I don't know how long ago, "martyr" was no longer a compliment to me; I don't know how long ago, when I saw "heroic", I knew someone died. The police, soldiers, firefighters, and medical staff were gradually put on a cloak of glory. They were heroes. But when I think about it, I see beyond the cloak the constraints of duty, obligation, and morality. Inside the cloak I found tired faces. When he decided to give up the journey to Sudan with the Royal Army, it was us who said in our hearts: This is a coward. It's us, send the card with the four feathers attached. When these heroes clenched their fists and put those four invisible feathers into their minds, they moved forward, they went to the front lines, and they faced an endless challenge. How can we who are outside the front line know the suffocating air in the front line? If heroes die, they are martyrs, and they all go "voluntarily". With such a tragic occurrence, are we going to find the sinner? Of course some of us will bear more sin than others, but the sinners we look for are all in the mirror you face. When heroism starts to rage, things start to go wrong in this country. Heroes are supposed to do heroic deeds, and inaction is unforgivable. We label them heroes as if we crossed our hands and looked at them: there is a sea of fire in front of them, and if you don’t jump, you will be sorry for our sincerity.
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