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    I’m still hyped that I got to be a part of the #hyperbole2018! Our youth are beautiful. #donotbesilent #splitthisrock ❤️ Today I ran a workshop for the #HyperBole2018. I made myself vulnerable. We opened with “Fear in a Box” where everyone, high school and college students, anonymously wrote their fears and hopes on a piece of paper. Then they crumbled the paper or made a paper airplane to fly into the box. We went around the room and opened up the fears and hopes. One girl noticed that the hopes were internal expectations and the fears related to something or someone external to us. 🤔
I shared my fear: deportation. My workshop was on immigration and immigrant poets. I am not afraid to be the immigrant in the room. I am that girl, but it don’t come easy. I ran the workshop twice, but the first time was the harder one. I have shared my story before, and yet, I never know how my heart will cope on any given day. 💔Today I had to breathe in before saying the words “my fear is deportation” because it is a very valid fear no matter what people say: I’m praying, down with Trump, it’ll be alright. I don’t know if I will stay in my America. I hope that like the fears the youth shared such as letting people down, being alone, spiders, and jellyfish, my fear can be overcome. #callcongress #saveTPS Morning hour. 😴 At a new temporary office! The life of an immigrant poet.
#workweek #before8am
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1,000 miles: step 78

Alright. Reader, I’ll let you know what I did last summer, this past summer in fact. It’s called summer camp.

I don’t believe I’ve ever had a summer like this one. It was fun and jarring every day. I have some experience with kids at the middle school classroom level, so I know that any day with kids is a recipe for an unordinary day. At camp, the odds of a hectic day are increased. Never have I ever seen so many boo-boos and running feet or heard so many laughing and shouting mouths. Imagine doing this full-time for three months. Now, see, summer camp is for the strong at heart!

The Summer Camp Experience: whoo. ah ahhhh.

I turned 22 years old at camp, too. I can’t wrap my head around that.

I picked up some new skills, and that is always a plus in my book. I can now finger-knit and sew on a machine. I can also program a moose to move–he has to be on an iPad though. I can assemble a robot and cardboard furniture. I can help resolve an argument between friends. I can dance! (Ok ok, so that last one’s quite not true, but I can dance with slightly more rhythm.)

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