Cory

1933-2009.
In my life, the years 1986-1992.

I remember the excitement when she campaigned in our city. I could see how the adults around me felt. The yellow streamers (her signature hue) brightened them up. And there was that palpable feeling of change, a mighty tide sweeping up the masses. There was a feeling that we were part of an important moment in Philippine history.

I remember when my mom voted in that election. At the voting precinct (a public school), there was a party mood. The adults voted, while the kids played. After the votes were cast, we all went to the beach. It was a moment when they knew their voices will be heard and counted.

I remember when Cory won, and finally we can say bad things about Imelda Marcos out loud and not feel like the cops were going to take us away and torture us.

And I remember, in her flawed leadership, four years after her election, a coup started in Malacanang, the presidential palace. That day, our teachers in school told us to go home at 9 a.m. My classmates and I didn't go home. We were free. Instead of going home, we walked around the city, strolling, nary a care, our younger siblings in tow. We played video games at the arcade. We stopped for lunch at my classmate's carenderia. His mother and her customers intently listened to the radio news. His mother admonished us for gallivanting while a coup d'etat was going on. First of all, we didn't know what "coup d'etat" meant. She asked us if we knew the gravity of the political situation. Um, we didn't at the time. And it was taking place in Manila - well north of us, islands away. Military tanks were unlikely to roll by our city streets.

We did go home after that scolding without any understanding why we pissed off the adults. Only later on did I understand that a coup meant it would be a return to martial law, to the Marcos regime. There would be no more bright cheery yellow ribbons. And the People's Revolution would've been short-lived, and in many minds, for naught.