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Carcar
In a dimly lit room of a guesthouse high in the mountains, an old lady once spoke to me about the importance of lineage. Her frail body leant on the bedpost, her fourth beer steadily in hand. She was mildly belligerent, her voice languorous and yet insistent. "When we were young," she declared, "we were taught to stand in front of strangers and recite our lineage. It was so people knew where we came from, and if we should thus be respected." She said every word decisively, and if she hadn't fallen asleep from such pointed pronunciation, I was afraid I would have to start remembering my grandmother's middle name. Four months after, I was racing down the highway of Cebu, bent on finding my roots in the historical town of Carcar. Maybe I was feeling jittery about not being able to recite in chronological order who begot whom in my clan of 13 children per family. Besides being pegged to write an article about the former capital of Cebu, I jumped at the chance of exploring my bloodlines, and so I was prompted to complete the missing branches of the Noels (my mother's family line), to see Carcar as my forefathers had known it, and to meet distant relatives who turn gracious at the drop of a name. If respect were really earned through filial connections, I wanted to see if I could be queen of the south. Politicians on Trees Taking off from Cebu City, the hour-long ride to Carcar is half a maze through diesel smog, half a glorious cruise under the shade of stately acacias. It's glorious until you see last year's political candidates grinning at you from under the eaves, their cheap printed campaign posters worn but still clinging to those majestic trunks. Once the road curves into Carcar's town square, vestiges of the Spanish colonial period appear alongside modern architecture. Gaisano department store and Jollibee are recent additions to this center of commerce that dates back to the 16th century. Just 40 km from Cebu City, Carcar is a picture-perfect town that provides a sense of ancestry for old Cebuano families. Some families have taken pains to restore the decaying architecture of ancestral homes, providing a facelift to both the town and the family name. The centuries-old Santa Catalina Church still stands regally in its Greco-Roman design, where pilgrims flock every 25th of November. St. Catherine's School is a beautiful American-era structure that continues to provide primary to college education. Carcar is a junction point for two reasons. First it is a crossroads that leads either farther south or southwest. Second, it stands at the fulcrum of Cebu's development. Heritage and preservation are buzzwords in this town, a unique draw in a province careening into progress and modernity. It is a town decked in the grandeur of the past, perhaps even reveling in its antiquity. Mi Casa Es Su Casa One of the attributes that make Cebu a truly provincial place is that a person can still ride on the laurels of an old name. Political strategy consists of being born into the "right" family, or marrying into one. More often than not, political dynasties are created not by the superb function of genetics, but from possessing a familiar family name. Over half a century after most of the Noels moved out of Carcar, for example, there are still Noels who hold public office in the south. I don't know any of them, though I suppose we're all related. The Noels are of Spanish descent (as evidenced by the prominent mestizo features), though a certificate in my house says that the name is actually of French origin. It was never clear to me what being a Noel meant. As my mom's maiden name, it's merely been an initial in my byline. By venturing south that day, I stepped back into a past with which I wasn't the least bit familiar. I knew where to find the house where my grandfather, Gabriel Noel, grew up. Off a side street from the central rotunda and behind a school, the Noels' ancestral home is its own heritage site. For the past few years, active members of our huge clan have pushed for the restoration of the house, urging relatives to hark back to their bloodlines by helping fund the restoration. The original structure dates back to the 19th century, and I discovered that until today Noels still live in that house. I've read of houses in Carcar that are "reminiscent of the belle époque era." This wasn't one of them. It is simply an old structure that is at best dignified in its foundation that has weathered a century and a half of diaspora and decay. There is another ancestral house of the Noels' along Sta. Catalina St. that I hear has been beautifully restored and has been declared a heritage site open to visitors to explore and admire. I unfortunately wasn't able to visit it that day. At my grandfather's house, someone whom I assumed to be my uncle was leaning on the balustrade of a wooden staircase. I smiled at him, shielding my eyes from the harsh mid-afternoon sunlight. I introduced myself as the daughter of so-and-so, and politely asked if I could look around the house. After establishing that I was family, he greeted me warmly and invited me to the living room at the 2nd floor of the house. As I walked up the stairs, I realized that these steps had served as the backdrop for generations of family portraits (I later saw these black and white photographs hanging around the living room walls). I was offered a glass of iced Coke, while we chitchatted about family. We talked about distant relatives and the yearly reunion that took place in that house. I asked him what my great-grandparents used to do that had earned them a relatively esteemed status in society. He wasn't sure. As landowners of that period, they probably didn't have to do much. As I studied the photographs on the walls, it was apparent to me that I was a stranger in my own family. I didn't recognize many of the faces that I resembled. There probably isn't much mystery to what became of all the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. That information is probably available to anyone who bothers to find out. Because I had never made an effort until now, I was far from reciting my long list of ancestors. Preservation is a tricky thing. It goes beyond refurbishing a house where our grandparents used to live. Carcar, for all its noble efforts at preserving its antique edifices, has become a ghost town for the predecessors of its former inhabitants. Still, one thing remains. As I was saying goodbye, my uncle clasped my hand and told me warmly to come back whenever I was in the area. I never learned his name, but that didn't matter. We knew we were family. |
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