When I think about Scotland, the first feeling that comes to mind isn’t excitement.
It’s relief.
Relief that I made it back in time to give Sofia and Isabelle a better life. A safer, more secure environment, with stronger healthcare, education, and opportunities. Relief that we’ll be back somewhere structured, where life isn’t a constant battle against chaos, noise, and unpredictability.
That relief matters more than anything else.
But once I let myself think a little further ahead — beyond the logistics of the move, beyond the responsibility — my mind shifts to something quieter.
I picture being outside.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. Just being outdoors more often, in an environment that encourages it. An environment that, even when it’s cold, wet, or windswept, still feels accessible. Inviting, even.
It’s always interesting to me how people react when I say I live in the Philippines. They imagine what they’ve seen on YouTube: white sand beaches, turquoise water, endless sunshine, friendly smiles. And yes, the Philippines has all of that. But it isn’t the reality of daily life here.
The reality is heat and humidity that makes spending time outdoors uncomfortable for much of the day. Noise — constant, inescapable noise — from morning until night. Landscapes that can be beautiful, but are often inaccessible, and when they are accessible, overcrowded.
That’s not a complaint. It’s just my lived reality after nearly a decade here.
So when I think of Scotland, what I’m really looking forward to is the opposite of all that. The ease of stepping outside. The wilderness. The quiet. The ability to be alone in nature, where nature is still the dominant force, not something squeezed between roads, buildings, and people.
That thought alone — the peace, the space, the time — that’s what I’m looking forward to most. For Sofia, who is desperate to get back to the UK, this is what she’s looking forward to most.
Photography fits into this, of course, but it isn’t the point. Grand landscapes, wildlife, camping out — those are my justifications. They’re the reasons I give myself to spend time outdoors. To slow down. To notice. To be present.
Right now, time is the thing I have the least of. Especially with the move, it feels constantly fragmented. Writing an article can involve twenty or thirty interruptions. Shooting over the past month or two has been minimal — squeezed into visa runs to Dumaguete or family trips where photography has to come second.
In Scotland, that changes.
Over the last six months, despite everything else going on, I’ve managed to put myself in a position where I’ll be able to shoot more, write more deeply, and give more value with each article. That matters to me. It allows me to focus on work that’s genuinely helpful, more aligned with what I believe in, and rooted in subjects that actually inspire me.
I hope that shows in the work when it starts appearing.
For me, the camera — whichever brand or model it happens to be — isn’t about output. It’s a reason to get outside. An excuse to immerse myself in nature. A way to switch my brain off from day-to-day stresses, clear my head, and focus on what’s in front of me, or simply enjoy where I am.
The weather is part of that appeal. In Scotland, if it’s cold, I add a layer. If it’s wet, I put on a jacket. I know I might be the first person in the world to say this, but after years of heat and humidity, I’m genuinely looking forward to cool, fresh air — and especially to the changing seasons.
That’s something I never really thought about when I lived in the UK, but something I’ve missed deeply since leaving.
If I come back with strong photographs, that will be a bonus.
But if I come back calmer, more grounded, and more present — with time, quiet, and space again — that will be the real payoff.
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I’m 37 days away. Not that I’m counting.