at the ptm this morning, teacher said you don't write, you speak only when you want to and get into fights, recite poems sometimes with everybody, apply the jam on your puris on your uniform...
but, yesterday you coloured the Indian flag so well (she kept her hand on her heart) that she had to give you a 'well done' card. the tiny flame of pride about to be doused, bursts to light. yes, my son, you become a huge artist, temperamental and intense. don't follow the rules. be yourself. make your rules.
i love you. it hurts.