This summer I had the chance to do a research fellowship at the University of Iowa, where I'm currently (like, today) moving back for my second year of college. I worked with the International Writing Program and Between the Lines, their intensive summer writing camp. For the first part of the summer, I did some research on the impact of social media on global communities (help me collect more data here!), and prepared for the camp. Then, I spent the month of July in Iowa City for the actual camp.
It. was. the. best. experience. ever.
Oh my goodness. I can't put it into wordsso I have no idea why I'm attempting to write a blog post, but I loved it with every electron in all my atoms.
For two weeks, I hung out with 36 high school students from the United States, Russia, and Arabic-speaking countries. I was the photographer for the camp, but I also spent a lot of time hanging out with the students, acting as a tour guide for all the best ice cream and book stores in town, and just soaking in the inspiration that naturally comes with a group of writers from around the world.
By the end of the two weeks, I had:
PS - I also want to give a big thank you to the Bureau of Education and Cultural Affairs, for funding the Between the Lines program, and to the Iowa Center for Research by Undergraduates, for granting me this fellowship. You can find the International Writing Program at iwp.uiowa.edu.
It. was. the. best. experience. ever.
Oh my goodness. I can't put it into words
For two weeks, I hung out with 36 high school students from the United States, Russia, and Arabic-speaking countries. I was the photographer for the camp, but I also spent a lot of time hanging out with the students, acting as a tour guide for all the best ice cream and book stores in town, and just soaking in the inspiration that naturally comes with a group of writers from around the world.
By the end of the two weeks, I had:
- ~1500 pictures
- 36 glimpses into what it is to be human, to be a writer, to be yourself
- 50+ new pages of poetry and writing in my journal
- 1 new family
and so much more. These amazing people helped me understand pieces of myself, and probably more importantly, be more okay with those things. They reminded me why I love writing and why I will probably be writing for the rest of my life. I learned about creative nonfiction in some awesome workshops, and realized that I really enjoy it.
I think one of the most huge things about this camp was that everyone felt so understood, so accepted. It was two weeks of the most true versions of ourselves that we had ever experienced. I'm so grateful to have been a part of it.
I wrote some poetry on the night everyone left, as most of the students were flying back over the ocean to their home countries. This is the best way to give you a glimpse into my summer. This piece was inspired by Anya's amazing nonfiction workshop and a piece by Joe Brainard, "I Remember", and it's for all the people I met this summer.
I REMEMBER: BTL 2018
I remember walking. Walking over rivers and through downtown. Walking over borders and between lines and into things we didn’t know or understand about ourselves. I remember saying goodbye and realizing that I understand a lot more of it, now.
I remember circles. Beginning circles where we stood at a distance and took careful steps to you in the center. Circles close to endings where we realized that you can find family from across an ocean. I remember crying, laughing, and laughing while crying. I remember how you asked me to take your picture and now I have one thousand memories of you in a folder on my computer’s desktop.
I remember overwhelming the waitress with pie shake orders way too close to closing time. I remember absolutely wrecking the seating arrangements in Burge so we could squeeze ourselves into two overcrowded tables. I remember the Haunted Bookshop and how many times we went back. Because you wanted to see the cat. Because you couldn’t get these books back home. Because you needed 31 more books. Because we all love places like those, where an old home became some other sort of home.
I remember how brave you are. I remember how you had so much to say, even if you didn’t always say it out loud. We heard you. I remember hearing your stories. I remember how powerful they were. How much you was packed in there, and how we all recognized each other.
I remember screaming into The Void at 10pm and losing our voices for the rest of the week. I remember finding a giant teddy bear back at my apartment. I remember the most enthusiastic karaoke night I’ve ever experienced. I remember when we became the entire world, and when we were afraid it might not always be that way. It will, though, because together, we’re everywhere.
We went back in time. I remember dancing. I remember how proud I was of you for walking up to that podium to accept your certificates.
“I had hoped you’d see my face and be reminded that for me, it isn’t over.” -Adele, Someone Like You
I remember how time didn’t exist that night. I remember blankets and scattered chairs in the lobby the next morning, because you promised you wouldn’t fall asleep but you did anyway.
I remember how suddenly there weren’t enough people standing in our circle.
I remember telling you I won’t forget. I remember how your eyes reflected mine, pools, too shiny for goodbye. I remember how your car door closed, over and over again, but I was left open.
I remember how you left home to come to my city, and how when you returned, you left another home behind you. I remember realizing we have the same soul. I remember how easy it was to be myself around you. I remember how you taught me what it means to be myself and when you cared about me, I cared about me more, too.
I remember smiling, after. I remember breaking and feeling whole and what it is to be loved, and I remember you.
– Caroline Meek
PS - I also want to give a big thank you to the Bureau of Education and Cultural Affairs, for funding the Between the Lines program, and to the Iowa Center for Research by Undergraduates, for granting me this fellowship. You can find the International Writing Program at iwp.uiowa.edu.
