."

**Raziel:** "That's how you know you're leading something real. But Mel, you're not alone. You have us. You have me."

**Carmela:** "Sometimes I think I'm running too fast. Like I'm chasing a shadow I can't fully explain."

**Raziel:** "Maybe. Or maybe you're just trying to give others a future you never had."

She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she stared at the flickering candle on her desk, the only source of light during a scheduled brownout. The wind outside howled, but inside her chest, something warmer stirred.

When she finally replied, her message was simple:

**Carmela:** "Thank you for always being there."

---

Mid-month, the Department of Education announced another shift in school openings. Carmela saw an opportunity and launched a new service under KATALISTA: educational coaching and module-based tutoring for parents overwhelmed by distance learning.

It was a hit.

Her pool of licensed but underemployed teachers grew rapidly. Many had left private schools due to unpaid salaries or inconsistent class schedules. KATALISTA offered them dignity and flexibility.

Each onboarding session brought new stories—of loss, resilience, and hope. One teacher, a single mother from Bicol, shared that she could now feed her children without relying on government ayuda. Another VA from Pangasinan was able to help her lola buy maintenance medicine thanks to a foreign client.

These were the stories Carmela held close.

It wasn't about headlines or accolades. It was about impact.

---

One weekend, after a particularly successful launch of a new training module, Raziel asked if they could have a video call "just to talk."

Carmela hesitated for a second. Then said yes.

He appeared on screen in his room, wearing a hoodie, his face tired but smiling. She sat on the floor of their living room, wrapped in a blanket.

"I miss seeing you," he said quietly.

Carmela looked up, her eyes searching.

"I miss you too. But we're both doing what we're supposed to do, right?"

He nodded. "Still... I wanted to say it. And also ask: when this all settles down, when the cases drop and travel resumes... would you still want to meet up? Tagaytay maybe?"

She nodded, then broke into a smile. "Only if it's still on you."

"It's a deal."

They both laughed, but beneath that laugh was longing.

For connection. For the promise of something more real, more tangible than even their growing digital empire.

---

By the end of September, Carmela received another email—this time from a Filipino entrepreneur based in Dubai.

He had seen the KATALISTA model and was interested in franchising the training component for OFWs in the Middle East who planned to return home.

It was a massive opportunity, but one that required careful planning.

Carmela didn't say yes right away. She and Raziel drew up a feasibility study, mapped potential outcomes, and compared timelines.

"This could be the beginning of something huge," Raziel said.

She nodded. "But we do it our way. Slow. Smart. Silent."

He smiled. "Like always."

And just like that, the girl who once tried to outrun regret was now building futures for others.

Carmela didn't need to be seen. She didn't need to be known.

All she needed was to know that in the middle of uncertainty, something she created was giving people hope.

And in a world that felt like it was constantly falling apart, that was more than enough.