Hidden Letters, Part 3

It’s official. I hate school. Some kind of emptiness trails after me in every class. I don’t understand most of the teachers. Or the other students. Hindi is the first and foremost language here. I might as well have moved to China. I’m so tired of forcing a smile for introductions. I miss my old school, and my friends. But, being at home is so much fun I wonder if I’m willing to give it up. Is it something about this house? Maybe it’s the teen comedies I find comfort in. Or the music I constantly replay. Well, I’m not going anywhere, at least for now.


Living in my land are those

Who adorn people of the world

With cotton, linen, hemp or silk

But, with the help of some glue,

A humble ceiling crack does its duty

As the honored keeper of the clue.

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