Christian opened his eyes and blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the thin curtains. For a brief moment, he thought he was dreaming.
The familiar scents of his surroundings dusty floorboards, faint incense, and the lingering aroma of fried fish from a neighboring sari-sari store felt both comforting and alien. But the realization hit him like a jolt of electricity: he was no longer twenty-nine, teetering on the edge of his thirties, still shackled by mediocrity and disappointment. He was four years old.
For a heartbeat, panic rose in his chest. Four? That was impossible. Yet, as he flexed his tiny hands, his mind began to fill with the sharp, unshakable clarity of memories. Memories of a life that had barely left a mark on the world. He remembered the cramped folding bed inside the sari-sari store he had been manning for years, a distant relative's property that had been his home, office, and prison. The folding bed in the corner, the creaking wooden shelves lined with cans, snacks, and household staples, the steady, unchanging routine of opening and closing the store day after day—he could see it all like a photograph in his mind.
He remembered himself: twenty-nine, single since birth, almost thirty, a virgin, living a life of quiet desperation. No salary, no recognition, only the meager comforts of free meals and a roof over his head. The store was a cage disguised as charity. He had promised himself in high school—like so many ambitious teenagers—that he would become a millionaire by his thirties. He had envisioned a life of freedom, of respect, of power to shape his own destiny. But now, staring through the eyes of a child, he saw the truth laid bare: he had failed. He had fallen short.
A shiver ran down his spine. The bitterness of wasted years, of dreams unfulfilled, mingled with a sense of disbelief. How had it come to this? All those plans, all that study, all that careful saving and calculation—gone. Mediocrity had swallowed him whole. And yet, here he was, staring at the world through the eyes of a four-year-old, the weight of memory pressing down on him.
Then, slowly, a flicker of exhilaration grew. A second chance. The thought came unbidden but fully formed, like a spark striking flint: I have a second chance. I will not waste it this time. The mundane world of Pasay City, the noisy streets, the rickety jeepneys rattling past, the distant hum of traffic along EDSA—all of it was now a playground for his genius. This time, he would not just survive. This time, he would rise.
Christian's mind raced. Four years old—but armed with the intellect, the memories, and the hard lessons of twenty-nine years of life, he was already leagues ahead of everyone else. He could remember exactly where he had gone wrong. The hesitation, the small compromises, the blind trust in others who had never had his ambition—he would avoid all of it. He could already see the opportunities waiting in Pasay City: the construction boom around Mall of Asia, the bustling port, the small businesses ripe for strategic alliances, the demolition and relocation. The early internet, still in its infancy here, could be his edge. He could leverage technology, investments, and even politics to accelerate what might have taken decades.
He glanced at his tiny hands again. The world saw a four-year-old, weak and dependent, but his mind was sharper than it had ever been. He could plan years ahead, manipulate situations subtly, and learn at an accelerated pace. The limits of his child body were irrelevant compared to the limitless possibilities of his intellect.
A small smile tugged at his lips. For the first time in decades, he felt a surge of power, unrestrained by fear or regret. "This time," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible, "I will make it. I will be the man I promised I would be. Millionaire, yes—but more than that. I will build a life that no one can ignore. I will rewrite my story."
Even as he lay there on the floor of his modest house in riverside, the sounds of vendors and men playing basketball in the court outside forming a chaotic symphony, he felt a deep sense of calm. The mistakes of his previous life would not repeat. He would begin small, learn, adapt, and grow. Every moment, every interaction, every seemingly trivial observation of the world would be fuel for his rise.
The child Christian sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. To the outside world, he was just another four-year-old. But inside, the gears were already turning, spinning strategies and contingencies, calculating risks and rewards, sketching out the blueprint of a future empire. He would start early, play the long game, and watch as the city itself bent to the genius he had become.
Because this time, failure was not an option.