Chapter 10 - Proper Space
Thirty days after I wrote Review in 30 days beside the commercial-space calculations—
I reviewed.
Very disciplined.
Very mature.
Very unlike me.
Unfortunately, the answer was obvious.
We needed to move.
The bedroom had officially lost.
Not dramatically.
No avalanche.
No printer explosion.
Nothing cinematic.
Just slow, undeniable defeat.
There were boxes under my table.
Boxes beside the cabinet.
Paper stock stacked against the wall.
Finished orders occupying one shelf that used to contain actual personal belongings.
Ate Bianca's packaging materials had somehow reproduced.
Kuya Nathan's food-label stock had its own plastic bin.
Wedding invitation materials were beside my bed.
My assistant's chair had been relocated twice because every new order seemed to require another surface.
And that morning—
Mama opened my bedroom door.
Looked around.
Then looked at me.
"Lia."
"What?"
"Yung box mo nasa hallway na."
I looked toward the door.
One box.
Technically touching the hallway.
Barely.
"That is temporary."
Mama stared.
I stared back.
"Very temporary."
"Yesterday pa yan."
Okay.
Less temporary.
"I'm moving."
"Kelangan na."
"I know."
"Kelangan na talaga."
"I said I know."
Mama pointed toward the box.
"Baka bukas nasa hagdan na."
"It will not reach the stairs."
She walked away.
I looked around.
Then at my assistant, who was trying to reach tape without disturbing three stacked paper reams.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"Need na po."
Traitor.
The numbers agreed.
That was the important part.
Orders had increased steadily.
Not because I had recreated some future client list.
Not because I remembered exactly who would buy what.
Just current customers.
Referrals.
Repeat orders.
Family referrals.
School materials.
Invitations.
Packaging.
Small business clients.
Normal growth.
Current-life growth.
The bedroom could still technically handle production.
But technically was doing a lot of work in that sentence.
We were losing time because of the layout.
Materials were getting moved too often.
Finished orders didn't have a proper holding area.
My assistant spent several minutes every hour simply navigating around things.
Production had started touching family space again.
And I knew exactly where that road went.
First—
one box outside the room.
Then two.
Then:
Ma, dito lang muna.
Then the dining table.
Then the spare corner.
Then the hallway.
Then suddenly Mama lived inside a warehouse she never agreed to lease.
No.
I had already done that once.
Not again.
I reopened the commercial listings.
The unit Mama and I had viewed before?
Still available.
Interesting.
I had expected someone else to take it.
Current timeline didn't care about my expectations.
The rent was still within range.
The electrical load had been checked.
Adequate for my current machines, with room for modest expansion.
No flood history reported by the landlord, but I had also asked nearby tenants independently because trusting one person's sales pitch was how people acquired surprise indoor swimming pools during typhoon season.
Access was decent.
Delivery riders could stop in front.
It was close enough to home.
Not beautiful.
Perfect.
Pretty was expensive.
Functional made money.
I messaged the landlord.
Available pa po unit?
Reply came ten minutes later.
Yes ma'am.
I stared at the word ma'am.
Twenty-four.
Already ma'am.
Again.
Tragic.
That afternoon, I went back with Papa.
Mama had already seen it.
Papa hadn't.
Sunday was his rest day, so apparently this had become family due diligence.
He walked inside.
Looked around.
Said nothing.
Checked the rolling door.
Opened it.
Closed it.
Locked it.
Unlocked it.
Walked to the back.
Looked at the bathroom.
Checked the window.
Then—
"Mainit."
I laughed.
"That is your first review?"
"Mainit."
"Electric fan."
"Dalawa."
I nodded.
"Okay."
He pointed at the front.
"Pag umuulan, pumapasok tubig?"
"Landlord says no."
Papa looked at me.
I smiled.
"I asked the neighbors too."
He nodded once.
Good answer.
Then he checked the outlets.
"How many printer?"
"Current? One main, one smaller unit eventually. Plus laminator, cutter, computers."
"Sabaysabay?"
"Sometimes."
"Pa-check mo electrician."
"Already scheduled."
Papa looked at me.
"Okay."
That was basically a five-star review from him.
Mama joined us later.
The first thing she checked—
"May tubig?"
I stared.
"You checked that last time."
"Check ulit."
She turned the faucet on.
Water.
Still present.
Excellent.
Then:
"Saan kakain tao mo?"
I pointed toward the back corner.
"Small table."
"Wag sa work table."
"Exactly."
"CR may lock?"
"Yes."
"May basurahan?"
"I'll buy."
"First aid?"
I paused.
"Good point."
Mama nodded.
"Fire extinguisher?"
I looked at her.
She looked back.
I slowly took out my phone.
Added it to the list.
"Also good point."
Papa laughed.
Mama:
"Ano?"
"Nothing."
Apparently my forty-five-year-old executive brain was still vulnerable to Mama Operational Audit.
Humbling.
Sofia came with us the second time.
Mostly because she was bored.
At least that's what she claimed.
She walked inside.
Looked around.
"Small."
"Yes."
"Enough?"
"For now."
She nodded.
Then pointed.
"Inventory there?"
I looked.
"Raw materials."
"Finished?"
"Opposite wall."
"Why opposite?"
"So they don't get mixed."
She nodded.
Then—
"Returns?"
I looked at her.
"What?"
"Or errors."
Interesting.
I had planned a rework shelf.
But she had asked before I mentioned it.
I pointed to a smaller rack area.
"Separate bin."
She nodded.
"Okay."
I stared.
"What?"
"What?"
"BSBA."
She frowned.
"Yes?"
"Useful."
She stared at me.
"Obviously."
I put a hand over my heart.
"I'm so proud."
"Stop."
"No, genuinely. Finally, someone in this family studied the subject."
She rolled her eyes.
"You own a business."
"And I have Science Education."
"Whose fault is that?"
I stared.
Uncalled for.
We signed the lease two days later.
No grand moment.
No dramatic music.
Just:
IDs.
Contract.
Deposit.
Advance.
Signatures.
Keys.
The landlord handed them over.
I looked at the keys.
Small.
Ordinary.
I had held keys to much bigger things in Original Life.
Warehouses.
Offices.
Properties.
Facilities large enough to require floor maps.
But these?
These felt—
different.
Maybe because I remembered the first time I had done this without knowing anything.
How exciting it had felt.
How terrifying.
How proud.
Then how quickly I had turned every milestone into the starting line for the next one.
This time—
I let myself hold the key for a second.
Just—
hold it.
Then Mama said—
"Bili tayo shelves."
Moment over.
Correct.
I did not buy pretty shelves.
This deserves documentation.
Because twenty-four-year-old me had once spent unnecessary money on shelves that looked good in photos.
Beautiful.
Minimalist.
Terrible capacity.
They bowed under weight.
One eventually broke.
I remembered staring at it in betrayal.
Current me bought ugly industrial shelving.
Metal.
Strong.
Adjustable.
Not Instagrammable.
Excellent.
My assistant looked at them.
"Ma'am, parang warehouse."
"Thank you."
"I mean—"
"That was a compliment."
"Okay."
We planned the room before moving anything.
Not because the business required a process-engineering department.
Because moving a printer three times was annoying.
I used masking tape on the floor.
Printing station.
Cutting and finishing.
Packing.
Raw materials.
Finished orders.
Rework.
Admin desk.
Small eating area.
Clear walkway.
My assistant stood in the middle.
"Ma'am."
"Hm?"
"Parang ang dami niyo pong iniisip."
I looked at the floor.
"You have no idea."
They laughed.
I didn't.
There were rules that had cost me years to learn.
Printers did not belong where afternoon sun could cook them.
Frequently used materials should never require a stool.
Finished products and raw stock needed separate zones.
Packaging materials should be within reach of packing—not across the room because someone thought symmetry looked nice.
Cutting tools had one designated area.
Rejects did not go back into good stock "temporarily."
There was no such thing as temporarily.
Temporary became permanent the second everyone got busy.
Every item needed a home.
And above all—
walkways were not storage.
I looked at my assistant.
"Rule."
They looked at me.
"Wala pong box sa walkway?"
I smiled.
"Beautiful."
They laughed.
I also refused to build systems for a company we didn't have yet.
I knew what came later.
Inventory software.
Production dashboards.
Customer relationship systems.
Purchase-order workflows.
Warehouse controls.
Automations.
Approvals.
Department structures.
All useful.
At scale.
Right now?
There were two of us.
Building enterprise software for two people would have been performance art.
So—
simple.
Spreadsheet.
Order number.
Customer.
Product.
Quantity.
Deadline.
Payment status.
Production status.
Pickup or delivery.
Notes.
Physical job ticket for customized orders.
Colored bins.
Labels.
Minimum stock levels for frequently used materials.
Daily closing checklist.
Weekly inventory check.
That's it.
My assistant looked at the printed checklist.
"Ma'am, everyday po?"
"Everyday."
"Check printer?"
"Yes."
"Clean table?"
"Yes."
"Return tools?"
"Yes."
"Turn off equipment?"
"Yes."
"Check pending orders?"
"Yes."
They looked at me.
"Parang school."
I froze.
Science Education degree.
At last.
A use.
"Don't insult me."
They laughed.
The move took two days.
Not because there was that much equipment.
Because apparently every box contained something I had forgotten owning.
Mama stood downstairs while we carried things out.
"That one?"
"Paper."
"That?"
"Packaging."
"That?"
"Old samples."
"That?"
I looked.
No idea.
We opened it.