December 2021 rolled in with soft, golden mornings and the unmistakable hum of the holiday season. In Carmela's province, the early signs of Christmas were everywhere—parols twinkled from windows, children rehearsed carols, and the smell of bibingka and puto bumbong lingered in the air near the church plaza. But in the San Jose household, while joy glimmered in simple moments, a quiet intensity hummed beneath the surface.
Carmela was preparing for her biggest proposal yet.
After weeks of coordination with the Department of Education, she and her team at KATALISTA Academy were invited to present their partnership proposal. The idea was bold: train teachers in digital tools and methodologies using KATALISTA's proven platform. If approved, it would open doors not just for KATALISTA, but for thousands of educators across the country.
"The presentation has to be airtight," Carmela said during a virtual team meeting. "They need to see our heart, but also our strategy. We're not just another startup. We're a movement."
Raziel added, "We finalized the interface improvements. I'll prepare a quick demo so they see how intuitive the user experience is."
Marisol, one of their newest education consultants, nodded. "I'll handle mapping the curriculum with DepEd standards."
Carmela looked at her team—now ten full-time members and over fifty part-time mentors. They had grown from a project into a company. She felt a swell of pride, tempered by her usual humility.
---
Meanwhile, at home, preparations for Christmas were in full swing. Her mother was busy sewing curtains from recycled fabric. Her eldest brother, always the cheerful kuya, led the charge in putting up the Christmas lights.
"Ate Carmela, tulong ka naman dito," her young nephew called, tugging on her shirt as she passed the sala.
(Help me with this, Ate Carmela.)
She laughed and helped him attach a string of lights around the windows. They blinked in a slow, warm pattern, giving the room a magical glow.
"Parang ikaw din, 'di ba?" her mom joked, smiling. "Tahimik pero maliwanag."
(Just like you—quiet but shining.)
Carmela chuckled, but inside, the words stayed with her.
---
A few days later, she and Raziel had a long evening call. The sun had already set behind the mountains, and the stars peeked through the dusty window.
"So," Raziel said, voice calm but hopeful. "Are we really doing this? Are we building something that can last years?"
Carmela smiled. "We already are. But yes. Let's build something that even our future selves would thank us for."
He nodded. "I know you're focused on the project, but... about Christmas. I'd really like to see you. Even just for a while."
She hesitated. Travel restrictions were still unpredictable. But the idea of seeing Raziel in person after so long filled her chest with quiet longing.
"Let's see," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "If it's safe, then... maybe."
Raziel looked at her with soft affection. "I've waited this long. I can wait a bit more. But you should know\... I've never stopped choosing you."
Her breath caught, but she smiled. "Then let's keep choosing each other. One day at a time."
---
December 15 arrived. The day of the big presentation.
Carmela woke up at 4 a.m., heart pounding. She took a cold shower, did her morning prayers, then prepared her usual mug of turmeric tea. She wore a simple blouse with her hair neatly tied back, presenting herself with calm authority. At exactly 9 a.m., she joined the virtual meeting with the Department of Education panel.
The first few minutes were filled with introductions and small talk. Then, the screen shared Carmela's carefully designed slides.
"Good morning, everyone," she began, steady. "Thank you for this opportunity. Today, we present KATALISTA Academy's vision to support Filipino educators in the digital age."
She walked them through their data, real stories from mentors, and a live demo of the platform. Marisol discussed the curriculum alignment. Raziel showcased the interface. The panel listened, asked questions, and nodded along.
When the presentation ended, there was silence for a moment. Then, one of the senior panelists said, "Impressive. Simple yet impactful. I think there's great potential here."
Another added, "What you've done in rural areas proves that this isn't just theory. It works."
By the end of the meeting, Carmela knew they had made an impression.
---
The next few days flew by. Christmas Eve came, and the San Jose home buzzed with joy. Their small noche buena consisted of spaghetti, lumpia, and a homemade chocolate cake. Laughter echoed through the house as old family stories were retold.
Late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Carmela received a message from Raziel.
**Raziel:** "Look outside."
Confused, she stepped onto the porch—and there he was, standing with a small gift in hand, masked, distant, but real.
"Raziel?"
He waved. "Surprise."
Tears filled her eyes. She stepped closer, heart racing. "How did you...?"
"Your brother helped. He said you needed a good Christmas."
They didn't hug, not yet, but the closeness was enough. They sat on the bamboo bench, six feet apart, and talked until the first light of dawn.
In those few quiet hours, everything unspoken began to find its voice.
He shared how he always checked in with her even from a distance, how seeing her succeed made him proud more than anything else.
Carmela, with her voice almost trembling, confessed, "I thought I'd never find this kind of peace—with someone who waits, who understands, who never demands."
Raziel took her hand, gently. "Then maybe this is our beginning."
Before he left, he handed her the gift.
Inside was a hand-carved wooden bookmark with the words: *For the stories we're still writing.*
Carmela held it close, a smile on her lips. Her heart, for once, didn't feel torn between dreams and devotion. Maybe, just maybe, she could have both.
---
As 2021 drew to a close, Carmela stood by her window, watching the stars. The world was still uncertain. There were still battles to fight, problems to solve.
But in that moment, with family around her, a dream turning real, and a heart that had healed more than it had broken—she felt ready.
Not for a perfect year.
But for a purposeful one.