My To Write Love on Her Arms story and my Soundwave story are so intricately intertwined, it’s hard for me to separate them anymore.
I sit here as a spring 2013 intern in the TWLOHA office, a place I’ve been thinking about since meeting TWLOHA founder Jamie Tworkowski at Soundwave in 2009, and so many memories of past Soundwave/TWLOHA experiences are flooding back.
Stopping by the TWLOHA booth at a festival isn’t just about buying merch or taking photos. The TWLOHA booth represents so much more than that.
It doesn’t matter how many shows you’ve been to, who you’re there to see, whether you can be found in the pit, side stage, or stuck in food lines for 20 minutes—TWLOHA isn’t about where you are or what you are, it’s about who you are. It’s about self-worth, telling people they are important and their time on this planet is more than days, months, and years. It’s about letting others know there are people who care, want to listen, and will stand by you. It’s about affirming you are not alone in your struggles.
I’ve seen a great side to the music scene that Soundwave is a part of. I’ve seen people included when they are normally shunned. I’ve seen people (literally and metaphorically) lift others up when they have fallen. I’ve also seen so much pain, loneliness, and hurt in people—pain which needs to be addressed and alleviated.
My favorite part of any show is feeling the bass drum beating in my chest. We’ve all felt it—that you’re a part of something bigger, that music can heal, that you’re sharing something special with those around you. TWLOHA embodies that special something; it’s a reminder that you’re alive, that you can still feel.
What does it mean for me to see TWLOHA at Soundwave? It’s not even about TWLOHA or Soundwave, in reality. It’s not about me. It’s about taking every opportunity we can to let people know they matter and their story is important. And this just so happens to be a big opportunity.
— Clair White