Starting From Scratch, Finding Peace

When we packed our lives into a few suitcases and flew from the Philippines to New Zealand, I thought I was ready to start over. I wasn’t.

Starting fresh sounds poetic—romantic, even. But in reality, it looks more like wandering aisles in search of rice that tastes like home, standing puzzled before shelves of unfamiliar shampoos that all smell almost right but never quite, and shivering in three layers while locals stroll past in shorts, unfazed by the cold that wraps around your bones.

I moved to New Zealand in September 2023, leaving behind a career in engineering, years of routine, and the comforting noise of home. What I found here was silence—literal and metaphorical. And in that quiet, a chance to start again.

Starting over isn’t just turning a page—it’s learning a whole new alphabet.

I swapped plant reports and technical meetings for slow walks by the lake, for ungraceful laps in public pools—flailing beside Kiwis who glide through the water like they were born in it, and for uphill bike rides so steep they felt like a personal vendetta—each climb a ghost of every skipped workout.

I had to learn the art of slowing down—a foreign rhythm for someone who once measured days in deadlines and milestones. Suddenly, the pace wasn’t a sprint. Life no longer rushed forward in sharp, focused strides; it softened into a meandering walk through unknown paths, the signal unreliable and the destination less important than the noticing.

But somewhere in all this unfamiliarity, I found something I didn’t expect: peace.

Peace in cooking without the comfort of familiar labels—in standing in a quiet kitchen, sleeves rolled up, learning to improvise when the soy sauce tastes different. Peace in letting go of recipes passed down by heart and learning instead to follow instinct—to listen for the sizzle, to trust the scent, to turn unfamiliar vegetables into something nourishing.

Peace in getting lost and stumbling upon a small café with flat whites so good they made me forget how far I’d wandered. In finding familiar warmth in unfamiliar places—a smile from a stranger, the comfort of a quiet bench by the lake, the surprise of Tagalog overheard at the farmers’ market. Peace in the small moments that stitch a foreign place into something that almost feels like home.

Peace in routines I never used to have: cycling to and from work and hoping the rain waits till I get home, walking home from the library with a tote full of borrowed stories, pulling weeds and trimming wild branches in our new backyard that feels too big and too beautiful for our old city habits. Making coffee in the new machine, laying out dinner ingredients with no urgency, lighting candles on weekday evenings—just because—as if to say even ordinary nights deserve a bit of ceremony.

Peace in slowing down long enough to notice the way the light changes through the seasons—the golden stretch of summer evenings, the soft grey hush of winter mornings, the sharp brilliance of spring breaking through bare branches. Peace in the long shadows that creep across the living room floor, in the warmth that slips through sheer curtains, in the quiet moment when you realise the days are growing longer again. Peace in watching it all unfold, slowly, gently, like the world taking a breath.

Peace in building a life not out of plans and titles, but out of slow breakfasts, unhurried walks, and evenings spent chasing sunsets instead of deadlines. Peace in choosing simplicity over status, in folding laundry still warm from the line, in rereading familiar books under unfamiliar skies. Peace in the freedom to be a beginner again—to try, to stumble, to grow—not for recognition, but for joy.

Starting over isn’t a destination—it’s a journey stitched together by quiet discoveries and imperfect moments. It’s learning to find home not in a place, but in the peace that grows in the soft rhythm of everyday life, and in the courage to begin again.

This is where I am now—still learning the alphabet of a new life, one letter at a time. No longer rushing to arrive, just learning to enjoy the quiet hope of becoming. ✨