Putli and Gaitom

Fiction by | July 3, 2011

Putli the Carabao trots in the forest, proud of his big horns, his big body, and his pale skin. Along with him is Gaitom the Cow, timid as he was, with his tiny horns, his tiny body, and his dark skin.

Everyone in the forest wonders how two creatures so different get along with each other so well.

At noons they go to the lake in the middle of the forest, take off their skins, and freshen themselves up. Sometimes they walk the downhill path to the edge of the forest, where there is a farming village. Putli and Gaitom like to watch men till their big fields all by themselves. Putli often laughs at the men. Gaitom shushes him.

“It’s not right to laugh at men like that. They need help,” Gaitom says.

One day they reach the edge of the forest, farther than they had gone before. It is noon, and time for their dip in the lake.

Continue reading Putli and Gaitom


Nonfiction by | January 25, 2009

When I see myself in mirrors, I don’t notice my mother’s nose, my father’s eyes, or my aunt’s lips. I do see my reflection but I don’t recognize myself. What I see is my father, what I recognize is a molded reflection of my father’s.

My father may not always have been there for me, but I believe he made sure to be there at the exact moment I had a weak grasp of what was going around me—he made sure to be there to help strengthen my grasp of what was worth gripping, of what was worth holding on to. Here is how I knew.

Continue reading Reflections