But I Want To Be An Artist
I was taking my niece out to buy candies. She insists on carrying her little pink purse, which stores her $2.60 worth of coins. With her wealth, she will raid the convenience store and buys everything her heart fancies. I can just see that thought dancing in her eyes.

Funny how little things mean a big deal to a kid.

When we enter the store, the first candies she grabbed was for her brother and my younger sister. How thoughtful.

As we were walking home, I asked her what she wants to be when she grows up. “I want to be an arrrrrrtist.” she cooed. She said that as if she was destined to be one, like its her birth right, like its being printed on her T-shirt.

An artist? Why!? Thoughts of her becoming a doctor, biologist, or even archaeologist slipped away as this young girl made her statement.

“But why you want to be an artist Chitra?” I asked, interested to know. “I like to draw. But I don’t like to colour. Colouring makes me tired. I am lazy.” Well, I’m glad she said that. At least her definition of an artist is not someone being packaged to appear on brainless local TV.

I think she will be a good artist. She has shown us her artistic side. Her tantrums are legendary. She craves and enjoys attention. She likes her solitude. But she can get along well, interacting with other kids and her siblings. She chose to colour her grass purple and sky green. And her strokes are bold, kinda like freestyle nonsensical marks on paper.