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

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.
Swati Singh

by Swati Singh

Ode to a Creep

I’m at a lovely hotel in San Diego unwinding for a couple of days after a marathon finish to the school year and, as I was leaving my room earlier today, I remembered another time I was at a hotel in the summer many years ago.

I was in New Orleans with my family for the IFT food industry conference, and my sister and I had a room adjoining my parents’. One night as she and I were approaching our hotel room door after dinner, a young man stopped in front of it with us, looked quite discernibly at our room number, turned the corner, and continued to walk down the hall. Time froze for a moment as the three of us stood there. Was he just lost or a creep?

Well we found out twenty minutes later when the room phone rang. I answered thinking it was my parents from next door, but instead a man said, “Hey, it’s me.”

I was 22 so instead of hanging up I said, “ME WHO???” It was the hallway guy asking us if we wanted to go out. We both looked at each other – What the fuck?

But instead of being rude we explained to him that we had an early flight and unfortunately could not go out. He persisted for a moment, but so did I, so I hung up and then my sister and I burst out laughing.

It’s funny what memories stay with us, and where our minds drift to given the time and stillness. I haven’t thought of that weirdo for over ten years, yet he visited my thoughts today and I was surprised at how vividly I remember his outfit – a casual buttondown shirt and khaki shorts– his dark brown hair, and pooka shell necklace.

Remembering him made me miss my sister who is currently on a trip abroad and I wonder — is this memory of a strange man really just an anchor to a time when my sister and I were both still kind of kids sharing a room next to our parents.

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.

My father calls us antarmukhi, which means inward looking — people who find happiness inside of themselves. It sounds good and is most of the time, but it’s not exactly living fully. A fear of the unknown lurks somewhere. My sister is the one who pulls us out of our routines and pushes us into new places and experiences.

My parents are older and their heavy traveling days are behind them. I have no excuse for being the way I am other than to blame them. Sure, I like seeing new places and meeting people, but actually planning for and embarking upon significant travel is mentally and emotionally challenging for me.

I have a great deal of fear around air travel in particular, not because I think I will die in a plane crash, but because I will likely contract the plague from a contaminated food tray table or will have to barf in one of those wax-lined donut bags.

It’s just an ordeal. I’ll be grumpy. It’s better for everyone if I stay home and watch Columbo or work in the garden – or here. Usually on the first leg of a long trip, I’m actively grieving the ambience of my cul-de-sac.

But I do miss my sister right even though I see her regularly, and I miss her exploratory ways. She’s in Peru right now. Do I wish I was in Peru right now? Only if it was with her.

Do I wish she was here right now sitting with me at the fire pit at my favorite tiki-themed resort not too far from home? Absolutely. I wish the whole dang family gang was here. Hopefully she’ll make that happen for us soon.

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.
I was such an asshole.

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.
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.
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.