Kavi Warrick
Bio
There's a moment where all the words try to come out all at once, and it's either beautifully chaotic or decidedly blank.
Stories (20)
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Letter #2
Mom do you remember when I was in my early 20’s and I foolishly wrote a letter detailing all your faults, downfalls, and failures in my childhood? I had read somewhere that you were supposed to write out all the hateful things you wanted to say, and then burn the letter. I didn’t burn mine I sent it. Effectively breaking both our hearts in one incredibly immature gesture. It took years to heal the damage I had done, and years to forgive myself for it even after you had. Now over a decade later this challenge took me back to that moment, pouring out my heart to my mother once again. This time with the wisdom of age, and the grace of perspective, acknowledging that all the parts I love about myself, were the best parts of you. I had intended it to be funny, I wanted to make you laugh, bring back happy memories, inside jokes, and family secrets. I didn’t intend to ugly cry into a handful of paper towels, rubbing gritty eyes so that I could see the screen and find a rhyme for cycle (I couldn’t). But we did break cycles mom, so many of them, and I am breaking this one too. Writing you a new letter, full of new words, and I know that you’re going to cry like I am crying, so I don’t want to send it to you. I confess I don’t want to be the reason you cry today, even if I know they will be proud, happy tears. So, I am sending it to the world instead, to take the edge off, and then one day soon, I’ll share it with you, and we’ll cry together.
By Kavi Warrick4 years ago in Confessions
Dusty Dreams
Of all the things that slip away as we grow older, by far the one I mourn the most is the bottomless optimism of childhood. You come into this world looking up, always up. The people, the buildings, the sky, your head tilts back subconsciously and you fix your eyes above the half point of your height. We push and the world pushes back, and little by little our eyes drop, adjusting to our height, seeing where we are at, not where we could be. We stop looking up. The ideals that we held as children collect dust on the back shelf, emitting a musty odor of romanticism and naivety. In 2022 it’s time to dust them off and bring them out to the fresh air. Waving aside the dust of a decade, I can already tell that some pieces are too rough and outdated to bring into the light. Some ideals we were taught by adults that didn’t know yet the harm they would hold. This little flag pin used to mean pride in a nation not just mighty, but the mightiest. Older now I can see the jagged edges, cracked filling and know that pride does not mean being blind to the broken. I move forward with the knowledge that loving my flag does not mean loving all that it has/will stand for. The doll, with her porcelain skin, tiny waist and painted lips is beautiful, I wrap my fingers through blonde hair and happy memories. I know that her smile reflects mine, just as I know she failed millions of children who did not see their own reflection in her eyes. This year and every year after I chose to support children in my classroom, in my life, in my path, with toys and materials that reflect their eyes, hair, skin, and smile. I quietly promise to be kinder to myself as I put her away, knowing my hips are wider, waist thicker and face plain in comparison. Being kind to myself is new, a small seed pushing through layers of sod towards a warm sun. Secretly I am terrified each time the frosty remark of a stranger, the nibbling strain of family expectations, the buzzing drone of a world uncomfortable with curves, loom over the sprout. This is the year, the year I will see a bloom, because despite the layers, the frost, the nibbles and buzzing, the seed sprouted, the plant is growing, I am growing.
By Kavi Warrick4 years ago in Poets
The Office Christmas Party
It was the office Christmas party at my conservative school. We did an award show themed, replicated Oscars and teacher themed categories, a red carpet and everyone dressed to the nines. The management team had spent months planning this party, and it was a huge success. I wasn’t much in the way of decorating, but the award categories and over the top dramatic speeches had been mine to create and I was proud of them. We were halfway through the evening when someone leaned over and whispered that the manager doing the next introduction had to leave to check on her kids, and I was filling in. I could not, would not, I flat refused to get up in front of almost 200 of my peers and their families. Of the 10-person management team I was the youngest, quietest, and most likely to blend in with wallpaper. My coworker Jo pulled me towards the bathrooms, encouraging me, explaining it would be fun, it would be easy, it would be 30 seconds tops, and it would mean so much to the team. She didn’t win me over with her words, but with the liquid courage she had smuggled in and now offered me. I could do 30 seconds, I would just smile and read from the notecard, I tried to channel my inner Jerry Seinfeld, I could be casual.
By Kavi Warrick4 years ago in Humans
Welcome to Adulthood
I was bored, so bored, homework done for the day, chores checked off, library books devoured. Bored was a bad word in our home, so I kept it to myself, wandering upstairs to bore myself in new surroundings. Em, my brother’s girlfriend, found me at the kitchen table 10 minutes later, eating my boredom away. “I am going to go fill out job applications, do you wanna come?” She hates going places alone.
By Kavi Warrick4 years ago in Families
