Planning Our Escape: A Love Letter to Baguio, Patience, and Control
By Richard Valdez – www.RichardValdezRE.com
You start with a plan. Always. A plan is how you stay ahead. A plan is how you survive.
Ours began earlier this year. Jon and I—we’re planners. Not just in the metaphorical sense. We’re literally project planners. He’s still deep in the mechanics of urban planning here in San Francisco. Me? I navigate the anatomy of homes, the psychology of buyers, the chessboard of listings. A licensed real estate agent. A reader of people, of neighborhoods, of risk.
So naturally, when we whispered the words “move back to the Philippines”, we didn’t just dream. We started building. Five years out? That’s not far. That’s breathing room. That’s strategy.
Step one: find a local real estate agent in Baguio City. Done.
Step two: vet six architectural firms—painstakingly, over Zoom, WhatsApp, Gmail. Voices on screens. Pixelated hand gestures. Carefully worded emails that say just enough but never too much. In a month, we had our pick. We chose the ones who got it. The ones who would build our future.
But then came the part no one likes to admit: the human variable. Our agent in Baguio? She missed the cue. The brief was simple: South Drive only. An old-money enclave, scarce inventory, expensive, exclusive. Very us. But also... unrealistic. The kind of place people don't leave. Not often. Not willingly.
Still, she stuck to the plan. Stubbornly. Blindly.
And I—I adapted. Because I’ve learned: when people don’t see the full picture, you look harder.
So I started searching. Quietly. Relentlessly. Every neighborhood. Every subdivision. Every lot. I studied them like case files. I pulled up Baguio’s GeoHazard maps like I was preparing for a trial. Landslides. Earthquakes. Sinkholes. Nature’s not romantic. It’s cruel. It doesn’t care that you want a balcony view.
60 to 70 percent of Baguio sits on dangerous terrain.
Not unlike California, where we pretend paradise isn’t flammable. But Malibu burned. Pacific Palisades, too. Fire, earth, water—they don’t discriminate.
So I did what survival demands. I made a decision.
We would not put everything—our dreams, our savings, our future—in one house, one street, one piece of soil that might vanish when the earth groans. There would be a backup plan. There would be another home. A second anchor. Because love is strong, but contingency is smarter.
And still... our agent didn’t adjust. She knew we were looking elsewhere, but she didn’t ask why. Didn’t pivot. As an agent myself, that’s a red flag wrapped in apathy. You talk to your clients. You evolve with them. You see them.
She didn’t.
So, we moved on.
I took over. Fully. I found the lot. Not just safe—strategically sound. Near the city center. Shielded. Practical. Real. Our architects visited. Approved. We move forward. Not because of her, but in spite of her.
And that’s the truth no one likes to say out loud:
Sometimes, if you want it done right, you do it yourself.
The Lesson?
Curiosity is currency. Communication is everything. And planning—real, unflinching, no-BS planning—is how you protect what you love.
Whether you’re moving across oceans or just trying to make it through the morning, control isn’t a luxury. It’s a lifeline.
And I intend to hold on.
