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T HE BE BEL L VOL. VIII ISSUE. 11 MARCH 22, 2021 photo by catherine campbell
CRY YOUR HEART OUT third year priya desai
I. I cried every single day until I was about eight years old. I wish this was an exaggeration, but it isn’t. I wasn’t loud about it, nor seeking attention—I knew to take myself to a quiet corner, to go up to my own room, and to process my emotions. I remember sitting there in those first few years of elementary school wondering if this behavior was just a necessity of my life. If nothing else, it was inconvenient; it happened at the most awkward of times, and most days, my family was both concerned and annoyed by me, but I didn’t know how to be any different! Until one day, when the crying stopped. I don’t remember this at all, this first day I spent without tears, but I know there had to have been one day that marked this shift in my life. Nor do I have any idea what prompted this, but something changed, and I was eternally grateful. II. Lately, the floodgates have opened again. I cry more days than I don’t, and I still try to keep it to myself, although my roommates are kind enough to let me sob on the grey couch in our living room if I need to. I would like to emphasize that crying is not reserved for only sadness, although that’s been the spark these past few days. No, I cry whenever I feel an excess of any emotion: tenderness, exhaustion, rage. In fact, years of practice have empowered me with the saddest hidden talent ever: I constantly find myself on the verge of tears around others, and they never even notice! It feels like a tragic superpower, or maybe a magic trick. If we’re friends, it feels more likely than not that I’ve secretly cried in front of you. Anyways, I digress. I cried every day for the first fifteen days of 2021, and then I took a little break. I cried for four hours straight one day at the beginning of February. Last night, I cried until my roommate brought me Taco Bell home. I’ve been taking myself through emotional workouts, day after day, and I’ve been starting to wonder if this feeling will last forever. III. It’s finally starting to warm up outside, and it reminds me of how in the midst of winter, it feels impossible to imagine a warm summer day. Or how when you have a stuffy nose, and you start to feel like you will never be able to breathe properly again. How conflict can feel earth-shattering, even in a friendship that has already stood the test of time. How sometimes you cry every day for years, until you don’t. Is that relatable to anyone else? IV. I find myself with tunnel vision in these moments of despair. My brain loves the comfort of black and white thinking, this dichotomy of either/or. Either today is a happy day, or it’s a sad one. Either I am a good person, or I am irredeemably bad. These days, I’m doing my best to practice living in the grey areas of life, no matter how unfamiliar it feels. These days, I try to remind myself: Sometimes it just has to feel this way until it doesn’t.
THE CHAPEL BELL: A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION
THE TRADE-OFF
photo by atithi patel
fourth year jake forgay Friend: yo Luke: yo whats up? Friend: nothin. hanging out. tryin to start some hw. wanna come over? Luke: yea sure. i got nothin else to do. just u? Friend: yea. roommate’s out doin somethin rn. Luke: bet. be there in a few Friend: word Luke puts his phone down and goes to his room to change his clothes. A few minutes later – keys in hand – he locks his apartment door and heads down the hallway of the complex. About ten steps in … Luke (to himself): Ah shit! Forgot my mask. He stops in his tracks, turns around and makes his way back to his place. But just as he’s reaching for the mask … Devil (deep-voiced): You good homie. You don’t need that mask. It’ll just be you two. Luke (aloud): The fuck? Who’s there? No response Luke (to himself): Huh that was weird ... Devil: The hell you mean who’s there? Look down stupid. Luke looks down at his feet. Devil: Over here! Luke looks at his left shoulder, and there sits a miniature version of himself, wearing a mask under his chin like a helmet strap. Luke (startled): Woah! What the hell is this ... Am I dreaming or something? Devil (smoothly): Nah dude I’m your adviser. Luke: Uhhhh what? Devil (emphatically): Your ADVISER. Luke (cautiously): Oooookay? So what are you supposed to advise me on? Devil: General things, you know. Whether to do or say this or that. Nothing in specific. Luke: So why are you here now? Devil: You’re about to grab that mask right? Luke: Yea? Devil (persuasively): Psh, why bother. You are just about to go see your bud. You’ll be fineeee. Besides, it’ll be so awkward if you’re the only person wearing it. I mean you don’t wanna be the only dude wearin’— Angel: Don’t listen to him! Another voice came from the opposite shoulder. He turned his head around and standing on his shoulder sat another miniature clone of himself, nose and mouth covered completely. Luke: Ugh … Another one of you? Angel: Don’t listen to him! He’s fooling you. Not wearing a mask would just be stupid. Both Luke and the devil were listening but all they could hear was a faint mumbling. Luke (to the devil): What was that? You hear him? Devil: Nope. Couldn’t pick out anything. Angel (louder): DON’T LISTEN TO HIM. WEAR THE MASK. Still only a faint mumbling was heard by Luke and the devil. Luke: Dude I’m sorry but you’re going to have to speak up. I can barely hear you. Infuriated, the angel briefly pulls his mask down to give his message. Angel: WEAR THE MASK! Luke: Damn dude chill! Devil: Someone’s angry. Angel: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just so damn tough to speak in this thing. I have to scream my ass off. Devil (to Luke): See? Why would you want to put up with that? You’ll just make a fool out of yourself like bonehead over here. Angel: At least I don’t look like the dumbass wearing a chin strap. Are you trying to make a fashion statement or something? Devil (sarcastically): What was that? Sorry, I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to speak up. Luke: Alright, alright enough. Devil: Listen man, all I’m saying is that you don’t need to stress yourself over wearing that muffler when there is no threat. Angel: But what about protecting others? Yea it might not do anything for you, but at least you won’t get your friend sick. A tight knot began to form in Luke’s chest. He felt like he was in the center of an aggressive tug-of war match. Both seemed valid, he thought. Luke: Ughhh ... Time has passed, and he is now sitting on his friend’s couch. Luke: Hey man, can you snag me a water from the fridge? Friend: What was that?
THE BELL VOL. VIII, ISSUE 11
SLOWLY, SURELY fourth year julia mun
Happiness comes in many forms. Sometimes I can’t stop smiling from the sheer force of it. It emanates freely, spilling from my lips. Sometimes, I have to be still enough to feel it. It floats around like the wind in my ears. Sometimes it will ebb inwards away from me, but returns like the tide does the next day, slowly, surely. Sometimes I need reminders of the things that make me happy. Maybe this list will make you think about what makes you happy too. the passenger seat There is something comforting about staring out the window in the passenger seat. All I have to do is sit, watch, and let the world pass by in flashing lights. My thoughts can wander untethered as my fingers tap along to the rhythm of the music. I can hear someone’s humming in the background. This is what peace feels like to me. the stars No matter how many times I see them, I will never not be fascinated by the stars. When the clouds clear away at night, the humid air sinks into my skin, and the stars blink in greeting, I feel happiness. I see less of them with each passing day, making me ever more grateful to see them. trivia: love I play this song when I need a reminder that I am human. To be human is to live, to become love itself. The two are inseparable. coffee Waking up to the fresh scent of coffee signals a good day. I love scooping careful amounts of beans, sprinkling salt into the mixture. I pour boiling water into the press, watching the tiny shards float into a small whirlpool. The coffee blooms, and I stand in my kitchen, waiting patiently for that first sip for a new beginning.
photo by catherine campbell
THE BELL VOL. VIII, ISSUE 11
AT A DISTANCE
photo by catherine campbell
fourth year annette aguilar
There’s something far away that calls my name. I can’t seem to remember what it looks like. I can’t even remember what it feels like either. It just lingers with me. The sensation that I have left something behind. As the years go by, this sensation grows. It’s frightening. I don’t want to feel like I’m abandoning it. I hate leaving things behind. I want to keep it with me, tucked away under my bed, or in photo by atithi patel
my pockets. The sound of my name lingers. I listen… but I can’t make out
thing meaningful in a very long time.
there, even if at a distance. It lets us
what else it says.
The oil paints I bought a year ago are
have space when we need it and it
still in their packaging. Unused. The
comes to us when the time is right.
wine stained sketchbook I hid at the
I know that despite it’s calling, it’s
bottom of my bookshelf is still sitting
waiting patiently. It sends out a gentle
But I can’t. I haven’t been able to
there. Unopened. The word document
reminder that it’s still there. It’s all in
for a long time. It’s like I’m stuck in
with all of me is still displayed on my
my head. I let it frighten me when it
the same place. Not really the same
desktop. Unwanted. All my mediums
shouldn’t. I know it will never leave, so
place. Life goes on. Days still pass. It’s
for creation. Ignored. I just hear the
I also must reciprocate.
already the end of February. Winter
calling from a distance.
I think it’s telling me to go make art.
I will come back when it’s time. When
will soon become spring. And yet, I haven’t made anything. My hands still
This something, calling from far away,
I feel like holding a brush again. Or
haven’t moved to the sound of my
waits for me. It doesn’t abandon
when I feel enough to write what I am.
name being called. I can’t seem to
anyone. I’ve seen others find it in be-
Art is waiting. And, I will keep it with
move towards it. Towards creation. I’m
tween bushes surrounding their home.
me always. I will make art and love
stuck.
Or in sunlight reflecting on the eye’s
it, even if it’s bad art or good art. Up
of someone they love– even in the
close I will hold the hand of creation.
I hear how it echoes, at a distance. It
shadows that chase. It’s always there.
blends with the wind on a rainy day.
Waiting. I feel better knowing that no
And, even at a distance, I will know it’s
It’s mute on days where there is sun.
matter how long I take, it will still grab
with me.
Subtle yet there. I have distanced
my hand.
myself from it, both intentionally and unintentionally. I haven’t created some
HAPPYAY! MOND
That’s the thing about art. It’s always
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