Busy being Maria: Slow Living

19 December 2025

Three Weeks in Pagudpud: A Quiet Reset in Northern Luzon

VA Life 12/19/2025 07:37:00 pm 0

In November 2025, I spent about three weeks in Pagudpud—a quiet coastal town in northern Luzon.

It came during a transitional period in my work. I had just come off a client engagement as a virtual assistant, and I decided to take a short break before fully stepping into the next phase of applications and opportunities.

It wasn’t planned as a long escape. It became one.

I stayed at Apo Idon Beach Hotel, a place I immediately liked for its rustic, slightly European feel—the exterior, the interiors, and even the room design had a quiet charm that matched the slower pace of the town.

A slower daily rhythm

Life in Pagudpud settled into a simple routine.

Mornings often began with breakfast at Villa Manuela Beach Resort, followed by light swimming and time near the shore.

The days were not structured around activity, but around rest and recovery. I was in between work engagements at the time, so I continued sending applications and quietly preparing for my next VA role whenever I had the energy.

Afternoons were usually slow—walks, quiet time, or just staying near the beach. The pace of everything felt naturally reduced compared to city life.

Evenings were my favorite part of the day. Sunset watching became a daily habit—the sky shifting slowly over the water, with nothing urgent pulling attention away from it.

The feeling of the place

Pagudpud felt different from more commercial beach destinations.

There was space. Not just physical space, but mental space. Fewer distractions. Fewer demands. A sense that things could simply pause without consequence.

It didn’t feel like escape as much as it felt like recalibration.

A final day at the falls

On our last day, we went inland to visit Kabigan Falls.

The walk toward the falls was quiet and green, a contrast to the coastline we had been staying near. The water was cool and steady, and the environment felt untouched in a way that made the visit feel unhurried and grounding.

It was a fitting close to the stay—moving from open sea to enclosed nature, from stillness to flow.

The entire stay carried a sense of reset and recalibration.

There was uncertainty about work, but also a quiet commitment to move forward. It wasn’t a break from life—it was a pause inside it, where I could recover enough clarity to continue.

My time in Pagudpud wasn’t about escape.

It was about giving myself space after stepping away from a client role, while slowly preparing for what came next.

In that space between work and uncertainty, I found something simple but important:

Stillness doesn’t stop progress. Sometimes, it makes it possible.

02 October 2024

Three Weeks in Santa Cruz: Living, Working, and Slowing Down

Work From Anywhere 10/02/2024 05:57:00 pm 0

My time in Santa Cruz was one of those rare stretches where work and life quietly blended into each other.

At the time, I was working night shift as a calendar manager for a life coach based in California, USA. My role was fully remote, but time-zone driven—my workdays started when most of the world was winding down.

That rhythm made it possible for me to spend three weeks in a quiet home called Mango Tree, which became my temporary base for both work and slow living.

The rhythm of night shift life

My schedule flipped the usual structure of the day.

Evenings were for preparing, and nights were for work—managing calendars, coordinating appointments, and keeping everything aligned for a client operating on Pacific Time.

Remote work doesn’t remove responsibility—it just relocates it. In my case, it meant working while the rest of the household was asleep, and resting while the province was fully awake.

What made the experience different wasn’t the workload, but the environment surrounding it.

Birds replaced alarms in the morning. The air felt lighter during the day. And the hours outside work became slower, quieter, and more intentional.

Living close to the sea

One of the most enjoyable parts of the stay was how close I was to the shoreline at Sta. Cruz beach shoreline.

I really appreciated having the freedom to start my mornings with a swim, get some sun, and naturally build a bit of a tan without even trying. It became part of the rhythm of the day—simple, unplanned, and grounding.

In the late afternoons, I often spent an hour or two by the water again, just watching the sunset while having a quiet dip in the rocky, sandy beach. The waves were gentle most days, and the light would shift slowly as the day ended.

Those moments—unstructured and unhurried—became some of the most memorable parts of the stay.

A slower provincial pace

Living in the province naturally changed how I moved through the day.

Fresh produce was easy to find in local markets. Meals felt simpler, not because they were limited, but because they were closer to the source.

There’s a quiet difference in that kind of living—less noise, less urgency, and more awareness of what’s immediately around you.

Moving through town

During my stay, I would occasionally go into town in Santa Cruz to run errands and restock supplies.

Transportation was simple—a dirt road bike suited for the terrain and the rougher provincial roads. The trips weren’t long, but they became part of the weekly rhythm.

A quick stop at the local mall for essentials, then a return to the quieter side of the province. Nothing complicated—just practical movement between work and rest.

What this experience taught me

What stood out most wasn’t the place itself, but how quickly life adapts when your environment changes.

I didn’t feel like I was on vacation, and I didn’t feel disconnected from work either. It felt like a temporary shift in lifestyle—where both could exist in the same space without conflict.

It also made one thing clear:

Remote work isn’t just about location. It’s about whether the environment supports the kind of focus and rhythm your work requires.

To conclude, that three-week stay in Santa Cruz wasn’t an escape from work or routine.

It was a reminder that both can exist together more naturally than we often assume—if the environment allows it.

And for a short time, Mango Tree became exactly that kind of space.

Busy being Maria