Personal Narrative: My Life As An Outsider

I am deeply sorry, mom, that I always got angry with you in public. Whenever you spoke, I constantly found myself looking around, seeing people staring and snickering, like they always do. I am deeply sorry, mom, that I wasn't by your side when you came to my elementary school spring fling, and you asked the hot dog vendor to give you only the bread because they didn't understand you being a vegetarian. Your accent is thick, and I'm deeply sorry that I, your own blood, made you feel like an outsider. I was embarrassed. Everyone always asked about you and I never knew why I invariably became so angry. I made mistakes but those are the ones I wish I could take back. It wasn't until I got older that I realized your accent is music to my ears, like the sounds of wind chimes when it storms outside. Through your voice, I can hear the euphonious tune of a bansuri dancing alongside with the wind. Like when the tabla and sitar come together to make some of the most beautiful music. Your voice sounds like the crowded streets of Gujarat and the blaring horns of the rickshaws. I can hear the laughter as you play with your siblings in the rain, throwing mud at each other. I can hear the rhythmic sounds of the anklets beautifully adorned on your bare feet. The sounds of you clapping your palms together, swaying of your hips, as you dance to …show more content…
I'm glad you do. So much of myself appreciates that you didn't lose it, because now more than ever, I know who I am. I know who I am because of what you had to endure to give us a life of privilege. We didn't have much growing up, but your kids knew what you had to give up to maintain the life the lived. You or papa never once bragged about the things you did for us. We thank you for that. I see a reflection of myself through your accents. Not because of what it sounded like, but because of what it said. You are the sounds of