House of the Dragon? Meet House of the Garden Lot.

So apparently, I can trace my family lineage all the way back to the late 1700’s.Nothing special, promise. Wala kaming kastilyo, wala kaming sariling coat of arms—just a bloodline of magsasaka turned accidental landowners in the old province of Tayabas (a.k.a. Quezon).

Yes, amin ang lupa noon. But here’s the twist: sa pamilya namin, “family planning” meant limang anak minimum. Every generation multiplied like free trial accounts, until those hundreds of hectares had to be chopped and diced thinner than a tindahan’s ice candy. By the time it trickled down to me, naambunan pa rin naman—pero let’s just say kung lupa namin dati ay parang hacienda, ngayon ay kasing lapad na lang ng garden lot sa Camella Homes.

The only semi-juicy anecdote? My mom’s grandfather, Lolo Felipe. He wasn’t a revolutionary hero, nor a spy, nor a cunning scout for Aguinaldo. No, no. He was a minion. A literal extra in history’s background cast—somewhere behind the generals, waving a bolo and probably wondering what’s for merienda after the skirmish. A participant, but barely. The historical equivalent of “Guy #17 sa crowd scene.”

Meanwhile, my kid—thanks to modern genealogy sites—can trace her bloody bloodline all the way to the 1500s. Her family tree is so complicated with remarriages, it’s starting to look like a spin-off chart from House of the Dragon. 

I’m talking dynastic chaos: ex-husbands, step-cousins, thrice-removed lolos who probably invented new surnames when bored.

Me? I just got lost in FamilySearch, hoping to find some quaint old baptismal record… and instead ended up staring at a Targaryen-level telenovela of DNA that makes my side of the family look like the comic relief subplot.