Whitney Guerrero
Bio
Whitney is a second generation Mexican-American woman originally from Northern Virginia. Currently based in Cary, North Carolina, she is a dance teacher, avid crocheter, graphic designer, mommy to one, and writes when the spirit moves her.
Stories (14/0)
Why Death is For Me | Part 4: Repurposing Grief
When our hopeless feelings are as big as the sky, they transform our whole world. They color all our days and rain on our parades. They convince us that we might be the only ones roaming this astral plane. In some morbidly comforting way, it gives us the sense that we are unique. We are the most special, most grieving person in existence—the only person that speaks our sad little language. The only person that walks in our sad dopey clown shoes, through our sad little puddles, in our faraway depression dimension. We are the only ones who could possibly understand the nooks and crannies of this grief—the sole proprietors of sadness and the original creators of this pain.
By Whitney Guerrero9 months ago in Longevity
Why Death is For Me | Part Three: "Enter Night"
AFTER THE FUNERAL, when it could no longer be avoided, I got on the train to go back home. For weeks I clung to my sisters and mother, knowing that once I left them, I would have to learn how to grieve alone.
By Whitney Guerrero11 months ago in Longevity
Why Death is for Me | Part 1: "Death Happens"
She was just a sophomore in college, and she was dead. I had passed her in the middle school hallways between classes and seen her laughing with friends. Although she and I never really knew each other, I still remembered her.
By Whitney Guerrero12 months ago in Longevity
self esteem and jelly beans
I am a beauty queen and a teenage dream my body's full of self esteem and jelly beans I like me, now. I like the person I'm becoming, and who I currently am. I couldn't say that until recently. Maybe it's the Lexapro talking, but I feel self love for the first time... in probably my whole life.
By Whitney Guerreroabout a year ago in Longevity
Mutterseelenallein
I wonder how often I cross your mind, and if you think of me sweetly. By this point, I imagine your revisionist memory has painted our moments a different color. What has changed when you look back, and what remains the same? Is the snow that fell on me as a little girl still sugar, or is it salt?
By Whitney Guerreroabout a year ago in Families
Apple of the Earth, Potato of my Eye
"If you had to describe "love" as a food, what would you choose?" She asked me. "A fully loaded baked potato." I hadn't anticipated being asked what the gastronomic embodiment of love was, but I answered without hesitation. I'm sure there was a glimmer in my eye when I described the specific baked potato in my mind: An Outback Steakhouse baked potato.
By Whitney Guerreroabout a year ago in Humans
Pilar Had Ferrets
As the niece of a million handsome uncles, I was constantly surrounded by swooning women. Whether it was my sister's friends, neighbors, sisters of other girlfriends, moms, ladies who worked at my grandmother's restaurant- none of them were safe from the Latin lady killers that were my uncles. Along with this collection of hunky uncles came the collection of beautiful women they dated— the true main characters of this story. And, as I think back to my childhood memories with my uncles, rarely were their girlfriends not included.
By Whitney Guerreroabout a year ago in Viva
(A)lonely
I stand in my kitchen at 1:57 AM eating my third Rice Krispie Treat by way of the range light. If it wasn't so sad, it could be romantic... The warm light hitting the furniture in the dead of night. The quiet stillness of the room. The two cats slinking around and purring gently.
By Whitney Guerreroabout a year ago in Humans
