Litany of the Javellana–Lopez Line
In the name of the Father who spoke truth in quiet rooms,
and the Mother who kept it in her bones,
and the Spirit that moves through stone houses and sugar fields alike.
Manuel. ( My great, great grand Father)
Don Manuel Javellana, patriarch of brick and ledger,
whose name rides the hinge of two centuries,
Spanish decree, Chinese root,
a surname chosen like a seed: Avellana, hazel,
then bent toward Jaro with a J.
He married Gertrudis, daughter of Lopez,
and together they planted a tree whose branches
would shade cathedrals, haciendas, and ordinary kitchens
where children learned to say “they are our relatives”
before they knew what relatives were.
Gertrudis. ( My great, great grand Mother)
Doña Gertrudis Lopez, who carried the wolf-name in her blood-
Lupus, Lope, Lopez-
son of Basilio, grandson of Jalandoni,
part of the first aristocrats of Old Jaro.
Her womb held nine, perhaps more,
each child a knot in the family rope,
each marriage another loop drawn tight
around land, faith, and the future.
Cristino. ( My great grand uncle)
Capitan Tinong, sixth of their children,
gobernadorcillo of Jaro in the late 1890s,
owner of Fábrica de Ladrillo C. Javellana,
whose bricks rose into walls, arches, a city.
A devout Catholic, he gave not only money
but memory: his remains, and those of his son Cirilo,
rest inside the Jaro Cathedral,
near the aisle where the faithful kneel,
where the past is never truly past.
Marcelina.( my Great Grand Mother)
Marcelina Lopez Javellana, the youngest,
who carried her father’s name and her mother’s,
and gave them to Victoriano Catague.
From her line came Roberto,
who died young, leaving a wife, Consolacion,
and a son, David Jamili,
who would one day tell his own children:
“They are our relatives.”
After Roberto’s death, Marcelina married Ruperto,
her late husband’s younger brother,
and bore eleven more children,
as if grief itself could be answered
by the stubborn arithmetic of life.
Roberto.( My Grand Father)
Roberto Catague, who did not live to see his son grow,
but whose name is a hinge between generations:
Catague to Katague, C to K, a small shift in spelling,
a large shift in destiny.
Ruperto.( My Grand Father Brother)
Ruperto Catague, who stepped into his brother’s place,
not as replacement, but as continuation,
another father, another provider,
another name in the long roll of men
who kept the family standing
when the ground tried to shake it loose.
David Jamili.(My Dad)
David Jamili K(C)atague,
who changed the spelling of his name
so a demanding teacher wouldn’t call him first,
who carried the weight of “they are our relatives”
like a secret map,
who passed it on, not as boast,
but as blessing:
You belong to a larger story.
And I, who write this now,
stand at the end of this litany,
a senior blogger in Walnut Creek,
thousands of miles from Santa Isabel Street,
from Casa Mariquit, from Nelly Garden,
from the Jaro Cathedral where Cristino sleeps.
Yet I am there.
I am in the brick factory, the sugar field,
the ledger, the lapida,
the quiet voice that said,
“They are our relatives,”
and the louder silence that answered,
“Yes. And you are theirs.”
My Prayer
Let this be my prayer:
that I may honor them not by claiming their status,
but by telling their truth,
knotted, complicated, beautiful;
so that those who come after me
may know they, too, are part of a larger story,
and may say, in their own time,
“They are our relatives,”
and mean it.
Amen.
Lastly, Here the song using my Lyrics by Musicful AI Apps. The melody of the song is so beautiful and makes me feel like crying, but at times I feel like dancing, and sing along with it as well.👏 I'm proud to say, I did IT!
https://www.musicful.ai/song/53345588655452167/
https://remembranceofthingsawry.wordpress.com/2010/06/01/the-families-of-old-jaro-iloilo/
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