Hey hivers 👋✨

Sooo this Independence Day I wasn’t really in the mood for crowds or fireworks or those big parades tbh 😅 like… I love my country and all but sometimes I just wanna vibe in silence yk? so I decided to do something different. instead of going out where everyone else was, I went somewhere quiet, old, and kinda mysterious,

Yap-Sandiego Ancestral House in Cebu City 🏠

Yep, that old house in Parian. like super old. they say it was built in the late 1600s 😳 imagine that—older than the Philippines as a country!!! like bruh, that's centuries ago. the walls have literally seen things.

🔍 First impressions

From the outside, it’s not flashy or anything. kinda small-ish, wooden walls, red-tiled roof, and capiz shell windows that reflect the sun in this soft glowy kinda way. super aesthetic ngl 🪟🌞 I was expecting it to be interesting, but I wasn’t ready for what I’d feel walking inside…

👟 The second I stepped in, the whole vibe changed. the city noise disappeared, and all I could hear was my sneakers making the floor creak under me. and omg it was loud in the quietest way possible, like the house was reacting to me being there. weird? yes. spooky? kinda.

👁️‍🗨️ The broken-eyed Sto. Niño

anyway the first thing I saw inside was this Sto. Niño statue, just chilling in a corner. but not the usual cute shiny ones we see everywhere. this one… was old. the paint was faded, the eyes were missing (😳 yes, GONE), and it just gave me that watched feeling. like, “hello sir do you see into my soul??” 👀

And that wasn’t the only one!! every room had religious relics and antique santos—some with no hands, some with no eyes, some just straight-up looking like they survived a war or something. and idk why but my brain kept wondering like... are the missing parts still here?? like maybe inside a drawer or a secret box in the attic?? 🫣

It was beautiful in a gothic, hauntingly sacred kinda way. you know how old cemeteries are peaceful but give you chills at the same time? yeah. that.

🛏️ The upstairs bedroom aka “where the chills start fr”

so I went upstairs (narrowest stairs ever btw), and found this giant four-poster bed in the middle of the room. big. dramatic. creepy but kinda cool. but here's the thing—blanket looked untouched, but I got this stronggg feeling like someone had JUST been lying there 😰

Beside it was a baby cradle.

It. was. moving.

Not violently or anything, just like... a tiny rock back and forth. and there was NO wind. I stared at it way too long (classic horror movie mistake lmao) and then boom—room got colder, air felt thick, my heart started racing like 🚨🚨🚨

Sunlight through the window flickered for a sec. like something passed in front of it. but guess what? I was alone upstairs. at that point I was like 😐 “…I come in peace” lmaooo idk why I said that but it made me feel better for a sec 😂

Was I scared? kinda yeah. but more like… scared of the history? of how real the past felt in there?

💭 Like idk, the energy was heavy. not evil, just… deep. the house felt alive. like it was remembering stuff. lives lived, babies born, people died, love stories, family fights, prayers, everything. and somehow I felt all of that just standing in that room.

🪑 Stuff that tells stories

Back downstairs, I kept looking around. more strange but beautiful stuff—an old birthing chair (like real talk this thing looked painful 😬), a clay stove, super old china, and even this boat-turned-planter in the garden. like bruh they really used what they had back then 😮‍💨

I put my hand on the birthing chair just out of curiosity and suddenly got hit by this wave of emotion. like how many moms sat there in pain, hoping for their babies to be okay? how many first cries echoed in that house?

I wanted to leave. not because I was scared, but because the emotion was too real. the respectful unease turned into full-blown reverence. the house wasn’t scary in a horror movie way, it was haunted by memories. and that hits different.

👴 Chat with the caretaker (aka plot twist guy)

Before I left, I talked to this nice kuya who was the caretaker. super chill. he told me the house is owned by Val Sandiego, a famous local choreographer and culture guy. and that it’s actually a “living museum” 🧡 he even said the family sometimes sleeps there on weekends to keep it alive!

I was like: “uhhh do weird things happen here sometimes?” 👀

He smiled. not a creepy smile tho. more like… “you’re not the first one to ask” kind of smile.

He goes: “sometimes when it rains and it’s really quiet, we hear footsteps upstairs. but it’s not scary. it’s like… the house remembers.”

me: 😮

Honestly, that made it even more magical. like okay yeah maybe there's ghosts, or maybe it’s just old wood and heavy air. but the idea that the house remembers? that hit me in the heart 💔

🌤️ Leaving… or not really?

When I finally stepped back outside into the sun, it felt like I could breathe again. like I’d been holding my breath the whole time inside and didn’t even realize it. there was this weight that lifted… but also stayed?? idk how to explain it.

Was it fear? maybe. respect? definitely. like, the house isn’t just wood and stone. it’s like a time capsule for lives once lived. full of laughter, pain, joy, loss. all of it still hanging in the air like soft whispers you can almost hear.

🇵🇭 and on Independence Day, when we’re all waving flags and feeling proud and loud, I found myself quietly thinking about the people who came before us. the ones who didn’t get fireworks or holidays, but lived and built and dreamed in that very house.

so yeah.

Would I go back?

Probably yes lol.

But next time I’m bringing someone with me… just in case the cradle rocks again 😳💀

Thanks for reading!

If u love places w/ soul + stories (and maybe a few ghosts 👻), def check out Yap-Sandiego Ancestral House. it’s small but deep. like really deep.

🖤 Stay curious, stay respectful, and happy (belated) Independence Day, mga hivers 🇵🇭✨

Note: Photos are edited in Canva.

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