All-natural 'halo-halo' at Mang Inasal

Koronadal City--Eating with barehands is usually associated with messy, poorly lit eateries. Not in Mang Inasal.

The barbecue grill, located at the front side of Fit Mart Mall, is nice and clean. A friend and I had a late lunch there this afternoon. We each had the lowest-priced pair of rice and chicken, at P39, not including drinks.

Mang Inasal is known for its barbecue. I, however, crave more for the resto's halo-halo (a mixture of shaved ice and various boiled beans and fruits) than for its grilled chicken.

The dessert is P45 per bowl. What makes Mang Inasal's halo-halo different and special is that it has all-natural ingredients, including what appears to me as strips of green mango. The grainy texture of the fruit and the sweetness of milk in your tongue is heavenly bliss.

10 things I love about my dorm

1. It gets better by the year. Regularly, it’s refurnished and refurbished. (Regularly, the rent is also increased.)

2. I’m the elected prince. That means I don’t have to worry about organizing activities. I’m just so burnt out with my duties in school as president of the graduating class and Political Science Society.

Vertex Dormitory, Pantua Village, Koronadal City

3. I get to share my dormmates properties such as Marlon’s gadgets and groceries; Eric Van’s mint-green, plastic laundry basin; Ron’s scissors and scotch tape; and Bryan’s 100 phone sex videos.

4. The bickerings are endless. I’ve learned so much about human relationship.

5. It has Time magazine. The office of Vertex Dormitory subscribes to it. Our landlord gets the newsweekly from the office and lends it to me first.

In my crib, er, bed

6. We have no TV at the boys quarters, in the ground floor. I hate watching TV—or, I hate watching what other people watch on TV.

7. I get to play Detective Conan, because something is stolen almost every fortnight.

8. It’s very near the school. No worries when LBM strikes in class.

Receiving area. Wi-fi zone

9. I’m the kuya. The younger boarders believe everything I say, including the “curse” in Rm. 88. Eric sleeps on the floor because I told them that all occupants of the upper bunk of the bed in the room, as I’ve observed, suffer mishaps and stay in the dorm for one week to one semester only.

10. I have funny dormmates willing to make fun of themselves such as 89-kg Don, who would playfully cry Eeeeek-eeeek, and Ron, who would do just anything anyone suggests.

Private videoke at EMR

Koronadal City--My friend Debbie is going back to Cebu, in her work as a call girl, er, call center agent.

In usual Debbie fashion, she bid farewell by inviting us to a hush-hush night-out (and I'm blabbering about it). Six of us had quiet fun in a videoke room at EMR Center.

Inside the Chinese Red room. A giant bagua mirror adorns the ceiling.

Left to right: The Rolly, Ryan C., Debbie, Royal

I’m the official “killjoy.” The microphone never even brushed my fingers.

The price of VIP rooms at EMR starts at a thousand bucks for three hours, inclusive of food and drinks.

EMR has the best french fries I ever tasted. The place and my dorm have the same owner.

Mr. University 2007 belting out “Somewhere down the road”—and countless other songs.

We couldn’t stop him from singing. When our time was up, three waiters had to practically pry the mic from his hands and carry him to the door. (I'm exaggerating, of course.)

Left to right: Royal, Debbie, Ryan A., Mark Anthony

The loo

5000 pairs of sandals

It looked as if all the residents of Koronadal had trooped to the center of the city.

More than five thousand people, majority of them wearing sandals, came last night to witness the last part of Hinugyaw Festival. Alunan Avenue was closed for vehicles and opened for hoi polloi.

The hinugyaw (Ilonggo for shouting and merry-making) got louder and merrier at 10 pm, during the fireworks display at the roundball.

Map of Koronadal's Hub

At 8:30 pm, some dormmates and I went to Alunan to have dinner, which turned out to be a not-so-good idea. The food was bad. (The best way to enjoy the place, as I’ve tried in an Octoberfest before, is to have San Mig Light and Chippy, while listening to the band on stage.)

After eating, we walked back to our dorm. From the kiosks to the roundball, it took us more than half-hour to pass through the multitude.

I’ve never been to a Disco sa Kalye (street disco) before, so I was amused with the small discoveries I made. The street wasn’t packed with teenage punks—as I expected—but with people of all ages and from different walks of life.

One crazy couple had their five-month-old baby with them. And though I did not see a graybeard with a cane, I saw a woman in her fifties in lavender spaghettis.

In every fifteen meters or so, a sound system was in full blast. One had Sean Kingston (“You’re way too beautiful, girl…”). Another had a Cebuano copy-cat (You’re way too beautiful, gay…”).

Huddled in front of the large music boxes, dancing to their hearts' content, were elementary-school pupils and a few teenage drag queens.

We passed along General Santos Drive and headed straight to our dorm, reaching it by 10 pm, just in time for the fireworks display. We rushed to the rooftop and watched.

I was amazed with the fireworks--and appalled by the smoke it generated. In 12 minutes, the sky above the roundball was covered in a mass of gray cloud.

Before going to sleep, I was thinking about global warming.

Drinking world's most expensive coffee

Koronadal City—I have unwittingly drunk the world’s most expensive coffee. And I’m not kidding or being sarcastic!

At about 9:30 last night, two dormmates and I agreed to go to U3, a newly opened coffee shop at Alunan Avenue.

Whenever I try a place for the first time, I always order the specialty of the house. Incidentally, U3’s best is Coffee Alamid 2x Espresso, at P286 per serving.

I’m cheap, but I couldn’t break my self-imposed rule. I mustered all the courage I needed and asked for Coffee Alamid. Marlon and Jomar must have also been extra brave at that moment for they also asked for the same coffee.

When our order was served and we saw the tiny mugs containing no more than 120 ml of black liquid, we were half-convinced we had made a mistake. When we started sipping the drink and the bitterest coffee we ever tasted made love with our taste buds, we were fully convinced we had made a mistake.

But since we had reached the point of no return, we mustered again all the courage we needed to finish the excruciating mission that was emptying our mugs. While we were in it, I told my two hapless fellows that the most expensive coffee in the world, as I read in Time magazine, is made from beans handpicked from the poop of civet cats.

After a while, my eyes fell on a tiny tarpaulin facing me a few feet away. I saw a picture of a small furry animal and coffee leaves and the words “Philippine civet cats” and “U3”.

In one swoop, the pieces of information got glued together inside my head. I blurted out something like, “Guys, what we are having right here, right now just happened to be the coffee I'm talking about..."

At P2.38 per milliliter, U3’s Coffee Alamid is still too affordable to be considered the world’s most expensive coffee. But civet cats, which are so picky they eat only the sweetest and reddest of berries, are native to the Philippines (local name: alamid) and Indonesia, the beans from which are called kopi luwak. US and other countries have to import the beans, so the price there is way higher, up to $50 per cup in some cafes.

Upon leaving the place, we realized we did not make a mistake. Where else could you have the world’s most expensive coffee at such a low price? And I was just being a git. The coffee tasted great that I drank it without sugar.


Before hitting U3. Jomar and I at a food stall in front our dorm. He deserves nothing less than civet cat droppings.

U3's front looks like a cafe at a street in Paris. My phone's battery, however, got empty before I was able to take a photo of it. Next time maybe.

Running after the Mardi Gras

Koronadal City--Last night, I felt like a paparazzi dying to take a photo of Britney Spears.

With my classmate Arian, the youngest barangay councilor in the city and perhaps in the country, I jogged almost a kilometer trying to capture for posterity the Marbeleño Mardi Gras (Marbeleño refers to the people of Marbel, Koronadal's old but still popular name).

Our mini-marathon did not produce good results, though. My pictures were a mess and we were only able to witness a small part of the night-time street dancing.


Dancers waiting for their turn in front KCC Mall

When Arian and I got out of the school, at about 6:45 pm, we saw the tail of the parade. We ran towards it. I kept trying to get a perfect picture but I was met with every kind of problem: the light in the lamp post was too glaring, the dancers were just walking straight, or the street was too crowded.

Before we knew it, we were near the roundball, at pace with the first dance troupe. When all the competing groups had passed, we whiled away the hours at the roundball, chatting beside the water fountain.

We later noticed that the people were crowding in the street in front of KCC Mall, where, we found out, the street dancers would have a mass demonstration. When Arian and I got there, all we could see were the heads and shoulders of the people in front us.

Still, our moods weren’t spoiled. We laughed at how crazy we must have looked running the long stretch of Alunan Avenue. And we had a chance to share stories, which we haven’t had for quite some time.

Local history told through dance

At 3 pm yesterday, the city government's Hinugyaw dance troupe presented the story of the pioneer settlers of Koronadal.


In the early 1940s, present-day Koronadal became one of the resettlement areas under the “Land for the Landless” program of President Manuel L. Quezon. Many people of Luzon and Visayas came to Mindanao in the hope of having a better life.



Indigenous people and Maguindanaoans, who at times fought each other, had been living in the land long before Christian settlers came.






During World War II, the settlers suffered persecution in the hands of the Japanese




Engr. Albert Morrow met with the captain of the invading soldiers and spoke for the people, but he was rebuffed. Morrow--and later his friend Santiago Odin--killed himself. Since the Japanese consider taking one's life an honorable act, the Japanese official belatedly granted Morrow’s plea.


Felipa Garingo, another hero, was executed for refusing to reveal the whereabouts of her brother, a guerilla leader. Her brother later killed the Japanese military leader and his troop in an ambush.


Students from Koronadal Comprehensive National High School made up most of the audience. The girls would shriek every time Meynard, playing the role of Morrow, came out the stage.


Daughter of Lt. Jesus Larrabaster accepting the honor the city government gave to her late father.

Lt. Larrabaster was the supervising overseer of Marbel (Koronadal's old name) resettlement area. Mayor Fernando Miguel's Proclamation No. 1 s. 2007 recognizes Larrabaster as one of the heroes of Koronadal.

Ms. Larrabaster said she "literally cried" when she received the letter in the US.

I gave my Coke-in-can, which was distributed for free in the front rows, to these rowdy kids. A minute later, half of the content was splashed on the floor and the can, crumpled.

I was with my classmate Jerazy. We wanted to go inside the museum but it was closed for renovation.

Barbecue at ‘Baywalk’

KORONADAL CITY—Two years ago, the wind made me roll out of the student publication. But, until now, about half of the guys I go out with are the ones I met inside that insane circle.

Debbie and Ryan, former editors in chief of Omniana, visited me at the dorm yesterday (as though I was sick or jailed. The truth is, I was just penniless and had nothing to pay for the tricycle ride to KCC Mall, where they texted me to meet them). We talked and talked. We seldom see each other now (Ryan is a nurse and Debbie works for Convergys in Cebu), so our how-are-you’s went on until 8 pm.

I took a bath and followed them at the back of the city hall, where the street is closed at night to give space to barbecue tents. The place is known as—well, it has various monikers. Many people simply refer to it as “likod sang city hall (the back of the city hall)”. Others call it “One-way,” after the direction of the vehicles passing by. Some prefer “Las Vegas,” as if bulbs and neon lights look the same. A friend would often confuse tricycle drivers by saying, “sa likod lang ni Miguel (at the back of Miguel [the city mayor], please).”

For the staff of Omni, it’s “Baywalk”, or “Baywalk Without a Bay” as landlocked Koronadal is dozens of miles away from the nearest edge of the sea. Perhaps someone thought of the name because the street looks like the Baywalk in Manila.

Our Baywalk here, all but 30 m in length, teems with people every night. Not less than 10 stalls offer different choices of barbecue—the cheapest in town. Chicken, with either a wing or a drumstick attached, is only P35. Chicken intestines and pork slices come at P3 per stick, while two pieces of chicken neck is P15. My favorite here is panit (or “sken” as a tindera once insisted), at P5 per stick.

For the complete street-food experience have a balut or two from the vendors lined at the other side of the street. Then wash the barbecue grease and chicken bits down your throat with a slice of watermelon from the fruit stands across the adjacent street.

Last night, however, we passed on the balut and watermelon because of the rainshower. When the pouring slightly waned, we decided to check the schedule of the coming Hinugyaw festival printed in the tarpaulin in front the city hall.

We walked in the drizzle without any covering for our heads, pretending we’re in Chicago, the windy city, believing ours is the normal world.

Our most joyous faces

New Year in the streets of Koronadal

Playing tun-og, waiting for Mark Aethen

Ms Grace, her daughter, and the New Year crashers

KORONADAL CITY, SOUTH COTABATO—I never thought being “homeless” could be so cool.

Two friends and I spent New Year ’s Eve loitering along Alunan Avenue, one of the busier streets here.

At about 11 pm, Royal and Mark Aethen suggested we dropped by Matchbox, a fast food stall just several meters away from the roundball. The place was no longer serving food, but Miss Grace, the affable owner, treated us to sumptuous servings of oyster valenciana, burger steak, and shrimp salad.

Before long, we were slowly having rounds of Red Horse (still on the house!) as Bob Marley crooned “No woman, no cry” in the karaoke and splendid fireworks illuminated the night sky.

Greeting the New year couldn’t be this languorously fun.

Royal and Mark forcibly took 2/3 of my three-piece tribal bracelet