In the Philippines, we have this saying "lukso ng dugo." Lukso (jump/leap), Dugo (blood), the ethereal mesh of "leap of faith" and "blood is thicker than water." The things we do for things we can't explain, as if our blood is directing us, not our minds.
In my historical novel, Bataan New Jersey, I created a fictitious matrilineal family saga. Four generations of strong women going back to an ancestor in southern Philippines. The story is partly based on my own search for blood connections on my mother's side. My mother is a Chavacano, which might not mean anything to people until I reveal a few more facts. It's the only Spanish creole in Asia, and it formed in Zamboanga, the last stronghold of Spain in the Philippines. While the history of Philippine colonization is one of evangelization and not native replacement (unlike in Latin America), something else happened in the South, in Zamboanga, around Fort Pilar. Where my mother has deep blood roots.
Hispanic Wanna Bes
But Filipinos, because of our Spanish last names, have always been confused by Mother History's little hand tricks. Many still think they have some blood connections to Spain, although there weren't enough Spaniards in the Philippines throughout its 333 colonial history to create that bloodline (again, unlike in Latin America). Filipino cinema is hometown to mestizaje, but if we really go into it, we will earn that many of these actors are mixed with American blood from the early 20th century (1900s) when Americans colonized the islands. Take Gloria Romero. Nida Blanca. None of them was Hispanic. The very few known Hispanic lineage was kept by the landowning Spanish clans like the Ayalas. And we can see it on their faces.
Then there are the likes of my mother.
Light-skinned. "Mestiza" type. Curly hair. A face that one could easily find in the mestizaje of Latin America. But she is a Chavacano from Zamboanga. One of mysterious ancestry.
Suffice to say, I don't know much about my maternal ancestry. What I know about my lineage came from my father. There are tons of history there. A landowning family from Oas, Albay, the home of the last names that start with the letter R. All Rs in one place. Mother History's hand trick. Mostly the work of Governor General Claveria. Roa is one of my paternal last names. Former Pres. Duterte is a Roa. The association is horrifying enough. So my interest ended there.
My DNA Check
Ten years ago, when I did my DNA ancestral check, it showed a 5% European origin. It made me curious, but it was not significant enough to interrogate. I imagined the % to be coming from my maternal side. After all, and once again, my mother is from Zamboanga. Did most Filipinos have the same colonial %? Was this something worth pursuing? Lukso ng dugo. For me, there was a always a pull toward Latin America ever since we immigrated. I learned to be fluent in Spanish. I studied in South America and traveled every year to Spanish-speaking countries. Eventually, I would marry a Central American, and Spanish would be the language spoken at home. Lukso ng dugo. Even if my 5% wasn't thick enough.
Spanish would be my third language. Portuguese would be my fourth. I am according to my DNA 5% Spanish/Portuguese. Blood can’t distinguish and break apart the Iberian peninsula. As my 95% places me in Southeast Asia. If there was a pure blood Spaniard in my family lineage, he would be at least from 200 years ago—or so I thought.
The Claveria Decree
I have Filipino friends who go to Spain and look for their Spanish last names there. The whole world is confused by the Spanish last names of the Filipino people, especially when their native-looking faces don't match what they wish to be. Colonial mentality is much embedded in the Filipino mind. Filipino cinema compounds such confusion, as much as the Filipino national sport, beauty contests.
When in doubt, Google "The Claveria Decree." You will find the following:
The Claveria Decree was a decree issued by Spanish Governor General Narciso Claveria on November 21, 1849. The decree required Filipinos to adopt Spanish surnames, and it had a lasting impact on Filipino identity. What did the decree do? Compiled a list of Spanish and indigenous surnames; Sent the list to provincial chiefs, who then sent it to towns; Gave the list to locals who didn't have surnames; Required families to systematically adopt Spanish surnames; Allowed families who had had surnames for four generations to keep them
Case in point: My last name is Realuyo. Where my father was from--Oas, Albay, Philippines, everyone's last name starts with the letter R. A lot of Roas. These Filipino writers' last names are from there as well: Remoto and Ribay. We are not related by blood. Possibly by marriage, although in such a confined space, it really doesn't say much. Most like, related by street block.
Studies
Because of ancestry sites and a quicker and organized process to find one's DNA history, Filipinos are learning the truth the hard way. The reality that most Filipinos, despite their Hispanic last names, have no ancestral lineage to Spain could be a blow to our long standing romance with colonial mentality. Studies have grown about Filipino ancestry, one study after another debunking the Spanish ancestry myth. From "Multiple migrations to the Philippines during the last 50,000 years.
The Philippines was a Spanish Colony for 333 y from 1565 until 1898. However, we only observe significant population-level signals of European admixture in some urbanized lowlanders, Bicolanos, and Spanish Creole-speaking Chavacanos (SI Appendix, Table S7Y). Some individuals from Bolinao, Cebuano, Ibaloi, Itabayaten, Ilocano, Ivatan, Kapampangan, Pangasinan, and Yogad groups also presented low levels of European admixture (SI Appendix, Table S7Y). This admixture is estimated to have taken place 100 to 450 y ago, which falls within the Spanish Colonial Period (SI Appendix, Table S7Z). In contrast to several other Spanish-colonized regions, Philippine demography appears to have remained largely unaffected by admixture with Europeans.
15% Mysterious Blood
My mother is getting older, and I also couldn't wait much longer to find out a little bit more from my maternal heritage that I know next to nothing about. Early this year, I finally convinced my mother to do her DNA. What will be added to my own mysterious 5% European DNA?
My mother and I are connected in mysterious ways. I find that most of my illnesses are also my mother's, not paternal, like those of my siblings. On my father side, cancer seems to be the killer and they all seem to cross the plane of life and death once in their 80s. My father passed when he was in his 80s and so did his identical twin. Will the same happen to me? Or will I take the path my mother is about to cross, our similarities in blood leading us the same way?
My mother always claimed that her father was a Spaniard. By that, she probably meant a "mestizo." Unfortunately, we don't have any surviving photographs of her father. I have never met him, and her own mother passed when she was. only seven. In the Philippines, we have historical terms for such mixtures, although most of us were not educated to call label them correctly. The fact that Filipino/Chinese mix were also called "mestizos" complicated it more.
My mother's DNA would reveal a 15% European ancestry (Mostly Spanish/Portuguese like mine, and 3% of which -- Italian).
Since my mother and I did the same DNA test, my 5% European ancestry was moved to her side of my lineage as soon as her DNA results appeared. None on my father's side. For me, 15% is huge. The full-blooded Spaniard in her ancestral line was closer than I imagined. It further proves that her face was not an anomaly, and it reveals a story of Spanish colonization that many Filipinos do not share--a blood lineage. As a Chavacano, she could have easily descended from a Spanish soldier that was sent to Fort Pilar. But I can only assume so much. The fact is, given the country's faulty records, we may never know. We are not Ayalas or other landed families who connected with their Spanish ancestors by blood and inheritance. I descended from people whose story was always missing in the annals of oral interpretation handed down the generations.
When I wrote Bataan New Jersey, I ended the historical novel in Zamboanga. Before learning my mother's 15%, I wanted to explore what mestizaje meant to me, if that were even true. And now that it is indeed true and undeniable, my interest in the matter has grown. There is a story in the 15%, one that we can and may only learn from writers who are willing to go inside and explore it, albeit in the imagination.
Lukso ng Dugo may sound like a hyperbolic use of a Filipino saying, but it still defines much of my own personal history. Latin America has always been close to my heart. And Spain, as much as Wokeness dictates that it be erased and questioned for its dark colonial history, is also inside my artery. That Spanish would become my third language, and I would eventually speak it at home means that Lukso ng Dugo could very well dictate Fate itself.
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