Martyrs' Mausoleum, Yangon (Pic: Wikipedia) ONLY when I heard a popular song coming from the cassette player of a lottery-ticket seller, who was pushing his trolley past my house, did I remember to look at my calendar and saw that the date “July 19” was in red – a public holiday. “Oh, Martyrs’ Day is coming up soon,” I thought. But how could I have forgotten? I felt so guilty to have forgotten such an important day, a day we have a special expression for in our language: sekko zulai mamenai (unforgettable July 19). I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t speak for a few moments. Pausing at the window, I gazed out at the drizzle that was falling. The day seemed even more gloomy to me. As I stood there, another morning came to my mind, one from many years ago: My primary school teacher was sitting on a desk and telling us a story. We gathered round her and listened without a blink. I don’t remember in which grade we started to learn about history, but I’m sure we