Yesterday, we took a trip into Philippine history. It's somewhat surprising to me, a self-described history geek, that I have not seen this before.
We went to Intramuros, Spanish for "inside the wall", otherwise known as the original settlement of Manila. It's actually pretty beautiful, reminiscent of a small Spanish settlement, wedged between Manila Bay and the Pasig River.
It's also where all the history is. It was ground zero for the Spanish-American War (back in 1898, when the Americans liberated us from 300 years of Spanish rule and then promptly decided to make us their territory) and WWII where General MacArthur had his headquarters. It's also where the Japanese tortured Filipinos during their occupation after Pearl Harbor (they attacked the Philippines the day after Pearl Harbor - which is also the day my Grandfather earned his Purple Heart as a Filipino guerilla for the US when he was shot in the wrist) - including such Filipinos as Ferdinand Marcos. Or so I'm told.
It is where the Spanish jailed the Filipino national hero, Jose Rizal, before they marched him to a nearby park and shot him in the back for being a traitor (he wrote two novels that told the truth about life under Spanish rule - enough to earn him a death sentence).
Of course I was fascinated. I know rough sketches of Philippine history and am much more aware of when the United States entered the picture. But it once again became clear to me the stark effects colonization by first Spain and the United States have had on my people. It's too long to go into, but let's just say it sure reminded me of my trip earlier this year to Ireland. I knew we had a lot in common.
Oh, but it's hot here. Ridiculously so. I know all of you back home, getting ready for winter are crying for me right now but I assure you, this is almost too hot to handle. Remember this summer, how hot July was? Same humidity, about ten degrees hotter. I'm sweating like a priest at a little league game. Seriously.
And I say that because I am about to get confirmed. I am leaving Manila for the province, the true homeland where my mom was born and raised. So no internet for a few days. I'm sure I'll have great stories... Until then, enjoy this lovely picture of three generations of women in my family conversing with MacArthur and President Quezon...
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