I’ve been coming to Palawan for many years—first as a consultant of a USAID-funded project with the Department of Tourism, helping position this island paradise as one of the Philippines’ top tourist destinations.
Back then, I saw Palawan through the lens of strategy, numbers, and development goals. Little did I know, this island would one day become more than a project. It would become home.
Like many others, the pandemic forced a pause on the usual pace of life. In 2022, carrying the quiet weight of sadness, I left Manila—the city I had called home since I graduated from college and became a reporter for the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
Motherhood had already shifted my life dramatically in the early 2000s, pulling me away from the newsroom and eventually, into the world of development consulting. But when the world stood still, I took it as a sign to slow down, to heal, to begin again.
I came to Puerto Princesa simply to breathe, to rest, and maybe find myself again. I wasn’t expecting anything, really. But on one of my drives around the city, I saw a sign that said: The City of the Living God. And something deep inside me stirred. It was as if the place was whispering, “You’re where you’re meant to be.”
What began as a temporary escape quietly transformed into a full-circle moment. I started over—not just in work, but in life. I met people who had also come to Palawan searching for something: peace, purpose, or just a bit of quiet. And like me, they stayed.
Puerto Princesa, with its slower rhythms, generous skies, and healing seas, holds a kind of sacred stillness. There’s something in the way the sun sets at the Bacungan viewing deck, how the waters in the West Philippine Sea seems to wash away all pretenses. Nature doesn’t hurry here—and neither do the people.
Palawan taught me to slow down, to listen to the silence, to embrace stillness without guilt. It offered me not only refuge but a kind of rebirth. I came here thinking I was just pausing. But this place gave me more than a pause—it gave me peace.
Many of us who now call Palawan home came here for work, for travel, or by chance. But we stayed for something more profound: healing.
Palawan isn’t just a world-class destination. For many, like me, it’s a sanctuary. A place where the soul can rest, where broken pieces are gently made whole again.
