Chapter 30 - Next Life Na Lang
Forty-nine became fifty.
Then fifty-two.
Then fifty-five.
Nothing exploded.
No secret curse activated.
No punishment arrived because I had survived forty-five.
Life just—
kept going.
Which, after everything, felt almost suspiciously generous.
By fifty, I no longer knew the daily details of every business I owned.
That would've terrified Original Lia.
Current Lia considered it evidence of competent hiring.
Abigail had long since moved beyond coordinating one workspace.
There were managers.
Department heads.
Finance people.
Operations people.
Legal.
HR.
People whose job descriptions did not include—
ask Lia everything.
Beautiful.
I still worked.
I liked working.
That part never disappeared.
Deals were fun.
Strategy was fun.
Finding a problem nobody else had noticed and fixing it before it became expensive?
Still—
excellent.
But work had a place.
And when I left—
I left.
I traveled more.
Sometimes with family.
Sometimes friends.
Sometimes alone.
Japan.
Thailand.
Korea.
Singapore.
A few places farther away once flights stopped offending my patience.
I took photos.
Ate too much.
Bought unnecessary things.
Lost money converting currencies badly once because I was tired and refused to calculate.
Character development.
Mama and Papa got older.
That part I liked less.
More doctor appointments.
More medications.
More reminders.
More—
"Ma, don't carry that."
"I can."
"I know. Don't."
Papa became slower walking up stairs.
Still stubborn.
Still refused help until he actually needed it.
So we adjusted.
Family dinners became less spontaneous and more—
Who's picking them up?
What time?
Did Papa take his medicine?
Mama said she already ate. Verify.
Ramos family operations had evolved.
Different department.
Ate Bianca remained Ate Bianca.
Successful.
Still occasionally bought inventory because—
"Ang ganda."
Still called me after.
Still asked—
"Okay naman 'to, 'di ba?"
Too late.
Kuya Nathan and Ate Vivian had built something stable enough that Kuya finally stopped acting like every promotion needed to reduce his own profit to zero.
Progress took decades.
Sofia's beauty business became much bigger than the little operation she had started at the dining table.
She no longer needed my help.
Which did not stop her from asking sometimes.
Mostly because siblings enjoyed outsourcing thought when convenient.
Jane and Camille stayed together.
By then, saying—
Jane's girlfriend
—felt ridiculous.
Camille was simply Camille.
She had survived enough Ramos/Navarro/Chloe dinners to earn permanent status.
The joke survived too.
Unfortunately.
At fifty-one, Jane sent me a photo of Camille dressed for an event.
look
I stared.
Then replied—
JANE
what
STOP SELLING YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO ME
i'm showing you her dress ??
organized. cooks. drives. excellent nose. very nice legs. now dress. this is a sales presentation
Camille apparently took the phone.
premium package upgraded
I laughed.
Some relationships had consistency.
Ours had harassment.
Celeste was still there too.
Her tutorial business had become established enough that people no longer called it—
Celeste's tutorial center.
It had a proper name.
Multiple locations.
Academic heads.
Managers.
Grace had stayed for years and eventually became one of the people Celeste trusted most operationally.
Celeste still taught occasionally.
Because she liked it.
Not because she had to.
Good.
She also remained a public nuisance.
At fifty-two:
Photo.
Celeste at some formal event.
Still beautiful.
Still polished.
Still—
annoyingly Celeste.
Caption:
not flirting
I replied—
you've been issuing this update for almost thirty years
consistency builds trust
this has built nothing
Pause.
unless
I stared.
Then typed—
celeste
lia
we are in our fifties
and?
Fair.
I had no answer.
I dated.
A little more than before.
Not intensely.
Not strategically.
No checklist.
No five-year relationship plan.
Dinner here.
Coffee there.
A woman I met through friends.
Someone from a business circle.
Someone I met while traveling.
One lasted almost a year.
Nice.
Comfortable.
Then ended quietly when we realized comfortable wasn't enough for either of us.
No disaster.
No cheating.
No dramatic airport scene.
Just—
thank you.
Take care.
Life continued.
By fifty-four, people had mostly stopped asking why I was single.
Maybe because at fifty-four, strangers finally assumed I had made the decision intentionally.
Correct.
Some friends still teased.
Family occasionally tried.
Ate Bianca once said—
"May kilala ako."
I looked at her.
"No."
"Hindi mo pa nakikita."
"No."
"Pretty."
"No."
"Business owner."
"No."
"Single."
"Ate."
She laughed.
"Fine."
Jane asked differently.
We were having coffee one afternoon.
Just the two of us.
She stirred her drink.
"So talaga?"
"What?"
"Okay ka?"
"With?"
"Being single."
I looked at her.
"Yeah."
"Never lonely?"
"Sometimes."
She nodded.
Good question.
Because happy people got lonely too.
People with partners got lonely.
People with friends got lonely.
Loneliness wasn't proof I'd built the wrong life.
"I've wanted someone sometimes," I said.
Jane nodded.
"But?"
I shrugged.
"Never enough to force it."
She smiled.
"Fair."
Then—
"Next life na lang?"
I laughed.
She remembered.
"Maybe."
"You keep saying that."
"Eventually one of the lives has to cooperate."
She stared.
I realized what I'd said.
Oops.
I smiled.
"Figure of speech."
"Ang weird mo."
"Consistent."
At fifty-five, I took almost an entire month off.
Not because I was sick.
Not because I burned out.
Because I wanted to.
That would've been unimaginable once.
I traveled.
Came home.
Spent time with Mama and Papa.
Had dinners.
Read.
Played piano badly.
Less badly than before.
Still not monetized.
A personal victory.
The business did fine.
Naturally.
At some point Abigail sent—
FYI, everything normal. stop asking.
I stared.
I had asked once.
i asked ONE TIME
one too many
Disrespectful.
I increased her bonus.
Then I turned fifty-six.
No huge party.
By then, I'd had enough huge birthdays.
Mama wanted food.
So there was food.
Papa wanted everyone there.
So everyone tried.
Ate Bianca.
Kuya Nathan.
Ate Vivian.
Sofia.
Jane.
Camille.
Chloe.
Some came earlier.
Some later.
People had their own lives now.
Schedules.
Families.
Commitments.
No one needed to be in one room at exactly the same time for the day to count.
I had learned that too.
Jane handed me cake.
Chocolate.
Of course.
I stared.
"Again?"
"You still eat it."
"Valid."
Camille handed me another container.
I pointed at Jane immediately.
"No."
Jane started laughing.
"I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING."
Camille:
"Premium package."
"Return to sender."
Chloe:
"Very nice legs."
"We are fifty-six."
Jane laughed.
"You said the same thing at forty-one."
"And yet you're still doing it."
"Consistency."
Celeste had infected everyone.
Later that night, after most people had gone, I sat outside with Chloe and Jane.
Camille had gone ahead because she had work early.
We were tired.
Full.
Quiet.
Rare.
Chloe looked at me.
"Fifty-six."
"Yes."
"Old."
"You're not far behind."
"Still old."
Jane smiled.
"Any birthday wish?"
I thought.
Money?
Had enough.
Business?
Fine.
Family?
Still here.
Friends?
Also here.
Relationship?
I laughed.
"What?"
Jane asked.
"Nothing."
"Say."
I leaned back.
"Next life na lang ako magjo-jowa."
Chloe laughed immediately.
Jane stared.
"Again?"
"Yes."
"Baka marinig ka ng universe."
I smiled.
"Then finally useful siya."
Chloe:
"Dangerous."
"I'm fifty-six. What's it going to do?"
There.
A sentence nobody in a reset story should ever say.
If I had known—
I would've shut up.
Three weeks later, I was in the car.
Not driving.
Thank God.
I had a driver.
Another thing Original Lia eventually learned too late.
It was afternoon.
Normal weekday.
I had left a lunch meeting early because the rest could be handled by email.
No rush.
No late work.
No exhaustion.
No chest pain.
Nothing poetic.
I was looking out the window.
Thinking about dinner.
Mama had asked if I was coming over.
I had said—
maybe 6:30
Simple.
My phone buzzed.
Jane.
Photo.
Camille.
I stared.
Then laughed.
stop selling your girlfriend to me
Jane:
SHE BOUGHT NEW SHOES
WHY DO I NEED THIS INFORMATION
very nice legs deserve nice shoes
I covered my face.
Fifty-six years old.
Still this shit.
I typed—
goodbye jane
Then another notification.
Celeste.
not flirting
I laughed again.
Of course.
I didn't open it.
Later.
There would be later.
The car slowed.
Then—
everything happened at once.
A horn.
Too close.
The driver's voice.
Brakes.
Movement.
Metal.
Glass.
Impact.
No warning from memory.
No date circled in a notebook.
No body failing because I had neglected it.
Just—
bad timing.
Bad road.
Bad luck.
For one strange second, everything was quiet.
I couldn't tell where my phone had gone.
Couldn't move properly.
Couldn't breathe properly either.
That seemed—
bad.
Somewhere nearby, someone was shouting.
I thought about Mama.
Papa.
Dinner.
Fuck.
I was supposed to be there at six-thirty.
Then—
absurdly—
I thought about the message I hadn't opened.
Celeste.
Not flirting.
Probably.
I almost laughed.
Bad idea.
Pain.
I had imagined death differently after the first one.
Maybe old age.
Hospital.
Bed.
Family nearby.
Enough time to say things.
Maybe ninety.
Maybe more.
I had been planning to become extremely irritating in retirement.
Apparently—
no.
Fifty-six.
Car crash.
Random.
Unfair.
Normal.
But this time—
I didn't think about unfinished work.
That surprised me.
No client.
No contract.
No meeting.
No spreadsheet.
The businesses would survive.
Abigail would make sure of it.
So would everyone else.
I thought about people.
Mama.
Papa.
Ate Bianca.
Kuya Nathan.
Ate Vivian.
Sofia.
Jane.
Chloe.
Camille.
Celeste.
The team.
The years.
The trips.
The birthdays.
The stupid jokes.
The nights I went home.
The mornings I slept late.
The Sundays where nothing happened.
Everything I'd once considered optional.
Thirty-three years.
From twenty-three to fifty-six.
I had lived them.
Actually lived them.
That mattered.
Then one final thought arrived.
Completely inappropriate.
Completely me.
Next life na lang ako magjo-jowa.
I had said that.
Out loud.
To witnesses.
I suddenly became deeply suspicious of the universe.
Fuck.
Darkness came.
And this time—
I wasn't at a desk.