IT was spring of 1990 and the birds were singing. I was living in a small room in a hotel run by Filipinos in Nevern Square, London. It was the break from the school term, and so I took a 14-hour train journey to visit London. That day I went to Saint Paul's Cathedral, its tall and beautiful spires reaching for the sky. I also finally saw the red tulips opening their smooth petals to the sun.

A crowd had gathered in front of the cathedral. The police were even there, in their red uniforms, carrying only their wooden sticks, unlike in the Philippines, where the policemen and the security guards carry long guns and a supply of bullets strapped to their waists.