  stepped out of the office thursday to buy some cigs, and got greeted by the sight of cut-up yellow pages littering paseo de roxas. it looked liked i missed one hell of a confetti shower, since i was cooped up in the office the whole day. then i remembered. 'twas august 21, ninoy aquino’s death anniversary. the patriotic songs blaring from the corner of paseo and ayala should’ve been a clue.
wow, i thought. 20 years. i don’t think the country’s changed that much. in the papers that day were stories about corruption, murder, violence and mayhem. same old, same old. it got me thinking, what does his life – or his death – mean? couldn’t answer that myself. probably more dirt for the metro aides to sweep up? 
