Because we don't really know how to write a palanca letter
Last year, when you went on your weekend retreat and was asked to write a letter for us, you rambled on and on about pretending to write just to please your teachers. And, as a surprise, you gave us some toothpicks and table napkins. Filched from the retreat house's dining area. Too bad the parents weren't asked to write palanca letters last year - it would've been fun to give you some dog biscuits along with a limerick about feeding your dog (which you really need to do on a regular basis, you know, since you did promise, when you were trying to convince us to adopt Wipo, that you will take care of him).
Now this weekend is payback time - because we were specifically requested by your teachers to prepare a letter. Although I think they did say it should contain something spiritual, one that would help you as you try to reflect on your life. Come to think of it, a dog biscuit would come in handy now, just to remind you how you've been trying to wriggle out of doing your chores. The dog hasn't been bathed in weeks, for crying out loud!
(Although Wipo's stink hasn't really stopped you from bringing him inside the house as soon as you get home from school, hugging him, and playing with him, stink and all. Now this is the part where I shake my head and go, "Tsk. Tsk." And beam with pride. I've raised a compassionate kid.)
Or maybe we should insert a dust bunny in our letter. Along with the note you've posted on your door: "I'll clean my room tomorrow - promise!!!" What was that you said about the mess in your room? Opportunity cost. For choosing to study your lessons and do your homework.
(Well, not your fault really. I did raise you to be more vocal, to know how to reason out, to fight for you rights. And growing up with nerds, it's not surprising that you are quite the nerd yourself. Using Economics to justify your missing floor. And so I shake my head again and go, "Tsk. Tsk." And beam with pride. I've raised an intelligent girl.)
How about if I send along with our letter your happy picture? You know, that picture where you were wearing Mommy's housedress and a Santa hat, and you brought your face so close to the camera lens you ended up with bloated (apple?) cheeks and RTK (ready-to-kiss) lips? The one that you told me to bring out and look at whenever I feel sad, as I would surely break out into hysterical laughter upon seeing it?
(I'm looking at it now, and I'm laughing while shaking my head and going "Tsk. Tsk." And beaming with pride. I've raised a happy person who knows how and when not to take herself too seriously.)