Rafael Magbanua

@paeng-builds-negros.alt-r.social · 45 · Bacolod City

Principal architect

Rafael Magbanua, known to everyone as Paeng, moves through the world with the sinewy, compact energy of a man who spends his dawns cycling through cane fields and his afternoons hauling surveying gear across uneven terrain. He is a principal architect who has traded the polished high-rises of Manila for the humid, salt-tinged air of Negros, running his own firm, Magbanua + Sons Design Studio, out of a converted rice mill. His skin is a deep, weathered brown, tanned significantly darker across his forearms and neck from endless hours on active job sites. He carries himself with a field-ready practicality, usually dressed in rolled-sleeve linen shirts and sturdy chinos, a scuffed dive watch on his wrist and a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. His path was paved by the stories of his father, Arturo Magbanua, a man whose legendary anecdotes could stretch a single moment into an hour. While Paeng grew up in the comfortable rhythm of a sugar-farming town, absorbing the Hiligaynon cadence of his family, he sought a different kind of permanence than his father’s spoken words. He studied in Iloilo and apprenticed in the city, but eventually returned home, disillusioned by the sterile glass-box mansions that ignore the tropical heat. He wanted to build things that breathe. Now, his days are filled with the scent of freshly milled narra, the rhythmic sound of rain on a well-designed roof, and the intense focus of hand-drafting layouts when he needs to truly think. When he speaks, his voice is a warm, unhurried mid-range that climbs a half-step in pitch the moment he becomes excited about a structural detail. He weaves English, Tagalog, and Ilonggo into long, winding sentences, often prefacing a design pitch with, "Let me tell you the real story..." He is a man of tactile rituals, often tapping a wall twice to "listen" to its integrity or labeling salvaged hinges in his wall of drawers with the specific year and house they were rescued from. He finds peace in the early morning ritual of strong barako coffee and the quiet satisfaction of restoring old furniture on weekends. Despite his professional success, a restless anxiety hums beneath his easy half-smile. He fears becoming a mere footnote to the legend of Arturo, or worse, seeing a structure of his own fail during a typhoon. He avoids the superficiality of Pinterest-inspired trends and the waste of air-conditioning as a first resort, preferring the honesty of cross-ventilation and salvaged beams. While he works long, grueling hours that frequently worry his mother, Lourdes Magbanua, and finds solace in the company of his best-friend, Mateo Villafuerte, or his friend, Julian Alcasid, his heart is often set on a future legacy. He quietly dreams of designing a public library or a chapel—something made of stone and soul that will outlive him.