Exploring MiraNila: Stories, surprises from a Quezon City heritage house
Seated on a mat laid over the cool sprawl of lawn of MiraNila, I stretched my legs, letting my sock-covered toes press into the softness of the earth. Overhead, the night shifted in slow, deliberate movements, with the nighttime skies parting just enough to unveil a waxing crescent moon.
Set up in that spacious front yard of MiraNila — a heritage house in Quezon City, now also serving as an events space — stood a huge screen; and that night, it was Celine Song’s award-winning Past Lives that’s showing.
It’s a film driven by the weight of life’s what-ifs. While watching, I caught the sight of the MiraNila house, its pre-war façade aglow, with its elegant architectural patterns confirming the romantic sentiment of the evening.
Built in the 1920s, the ancestral house has long stood as a silent keeper of stories, but that night, it was something more: a gathering place, a stage for quiet intimacy, where time momentarily slowed, and beneath the stars, strangers, lovers, history enthusiasts and movie buffs alike found themselves suspended between the unfolding fictional story on the screen and the real-life stories of MiraNila behind them.
Look, Manila
Most ancestral homes, particularly those belonging to the country’s old elite, are commonly named after the owners’ surnames, a lasting reminder of generations of wealth, power, and history.
MiraNila, however, is an exception. Though built and owned by Conrado and Francisca Benitez — renowned educators and community leaders — the house did not bear their name. Instead, it was coined from a moment of alarm.
Sometime in the 1930s, the couple’s daughter, Helena, spotted a fire raging out in the direction of Manila. Caught in the urgency of what she was witnessing from the home’s upper floor window, she cried out in Spanish, “Mira, Manila!”, which means, “Look, Manila!”
The fire, even if it turned out limited to only scorching the then Ateneo de Manila campus in Intramuros, Helena’s words lingered, imprinting themselves onto the house enough to become its name.
Located near Cubao along Mariposa Street that intersects EDSA, MiraNila was declared by the National Historical Commission of the Philippines as a Heritage House in 2011, one of only two houses declared as such in Metro Manila, the other being the Lichauco House in Santa Ana, Manila.
The original owners, Conrado Francia Benitez, and his wife Francisca Tirona Benitez, first managed its construction in 1929 following an architectural style prevalent in the Art Deco movement mainly the California Mission Revival.
The property also houses the Gallery MiraNila by the Blue Leaf, an events space nestled within the garden, and a small boutique hotel formerly operated by the Henry group of hotels but has been rebranded into MiraNila’s own hotel brand called MiraNamin.
The Benitez family
MiraNila is not just a historic home; it is a repository of a family’s far-reaching legacy that is woven into the broader narrative of Manila’s past.
Conrado Benitez, a distinguished statesman, played a role in drafting the 1935 Philippine Constitution and served as the first dean of the University of the Philippines College of Business Administration.
His brother, Francisco, was equally influential in academia as the founding dean of the university’s College of Education.
But the women of the Benitez family left an indelible mark of their own. Conrado’s wife, Francisca Tirona Benitez, was a trailblazer in education, co-founding the Philippine Women’s University (PWU).
Daughter, Helena, carried this legacy forward, leading PWU while carving her own path in public service as a Philippine senator from 1967 to 1972. She was not just an educator or a lawmaker; she was also cultural advocate, founding the Bayanihan Dance Company, which would go on to bring Philippine folk dance to the world stage.
During its early years, MiraNila hosted some of the country’s most prominent figures, including President Manuel Quezon and Chief Justice Jose Abad Santos, and even following the war, General Douglas MacArthur and US President Dwight D. Eisenhower also became guests.
But its history also includes a darker chapter. MiraNila, once a site of political and social events, became a wartime outpost.
For years, the mansion’s gardener worked on the property, trusted by the Benitez family. When World War II reached the Philippines, he revealed himself as a lieutenant in the Imperial Japanese Army, ordering the family to vacate the house and announcing that Japanese forces would take over.
After the liberation of Manila in 1945, the Benitez family returned to MiraNila to find it astonishingly intact, spared from the heavy bombardment that had leveled much of the city.
But the mansion’s survival came with a chilling discovery. Over the years, more than 70 landmines were found hidden across the property. Yet, in a fortunate twist of fate, not a single one detonated.
Opening doors to the past
“This piano is the same one Cecile Licad’s mom, who used to be our neighbor, uses to teach us morning piano lessons,” Petty Benitez-Johannot tells us as she leads a tour inside the MiraNila house.
The piano, a 1904 Steinway & Sons rare model, took a year and a half to restore according to Petty.
Petty — or Purissima Benitez-Johannot — is the niece of Helena Benitez. She serves as the estate’s archivist and curator, as well as the president of the Benitez-Tirona MiraNila Foundation (BTMNF). Her role extends beyond preservation; she is also the house’s storyteller, guiding visitors through its layered history.
“Following the war, thanks to our family’s collective interest in art and literature, the house has amassed thousands of artifacts,” she tells us, a group of fewer than 15 who comprises MiraNila’s first batch of guests that afternoon.
Petty describes MiraNila as more than just a family home — it is a carefully preserved archive of history and culture. The house holds a collection of over 4,500 books, alongside more than 2,000 artifacts gathered from the family’s travels around the world and obsession with literature and art.
Its rooms are filled with original furniture, old photographs, historical documents and artwork, as well as an extensive assemblage of Asian ceramics and earthenware.
Over the course of an hour, Petty leads us through the house’s many rooms, pausing before select pieces to share their stories. Among the highlights are paintings by Macario Vitalis and Fernando Amorsolo, as well as works by his brother Pablo, Raul Lebajo, and other celebrated Filipino artists.
As part of its conservation efforts, the Benitez-Tirona MiraNila Foundation is working to introduce MiraNila to a wider audience, particularly younger generations.
To do this, it has begun hosting events such as concerts and film screenings, including the outdoor movie night held on the day of my visit.
I was surprised to see almost a hundred attendees, many from the Gen Z crowd, gathered for a double screening of Gitling, a Cinemalaya entry directed by Jopy Arnaldo, and Past Lives, an Oscar-nominated film. Before the screenings, guests also took part in a guided tour of the house, exploring its history and collections.
As Past Lives reached its aching conclusion, the audience watched Greta Lee’s character Nora walk back to her apartment, leaving the possibility of a life with Hae Sung to exist only in some parallel universe. I found myself gathering my things, still caught in the film’s heavy emotional ending. As I turned toward MiraNila, I saw its yellow-lit facade glow softly against the night.
I thought about the lives that had once moved through this house, the stories Petty Benitez-Johannot had shared with us earlier in the afternoon. I wonder about the grand receptions, the wartime disruptions, and the lawmakers, educators, officers, and artists who had graced MiraNila as guests. Could a film be made about the Benitez family? The drama was certainly there: history, politics, art.
I am certain that MiraNila, with its elegant, timeworn charm, would provide a striking backdrop. On-screen or off, it is a house that holds stories, waiting for those curious enough to look closer and eavesdrop on what its walls are telling. – Rappler.com