Chapter 2 - Not Prophecy
The printer won.
Temporarily.
I spent twenty-three minutes trying to remove the torn paper without breaking anything.
Twenty-three minutes.
I knew this because I timed it.
Not intentionally.
My phone was beside me and I happened to look at the clock before committing violence against office equipment.
When the last tiny piece finally came out, I stared at the printer.
"Enjoy this."
It beeped.
"I've owned machines worth more than this entire house."
Nothing.
"You don't know who you're dealing with."
Another beep.
I narrowed my eyes.
Apparently resetting to twenty-three had also reset my authority over printers.
Fine.
I loaded another sheet.
Pressed print.
The machine made a noise that sounded medically concerning.
Then—
paper came out.
Straight.
Complete.
I picked it up.
"See?"
The printer stayed silent.
I felt victorious for approximately six seconds.
Then the next page jammed.
I closed my eyes.
"Okay."
Second life.
New rule.
Do not argue with appliances.
I had an order due in three days.
Fifty personalized notebooks.
Not huge.
Twenty-three-year-old me had been thrilled when I got it.
Forty-five-year-old me looked at the order details and immediately wanted to slap twenty-three-year-old me.
Price per piece.
Materials.
Printing.
Binding.
Packaging.
Customization.
Labor.
Delivery allowance.
Revisions.
I recalculated everything.
Then recalculated again because surely—
No.
The number remained offensive.
"What the fuck?"
I had barely been making money.
Technically, there was profit.
If I pretended my own time was free.
Which, apparently, I had.
Excellent.
Business education through self-exploitation.
Classic.
I opened the old spreadsheet.
Calling it a spreadsheet was generous.
Columns everywhere.
Some expenses missing.
Some payments marked with colors that had no legend.
One cell simply said:
PAID?
With three question marks.
I stared.
"Who made this?"
Me.
Unfortunately.
I opened a new file.
Made tabs.
ORDERS
EXPENSES
RECEIVABLES
MATERIALS
SUPPLIERS
CUSTOMER FOLLOW-UPS
Then, because apparently twenty-two additional years of experience had finally taught me shame—
ACTUAL PROFIT
Beautiful.
I entered the notebook order.
Real material cost.
Real packaging.
Estimated ink usage.
Transportation.
Waste allowance.
My time.
Then I looked at the result.
Tiny.
Embarrassing.
But fixable.
Current order was already agreed upon.
I wasn't going to suddenly change the customer's price halfway through.
That was my mistake.
I would honor it.
Next one?
Absolutely not.
I opened my pricing sheet.
Started rebuilding.
Around ten, Mama knocked lightly on the open door.
"O?"
"Hm?"
"Kape?"
I looked at the cup already beside me.
Half-full.
Cold.
"No, thanks."
She looked surprised.
"Hindi ka magkakape?"
"I have one."
"Kanina pa yan."
"I know."
"Edi palitan mo."
"No."
Mama stared.
I stared back.
Then she shrugged.
"Bahala ka."
She started walking away.
"Ma."
She looked back.
"What?"
"Anong oras lunch?"
"Bakit?"
"I'm asking."
"Mga twelve."
"Okay."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Bakit?"
"Para kumain ako."
Now she looked genuinely suspicious.
"Hindi ka ba kumakain?"
"I do."
"Pag tinawag."
"Yes."
She laughed.
"Sige."
Then left.
Okay.
Maybe I had been worse than I remembered.
Before lunch, I got another inquiry.
Hi po. Same personalized notebook po. 50 pcs. How much?
I stared.
Same quantity.
Same type.
Perfect test.
Twenty-three-year-old me would have copied the previous price.
Maybe added ten pesos because materials increased.
Current me looked at actual costing.
Added proper margin.
Allowed reasonable revision time.
Included packaging.
Then sent the quote.
The customer replied:
Medyo mahal po compared sa nakita ko sa iba.
I stared.
Here we go.
Old reflex:
Discount.
Explain.
Apologize.
Maybe offer free design.
Maybe lower the price because I was scared they'd leave.
Instead I typed:
No problem po. Our price includes personalized layout, printing, binding, packaging, and up to two minor revisions. If you have a target budget, I can also suggest a simpler notebook option.
Sent.
My heart still did the stupid little:
What if they say no?
Twenty-two years and apparently rejection still had a nervous system.
A few minutes later—
Okay po. Send sample designs.
I blinked.
Then laughed.
Of course.
Customers did not automatically disappear because you priced properly.
Amazing concept.
I sent samples.
They chose one.
Paid the down payment.
I stared at the confirmation.
Then at the old order.
Same quantity.
Much better margin.
No suffering required.
"Wow."
Maybe I should have died earlier.
I immediately regretted that thought.
"No."
Absolutely not.
Lunch was fried fish, vegetables, rice.
Sofia was home.
Mama had already started eating when I came down.
She looked at me.
Then at the clock.
Then back at me.
"What?"
"Wala."
"You're doing the face."
"Anong face?"
"That face."
Sofia looked up from her plate.
"She came down without being called."
Mama nodded.
"Exactly."
I stared.
"Can everyone stop tracking my meals?"
"No," Sofia said.
"Why?"
"Interesting."
I sat down.
"Your standards for entertainment are low."
"Wala akong pasok."
"Fair."
Mama put more fish on my plate.
"May order?"
"Yeah."
"Madami?"
"Fifty."
"Okay ah."
"Yeah."
"Magkano?"
I told her.
Mama immediately did mental math.
Not accurate mental math.
Family-business mental math.
"Malaki-laki."
"Gross, Ma."
"Ano?"
"Hindi pa bawas materials."
"Ah."
Sofia looked at me.
"Profit?"
"Better than before."
Mama frowned.
"Bakit?"
"Underpriced ako dati."
"Eh di taasan."
I stared at her.
There it was.
The Ramos School of Business.
Problem identified.
Solution:
Eh di taasan.
No case study required.
Sofia laughed.
"Ano?"
"Nothing."
Mama pointed her spoon at me.
"Kung lugi ka, bakit mo gagawin?"
"Exactly."
Simple.
Beautiful.
Twenty-two years of business experience and Mama had summarized pricing discipline in one sentence.
After lunch, I went back upstairs.
I checked old supplier contacts.
This part should have been easy.
I knew who became reliable later.
Who expanded.
Who failed.
Who cheated.
Who changed ownership.
Who eventually became one of my largest suppliers.
So naturally—
I thought I had an advantage.
I searched the first one.
No wholesale yet.
Okay.
Early.
Second supplier.
Still active.
Different product line.
Third.
Page gone.
I searched the company name.
Nothing.
Interesting.
Fourth supplier.
They had the material I wanted.
I messaged.
Their current price was significantly higher than I remembered.
Hmm.
Fifth supplier—
discontinued the specific notebook cover I'd used in Original Life.
I stared at the screen.
"No."
I remembered buying thousands of those later.
But not now.
Not this version.
I leaned back.
Right.
Memory wasn't a catalog.
The timeline had not signed a contract promising to repeat itself for my convenience.
Different decisions could already be happening.
Different inventory.
Different owners.
Different demand.
Different timing.
Maybe even different companies.
I opened my notebook.
Under the existing rules, I added:
21. MEMORY IS NOT PROPHECY. VERIFY EVERYTHING.
Then underneath:
Past knowledge = advantage. Not guarantee.
I stared.
That needed to be near the top.
Maybe highlighted.
Because one wrong assumption at scale could be very expensive.
I remembered a printer model.
One that had saved me months of headaches later.
Reliable.
Fast.
Easy maintenance.
I could afford it now if I stretched.
Maybe I should buy early.
I searched listings.
Found one.
Almost ordered.
Then stopped.
Rule twenty-one.
Verify.
I searched reviews from the current year.
Forums.
Seller feedback.
Repair groups.
And there it was.
A manufacturing batch from this period with recurring feed issues.
I stared.
Same model.
Different timing.
Later versions had improved.
If I had trusted memory blindly, I would have bought the exact machine I remembered loving—
at the exact moment it was apparently being a piece of shit.
I looked at my current printer.
It beeped from across the room.
"Don't get excited."
I researched alternatives.
Found another model.
Slightly more expensive.
Better current reviews.
Parts available locally.
Cheaper maintenance.
I saved it.
Didn't buy yet.
First, numbers.
Cash flow.
Not feelings.
Look at me.
Responsible.
Disgusting.
Around three, I started production.
Print.
Cut.
Punch.
Bind.
Check.
Repeat.
The rhythm came back immediately.
My hands remembered.
Not supernatural memory.
Actual muscle memory.
I had done this for years.
Thousands of times.
I knew how to align faster.
How much pressure.
Which tiny defects customers wouldn't notice and which ones would absolutely cause complaints.
Where waste happened.
How to batch tasks.
I looked at the fifty notebooks.
Old Lia would have done them one at a time.
Print one.
Cut one.
Bind one.
Package one.
Terrible.
Current Lia grouped everything.
Print batch.
Cut batch.
Punch batch.
Bind batch.
Quality check.
Faster.
Cleaner.
Less switching.
After an hour, I had finished more than I normally would have.
And I wasn't even rushing.
That felt good.
Dangerously good.
Because competence could become addictive too.
I knew that.
At 4:47 PM, I checked the time.
Then looked at the unfinished notebooks.
I could finish more.
Definitely.
Maybe another ten.
Fifteen if I pushed.
Then continue after dinner.
Maybe until ten.
Eleven.
Old pattern.
I stared at the work.
Nothing was due tomorrow.
I was ahead.
No reason.
My brain still whispered:
Just finish more.
I hated how familiar that voice was.
At five exactly, I stopped.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I had said I would.
I cleaned the table.
Covered the materials.
Saved files.
Backed them up.
Then turned off the printer.
It beeped.
I pointed.
"Tomorrow."
Another beep.
"No."
I left the room.
Victory.
Small.
But mine.
Sofia was in the living room.
She looked at me.
Then at the time.
"You're done?"
"For today."
She blinked.
"Who are you?"
"Funny."
"No, seriously."
I sat on the sofa.
"I'm trying something."
"What?"
"Not working until my body files a complaint."
She stared.
"That sounds reasonable."
"It is."
"So why is it new?"
I looked at her.
"Good question."
She smiled.
Smart girl.
Then went back to her phone.
No interrogation.
No lecture.
Just noticed.
Filed it away.
Very Sofia.
Papa came home a little past six-thirty.
I heard the gate.
Then his footsteps.
Then Mama—
"Diyan mo muna sapatos."
"Alam ko."
Normal.
So normal it hurt.
I stayed on the sofa.
Papa came in carrying his work bag.
Tired.
Sweaty from being outside.
Younger.
Alive.
My chest did that thing again.
He saw me.
"O, nandito ka?"
Like I was somehow unusual furniture.
I stood.
"Pa."
I took his hand and did mano.
"God bless."
He looked at me for half a second.
Then patted my shoulder.
"O."
That was it.
I almost cried anyway.
Embarrassing.
Papa put his things down.
"Kamusta business?"
I laughed quietly.
Apparently everyone knew my entire personality already.
"Okay lang."
"May order?"
"Meron."
"Dami?"
"Fifty."
He nodded.
"Okay yan."
Then—
"Wag ka masyado magpuyat."
I stared.
Papa frowned.
"Bakit?"
"Nothing."
"Napupuyat ka lagi."
"I know."
"Hindi maganda yan."
There.
Another warning.
Twenty-three-year-old me had been surrounded by warnings.
I just hadn't listened.
"I'll try."
Papa nodded.
"Good."
Then went to wash up.
No idea he'd just told a woman who died from overworking exactly what she needed to hear.
Dinner was around seven.
Papa.
Mama.
Sofia.
Me.
Ate Bianca and Kuya Nathan had their own adult lives, their own households and responsibilities, so dinners weren't automatically full-family events.
That was normal.
I remembered missing even these smaller dinners later.
Being "too busy."
Eating at desks.
Eating in cars.
Eating during meetings.
Not eating.
Tonight, I sat down.
Papa talked about work.
Mama complained about something that had gotten more expensive.
Sofia mentioned school.
Then somehow the conversation returned to business.
Of course.
"May bagong supplier ako tinitingnan," I said.
Papa nodded.
"Compare mo."
"I am."
Mama:
"Wag isang supplier lang."
I froze.
Then laughed.
"What?"
"Pag naubusan?"
"I know."
"Eh di dapat may iba."
Rule six.
Apparently not revolutionary.
Just common sense I had ignored for years.
Sofia looked at me.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Nothing."
"You keep doing that."
"I'm having realizations."
"Concerning."
"Very."
After dinner, I went upstairs.
Not to work.
That distinction felt important.
I checked messages once.
Customer approved the notebook design.
Supplier replied.
One new inquiry.
Nothing urgent.
I answered what needed answering.
Then stopped.
No reopening production.
No "just one more thing."
I sat on the bed.
The room felt small.
Because it was.
The business felt small.
Because it was.
But the possibilities felt enormous.
That was dangerous.
I knew exactly what I could build from something this size.
I'd done it once.
And somewhere deep inside me, ambition was already waking up.
Not fear.
Not desperation.
Excitement.
I could do this better.
Faster.
Smarter.
I could avoid so many mistakes.
Make so much money earlier.
Build systems before the pain.
Maybe even exceed what I had built before.
I felt the old hunger.
Then I looked at the notebook.
WORK LESS.
GET A LIFE.
DO NOT LET BUSINESS EAT ENTIRE LIFE.
Right.
The goal was not:
Win harder.
The goal was:
Live better.
Ideally both.
But if forced to choose—
I had already seen where one choice ended.
I closed the laptop.
The printer was silent.
Suspiciously silent.
I looked at it.
"Tomorrow."
Nothing.
"Good."
I switched off the light.
Got into bed.
For the first time in years—
technically for the first time in negative twenty-two years—
I went to sleep before midnight.
The business survived.
The customers survived.
The world survived.
Even the printer survived.
Unfortunately.