Panjee Tapales Lopez August 14, 2005 A week from today we will celebrate the death anniversary of Ninoy Aquino. I remember that day vividly. August 21, 1983. I was in 3rd year high school. My best friend, Sandra Aquino Concio and I, looked forward to his much-awaited return to the Philippines. She was at the airport with the Aquino family as part of the welcome contingent. His brutal assassination and the chaos that ensued are etched in my memory. I remember Sandra's shock and pain the day after, as we tried in vain to behave normally and arrange our books in the little compartments under our school chairs. I remember Times St. and the bloodstained clothes of Ninoy. I remember how grief and anger changed the air and settled heavily on the skin. But I also remember that beneath the pain and outrage, I sensed true hope; a feeling that something good had emerged. Ninoy's death had not been an empty sacrifice. It was the beginning of change.