Mati drabbles

Have I mentioned attending a writing workshop sometime late last year in Ortigas? After months of being uninspired, I'm finally close to finishing my Mati article, which supposedly follows my initial Davao Reveries. My teacher, Carlomar Daoana, asked me to write it in first person. I didn't tell him I found the instruction quite hard because: 1) I'm no longer used to writing in first person and 2) I already started my Mati article. Though still incomplete, my initial draft reads like this:

Every early morning, soldiers from the nearby barracks use the 18-km barren runway in Mati, the capital of Davao Oriental, as a jogging field. At night, however, it becomes a racetrack of sorts for the rich boys of Davao City.

The airport still serves its original purpose. Once in a while, small chartered flights make use of the tarmac, cutting the usual five-hour land ride from Davao City to less than an hour. But on most instances, the airport mainly caters to the boys.

According to Davao Oriental tourism officer Juancho Escaler, the local government has hatched up plans to open the airport to attract bigger plane companies. Once opened, the airport can transform the sleepy province to a prime tourism site in the southeasternernmost part of the country.

After the workshop and with Teacher Carlo's instructions, I spent a weekend repeating his instructions (literally bleeding dry) and came out with a series of diary-like entries on my Mati visit. The first part of the supposed article goes like this:

My image of Mati was what my Dabawenyo friends painted for me: white sandy beaches, lush coconut trees, and clear blue waters that reflect the open skies. It was a dream vacation of sorts; a place where I can put my feet up, read Rushdie, and let the tedious movement of the day ease every strained muscle in my system. If Leonardo di Caprio has The Beach, I have Mati.

My friends, however, failed to divulge one important detail: To reach Mati, I have to endure a grueling five-hour bus ride from Davao City. In truth, the travel time didn’t bug me. I’ve had longer road trips—Manila to Baler, to Bolinao, to Sagada, around Puerto Princesa. What troubled me was the state I was in and the company I was with. My seatmate’s stories bored me to death, my mp3 was low on battery, and I was having a bloody battle with my monthly curse. Adventure-seeker as I was, I knew I was not in the best physical state to travel.

Rays of the sun hit us too strongly when we arrived. In less than five minutes on the terminal, we reeked of sweat and sun mixed with fleeting scents of dried perfume. Two things were glaring when we arrived in the sleepy capital of Davao Oriental: everyone spoke Bisaya and we don’t. Luckily, a writer friend lived nearby and was kind enough to show us around.

So which do you prefer? I'm planning to finish this up in a month's time and send it over for post-workshop evaluation... :) Btw, I don't usually post my drabbles but I just discovered this neat and handy blockquote option in blogger. :) Expect me to be obsessed with this button in the next days...