Hoist that flag up higher, stretching your pride as high up as the sky.

A flag of a country repressed under a fist of colonial servitude. A boot stamping on the face of a native — forever.

A bloodstained shade of red, dripping in blood, toil and a legacy of agitation. Restored glory, unsung bravery muffled under the yolk of the imperial banner of blue, red, white.

Shriveled second-rate subject.

Death of ritual and bizarre tradition.

But heritage courses through our jugular vein. A flag fluttering, unraveling, pieced back together.