Cory...

I was 7 years old when I heard the news of Ninoy Aquino's death in 1983. My family went to their Promesco Building along South Superhighway to watch the procession of his burial. At that time, all I had in mind were Barbie Dolls.

I lived to see the People Power in 1986. In grade three, just turning 10 a few months before, I had to deal with my own juvenile depression. Up to this point I still cannot remember how and why I had such, but I could vividly recall the daily masses we had in our village in Valle Verde, and my sisters together with the rest of the choir singing Bayan Ko. An ordinary lady under extraordinary circumstances was elected president.

I lived to see this president, trying her very best to get it together to be honest, truthful, bringing all the ideals she carried for her husband to save the dead Filipino, the hurt Filipino, the degraded Filipino. She became a hero.

Now this hero is dead, and I have lived to see all of these. The injustices she voiced out. The graft and corruption she refused to accept. And now, what? I am now a mother myself. My daughter and her generation did not get to see these struggles, these battles that this woman and her husband fought to make my daughter's life better, my daughter's country better. What happens to the future of our land? What happens to us, those who witnessed the truth? Those who are hurt, scarred, jaded, callous?

I have no answers to these questions. But I do sympathize with Kris when she wailed her feeling of abandonment, now that her mother is gone. That is exactly how I feel now, as a citizen. I don't know where to look, and where to go from here. I am also lost....

But I also have faith....