Swati Singh
Bring all of who you are to everything you do.
⌘K
Subscribe Sign in
Family

I was such an asshole.

Sometimes I randomly apologize to my mother for being a little shit and it makes her emotional, which confirms that I have indeed been, or still am, a little shit.
Swati Singh

by Swati Singh

I was such an asshole.

Sometimes I think about things I've said or done to my parents and feel like an asshole.

Like there was that one time we went to Big Sur as a family. As usual we were arguing loudly in the streets about God knows what. Probably each other’s personalities, which is what my sister and I often argue about. Or a verbal misunderstanding, which it had to have been since this has to do with my mom.

Sometimes your parents say things and you take it awful because you care so much about what they think even though they think you don't give a shit.

It's especially terrible if there is any sort of language barrier. This isn’t a huge problem with my parents who have indiscernible global accents, but weird regressed ideas they’ve held on to sometimes slip through their ungraceful word choices.

Here's the thing – we’re all fucking exhausted. Being an immigrant, the child of immigrants, it’s all fucking exhausting.

We’re all always on the edge of totally losing it with each other.

Somebody could put the milk back in the wrong place in the fridge and, "I don't know why I came to this stupid country" comes out. We're always flirting with a total family system breakdown in that way.

One time I came back from yoga and my dad said one of my teeth was crooked and I went out into the backyard, smashed part of his greenhouse down, hit his pickup truck with a stick, and broke his computer mouse.

Anyway. So we’re walking down some street in Big Sur and I’m yelling at my mom. And this complete stranger, a woman, stops me in the middle of the crosswalk and says to me — “Don’t talk to your mother like that. You’ve only got one mother.”

I felt humiliated because I knew immediately in my bones that she was right, and that this poison would never leave me, and that I'll think about it the day my mom leaves me forever.

All of these realizations: instantaneous.

But, still angry, still clinging to my ego, I scoffed at this woman and we kept walking.

I will never forget my mother’s face through it all. She was grief stricken, a look she’s had at various times in her life. Whenever we all fought.

She always said that her job as a mother was to darn wherever we frayed as a family. Turpai. That’s how you say it in Hindi.

Over the years as I’ve realized over and over again that I do indeed only have one mother, and that nobody will ever love me more. It's not humanly possible.

I’ve felt like an asshole over and over again.

The woman who scolded me was older. The pain of knowing was in her voice.

At the time, I couldn’t believe that somebody — a stranger — would have the audacity to stop me like that.

Now I hope I become that woman because I realize how much courage and care were woven into her words.

Maybe one of her children had been insolent. Maybe she had hurt her mother and now she regrets it. Maybe she is me.

Sometimes I randomly apologize to my mother for being a little shit and it makes her emotional, which confirms that I have indeed been, or still am, a little shit.

More like this

Letting the Oil Run Off

Letting the Oil Run Off

When we sold the food business my parents started in the early 1980s a few years ago, I was deeply concerned it would kill my father. That’s because it was the truest expression of his undivided self.
Suffering as Grace

Suffering as Grace

Something I’m really grateful for, which having this eye condition taught me, is that when your body sends a distress signal, you need to stop and slow down against all conditioning.
The Backyard at Longview

The Backyard at Longview

In my silent picture memories out back in the old house at Longview, a few places stand out. The window above the sink overlooking the backyard. A walnut tree. An ornate altar to the Virgin Mary.
Watermelon Girls

Watermelon Girls

Justin Timberlake's recent run-ins with the law reminded of the watermelon girls who shared a table with me in art class. We had nothing in common, but a semester is long enough to forge lasting memories.
Ode to a Creep

Ode to a Creep

I credit my sister for all of our major family trips. While my parents and I are very dynamic people, we’re also a bunch of stick-in-the-mud homebodies. A recent excursion reminded me of a funny time we had together.
A Useful Childhood

A Useful Childhood

I’ve always seen going to school as a choice, even though it was compulsory and truancy was enforceable by law. Maybe that's because I had somewhere else to go that was steeped in usefulness.