If houses could speak, the ancestral home at Yulo’s Park would not whisper — it would sing.
Along Rosario Street in Barangay 14, behind trees that seem older than memory, stands a 105-year-old heritage house that has watched Bacolod grow from a quiet sugar town into a thriving city. Built on August 10, 1919 by Don Mariano Yulo — governor, senator, haciendero, and statesman — the house is not merely a structure of wood and concrete. It is a time capsule wrapped in sunlight and shadow.
The first thing you notice is the stillness. The acacia trees stretch their arms wide, casting lace-like patterns on the garden. The air feels slower here. Then your eyes rise to the house itself: a sturdy concrete ground floor anchoring it to the earth, and above it, a wooden second storey glowing warmly behind capiz shell windows. It is both strong and graceful — much like the man who built it.
Step inside, and you do not simply enter a home. You step into another century.
Antique chairs sit as though waiting for guests in barong and terno. Dining tables display heirloom china that once hosted conversations shaping Negros’ future. Hidden doors — yes, secret doors — quietly remind visitors that history is rarely straightforward. In one corner, you can almost imagine a gramophone crackling to life, releasing a waltz that drifts through the hallway like perfume.
Before Bacolod had its public plaza, Yulo’s Park was already the city’s gathering ground. It earned its name because people came — for meetings, for discussions, for connection. Sugar barons once convened here, mapping out the fortunes of Negros’ booming sugar industry. Don Mariano himself owned vast haciendas in Hinigaran and Isabela, cementing his influence not only in politics but in agriculture and commerce.
But history did not just pass through the gates — it unfolded here.
On December 28, 1926, something extraordinary happened within these walls. From Yulo’s Park, Don Mariano made the first inter-island telephone call between Negros and Panay, connecting with Iloilo Governor Jose Ledesma. At a time when telephones were rare and reserved for the elite, this was more than a conversation — it was a signal that Negros was stepping boldly into modernity.
Distinguished footsteps also echoed through its halls. Presidents Manuel L. Quezon and Sergio Osmeña once dined here. During one dinner honoring Quezon, drinking glasses were hand-painted with the Philippine flag — a quiet but powerful declaration of nationalism before independence was fully realized. Imagine raising a glass not only in celebration, but in hope.
Then came war.
During the Japanese occupation in World War II, much of the Philippines suffered destruction. Yet Yulo’s Park endured. Alfredo Yulo, Don Mariano’s son and mayor of Bacolod from 1940 to 1942, played a role in ensuring its survival. An air raid shelter once stood on the property — a reminder that even beauty must sometimes brace for darkness. Though the shelter is gone, the house remains, standing firm like a seasoned storyteller who has seen both triumph and fear.
Time, however, is relentless. From its original one-hectare size, the property gradually shrank due to encroachment and reclamation beginning in the 1960s. For decades, the house was kept private by the Yulo family, its stories guarded behind closed gates. The paint aged. Wood weathered. Gardens matured quietly.
Then came recognition.
On September 28, 2017, the National Museum of the Philippines declared Yulo’s Park an Important Cultural Property — the first privately owned ICP in Bacolod. It was an acknowledgment that this was not simply a family home, but a treasure belonging to the broader narrative of the nation.
On August 22, 2024, a national historical marker was unveiled at the park, affirming its place in Philippine heritage. Officials, cultural advocates, and members of the Yulo family gathered beneath the trees as if answering history’s call. The park had turned 105 just days earlier — and instead of fading quietly into memory, it stepped into a new chapter.
Today, Yulo’s Park is part of Negros Occidental’s ambitious bid to be recognized under UNESCO’s World Heritage List through the proposed “Sugar Cultural Landscape of Negros.” Alongside landmarks such as the Victorias Milling Company, Balay ni Tana Dicang, the Aniceto Lacson Mansion, and historic sugar mills, the park represents the social and political heartbeat behind the sugar industry’s economic might.
And perhaps most beautifully of all — the gates are now open.
After years of privacy, the Yulo family began welcoming visitors in 2024, every Saturday afternoon, by appointment. For ₱100, guests can walk through history — not behind glass displays, but within rooms that still feel alive. Restoration efforts are underway, supported by local and national cultural agencies determined to preserve what remains authentic.
Visiting Yulo’s Park does not feel like touring a museum. It feels like being invited into a memory.
The sunlight still filters through capiz shells. The floorboards still hum softly beneath careful steps. The portraits still gaze down, not sternly, but knowingly — as if pleased that someone is listening again.
In a world racing toward the future, Yulo’s Park reminds Bacolod that progress does not require forgetting. It teaches that heritage is not a burden of the past, but a gift carried forward.
Because under those acacia trees, history does not sleep.
It waits.
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