Mommy’s Brew

Mommy has always loved her coffee.For many, many decades her day began, and ended with it. As a teenager, I always knew better than to talk to her, or ask for permission from her before she had her first cup of coffee for the day. Always black with sugar, never any cream. At home we…

The Croc In My Lola’s House

Walking My Crocodile by John Drysdale He was six feet long and wrinkly when I first met him, and his name was Ay-Ay (short for buwaya). Spending time with him was the highlight of my summers in Cebu as a child. Ay-Ay lived under the stairs of my grandmother's house in Cebu. I met him…

My Father’s Eyes

I have nothing tangible that belonged to my father. They are all in my mother’s and brother’s possession. But when I look into the mirror each day, I see my father so clearly. I have his eyes, I have his nose. No one can ever take that away from me. My father died in 1981,…