Days ago, I was in Soccsksargen, a region that lies to the south of Iligan, the writing capital of Mindanao. When I arrived in General Santos City, it looked like rain. That was why I experienced some turbulence on the flight due to an electrical storm. I would gaze out over the blackness of the clouds. I would also scan the sea for any sign of a ship or boat. I was a bit deaf in my both ears. I didn't have the foggiest idea where Koronadal City is, so I was quite excited at the idea of trying a place not familiar to me, but I was a bit frightened too. I took a magazine to amuse myself while I was on the plane. It was a cold, wet day and I was bored, so I struck up an interesting conversation with a man beside me instead of getting some sleep so I’d arrive feeling fresh. He was great fun to be with. I didn’t eat my brownie because I wanted to talk. He would pause for a moment to listen and then continued eating. He was not familiar with General Santos City because it was his first time to pass through the city: he used to go home through Davao City. We hadn't got a clue about General Santos City. When the conversation turned to Passi City, where he works as an engineer for Universal Robina, he was on familiar ground. He was a very jolly, upbeat sort of a person. He was such a pleasant, helpful young man, too: when the plane landed, he handed to me my items of hand luggage I placed in the plane’s overhead compartment. At the luggage carousel, I said my goodbyes, and left the moment my purple luggage rolled up.
Outside the airport, my host and her friend arrived just in time. We drove along a wide, flat and smooth road to Koronadal City, the regional capital of Soccsksargen. The scenery was absolutely stunning - I remember gazing in a state of awe over the landscape. The place had fruits galore: durian, soursop, mangosteen, pineapple, papaya. Koronadal has bucketloads of charm. I felt wonderfully clean and fresh even after a long trip. It is an idyllic, sprawling city. My host accommodated me in her third-floor eyrie, which has its own kitchen and lavatory. She lives on the second floor; her Montessori, on the ground floor.
The next day, my host showed me round South Cotabato, which was very kind of her. A car took me on a sightseeing tour of Surallah and Lake Sebu. The driver pulled over by the main road, and I got out and walked to the roundabout. I posed for my photographs next to the roundball in Surallah. It was an outstanding junction of exceptional beauty. My host photographed me against lots of different backgrounds. I was wide-eyed in amazement. The countryside around there was lovely.
My host and her friends dropped in on the School of Living Tradition on our way to Lake Sebu. I found the school a good place for writers. It was a big, cool, and quiet hut on the top of a hill, a lovely location overlooking Lake Sebu. It was approachable by car. Any writer can go on a retreat there. The Tboli woman I met there wore necklaces and a dress of brightly coloured beads. She was always very accommodating. The hut had rooms where visitors could spend the night. It had a hearth. Out in the forest a traveller is a welcome guest there.
My host rushed us off to the other side of Lake Sebu so we would have lunch by midday. Lake Sebu sparkled in the brilliant sunlight from Punta Isla Resort, whose garden was invigorating. The mountain views were inspiring. The place had the landscape that delighted me. Tboli children were diving into the water of the lake to retrieve from the bottom the coins thrown into the water by some tourists. We threw some coins, too. Their boats were bobbing gently up and down on the water, and it was so wonderful being able to see them from a floating hut, which would jolt rapidly, so I kept getting dizzy spells. The food we ate - grilled tilapia, fried tilapia, steamed tilapia wrapped in cabbage with coconut milk - at Punta Isla, a resort by Lake Sebu, was absolutely delicious. We were serenaded with live guitar music. Four Tboli children entertained us with a display of their native dances.
After a tour of highways with hairpin turns, steep cliffs, narrow lanes, and dizzying heights, my host wanted me to try a zip line, which takes one on a ride across the forest canopy, but I was too nervous to try. My heart was palpitating with fear. On imagining the activity, I think I will fall into a dead faint. I have a fear of heights, so I don’t dare try. I might wet my pants. My attempt would have been disastrous. I just enjoyed a leisurely stroll in the sunshine until we came to the waterfall. From the bridge, where tourists would pose for photographs, we had a grandstand view of its thunderous water. Indeed, it was a whirlwind trip.
After hours in the heat, my host and her friends had me visit the capitol of South Cotabato. The chief of staff of an office had us snack on toasty sandwiches, the best sandwiches I’ve ever had. We then took stock of publishing a magazine. The idea whipped up some enthusiasm for the project. Publishing is really my bag. The excitement of starting a new book or magazine is always mingled with interest.
When we were meaning to go back to my host’s house, it drizzled. When I reached the eyrie, I proceeded to relieve myself. I then fell into a lovely deep sleep. There were heavy curtains blocking out the sunlight, but I pulled them aside, so there was a light wind blowing. I just snuggled up to the pillows to get warm.
A dinner in The Aviary did me the world of good. No expense was spared in making me feel comfortable. Every menu was done to a turn. The baby back ribs were finished on the grill with a tangy homemade barbecue sauce. They were great just warmed up and browned. The pompano tasted good. The amount of salt was completely normal for Filipino cuisine - it was not overpowering, but there was enough to avoid blandness. It had a wonderful flavour and succulence. A sweet lychee-coconut shake was nice and refreshing.
The next day, I woke up at dawn. I was giving a seminar on poetry writing and journalism. We were leaving at seven o'clock, so I’d got an hour to get ready. I breakfasted hurriedly on white coffee and bread.
At the hotel, a cup of black coffee made me feel better.
Then a group of delegates trailed into the room. Some teachers. Some students. It was quite a whole new ballgame. It was neither one thing nor the other! There was an award-winning writer and some novices. Some prolific and some unprolific. Some promising and some needed more whetting. Amazingly, Koronadal is an exciting polyglot city. One had infinite vocabulary in Hiligaynon and Tagalog. Some were monolingual. The rest were multilingual.
Some were richly poetic. Some were into journalism. Some weren't ripe yet - they were still green. I’m sure they’ll split open when the seeds of writing are completely mature. I had to strike a delicate balance between instructing them and letting them discover things for themselves.
The colloquium was making writers settle to begin to cultivate the arid land of writing. It was helping the writers strew with the seeds of their imagination and sprout it and have it burst forth with beauty and fondness for life and love. It was moulding imperceptible pots out of clay and having it grow plants of beauty that are endlessly in blossom, kindling all imaginations to encroach on forest land of the unknown to grow crops of mindfulness and familiarity.
I believe my lecture and handouts would provide the shot in the arm that the Soccsksargen writers need. I hope they’ll make imaginative use of words and break the moulds of ordinariness. They just need to be more emotive and critical.
Someday, I’ll be happy to see a bumper harvest of poems and short stories in Soccsksargen cropping better and better each year.
The deadline for finishing the writing work is 15 November because the book launching is on 15 December. A considerable amount of time and effort must go into this publication. At least a month. It is indeed threshing grains from chaffs, but it is also yielding a crop of weeds and wild flowers. It's rather early to be sowing and harvesting, but it must be because a writer's gotta do what he's gotta do specially when everyone is gasping for inspiration and beauty out of words that wash every hunger and thirst for literary works down. The colloquium was a varied assemblage of writers probing the mud of words for literary food.
The second day of the seminar was critiquing though it was originally listed for journalism. Some wrote fiction though it was not part of the colloquium. I needed to accommodate them with critiques. A handout for photojournalism was handed out. They can use it as a rough guide.
Things will come full circle so they need to practise writing. They need to submit six poems, and it is spread over only two weeks. Fiction will also be included as some have already submitted theirs.
I think everyone loved the buffet lunches served by the hotel. The afters were nice. Coffee was free-flowing. The fried catfish was quaintly lip-smacking.
We weren’t over the hump yet, but the colloquium concluded with everyone giving the participants’ impressions. We all posed for our photographs.
Koronadal City for me is a small piece of Iloilo torn off its edge. Most residents there speak Hiligaynon. It's fascinating to know how the city has changed and developed over time.
After the seminar, my host had me try Viajera for dinner. We sat on the wooden floor, with our legs crossed. We had crispy tuna, tofu sisig, mushroomed beef, and baby back ribs. The crispy tuna was very moreish. I indulged myself with it. I couldn’t help it. The restaurant had an atmosphere of genteel elegance.
I think there’s so much good restaurants in Koronadal City - one is spoilt for choice.
Time I had needed to go home the next day. My host and her friend from DepEd treated me to crispy pata and appetising sinigang with the sour taste of tomato in Hukad in Veranza, a mall in General Santos City with an elegant façade of cascading water. Most restaurants front onto it.
We were in a rush to get to the airport because we enjoyed taking lot of photos at the mall and we had only some minutes for my flight. I kissed them goodbye, bringing the good memory of South Cotabato.
