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PRESS PU Y T BL I IV
T HE BE BEL L VOL. VIII ISSUE. 3 OCT 26, 2020
THE SPACE INBETWEEN
photo by noah buchanan it feel as though my life is slipping
that has provided me the patience
through my fingers, no matter how
to grow. Over the last few months,
many times I tr y to keep it contained
I have stretched my arms into that
in my palms. In a world where the
emptiness and made it mine.
fourth year claire torak
only day-to-day constant is change
It is an odd thing to be told by
itself, there is nothing left for me to
Slowly, all of my gaps are being
someone you consider to be an
hold onto. Life is shif ting underneath
closed. Little by little, honesty is
incredibly close friend and trusted
my feet, and it’s taking me with it.
slipping out of me. My words, my
confidant that even though they’ve
truths, are taking up the space they
known you for three years, they don’t
deser ve instead of being stuck to my
really know you. Sitting on the floor of her living room, blinking at her through glazed-over eyes, I began to cr y. She was right, and we both knew it. I’ve lived my entire life believing in my silence. My secrets were mine and mine alone, stuf fed into the pockets
“IT WAS THEN, AS I SAT CURLING MY FINGERS INTO THE CARPET, THAT I REALIZED IT WAS TIME TO LET GO OF MY FEAR AND FIND MY VOICE. ”
I let people have all of the pieces of me, they’d learn that there wasn’t that much to love and leave. It was then, as I sat curling my fingers into the carpet, that I realized it was time to let go of my fear and find my voice. The word “change” has always carried a negative connotation for me. I don’t want to acknowledge what I can’t control, and change of ten makes
THE BELL VOL. VIII, ISSUE 3
withdrawal with sincere, intentional communication, my life has become much sweeter. My friendships are more meaningful, more equal. My hear t is much lighter. In giving away ever y par t of myself, I’ve gotten a whole new world in return. The other day, one of my friends told
of my chest in hopes that they would disappear. I convinced myself that if
tongue. In replacing my emotional
Our lives are now dictated by distance. It feels as though ever ything is happening in the space between. Between friends, between words, between two strangers standing in line at the grocer y store. I
me that I had grown immeasurably since the star t of the year. I hadn’t noticed. Maybe that’s why I’ve gotten so good at keeping my plants alive recently—I’ve learned to stop drowning them at the roots.
think that all of the change, good and bad, is happening there too. The good thing about space is that it’s a blank slate. It waits to be cluttered and transformed as we learn to fill it with life and meaning. It is nothing but openness—an openness
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DEEP OBSERVATIONS fourth year anchal kumar Sit outside they say
All the gears keep turning
Soak in the sun
The sun shif ts across the sky
As though fif teen minutes of Vitamin D
Refusing to stop for a moment of peace
Will help erase my worries
The clouds say goodbye as the shadows take over Ignoring my look of anger as I wish for time to stop
Cars keep whizzing by
The ants frantically move in dizzying patterns
Engines sputter and spit zooming down the road
My existence is irrelevant to them
Someone is in a hurr y
The crickets add to the hum
Tr ying to get a moment of peace
Crossing over into enemy territor y
Attempt failed
The spiders scuttle into my personal space I am a kaleidoscopic mess to them
All these ants follow each other
The motorcycles roar by
Their home invading our basketball hoop
Painfully louder each time
Or maybe our basketball hoop is invading their home
I wish for a moment of peace.
Looking at them from far away
As my eyes close
They skitter around in no organized manner
I realize
But up close, they work as a team
I have arrived.
The concrete of the porch carefully hugs the grass A Venn diagram of natural and manmade The line marks the entr y into enemy territor y For crickets and spiders They make me jump in fear and pull my legs close Who’s the villain? Well that depends on your perspective
photo by melissa wright
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DADIRRI
fourth year sydney kohne
I’ve always loved words. The way they can look, the way we can manipulate them, the way they can move us to happiness or tears. But one thing I’ve always regretted is that so many of us, myself included, are limited in knowledge to only one language. We’re collectively missing out on a whole world of words and meanings that can give us a new way to look at life. But my favorite thing about the power of words
photo by noah buchanan
is that they can embody some of the most beautiful phenomena the world has to offer, wonders that feel like we can’t accurately put into a word. Well, into an English word that is. In my humble opinion, the best of these foreign words are related to nature. Nature is universal and something we can all appreciate. It might not look the same from where we all are but is always there to mystify us and bring us together. For example, there is komorebi, a Japanese word signifying the sunlight coming through the leaves of trees, or meriggiare, the Italian word for resting in the shade to escape afternoon heat. But one of my favorites is one that encapsulates everything nature has to offer us. Dadirri, from the aboriginal language of Australia, can be translated as “contemplation, deep inner listening and quiet awareness of creation that allows you to be at peace with yourself, with others and with nature.” Think of a time when you caught that perfect sunset on the beach and sat in silence, appreciating how the colors mixed in the sky and on the water before the sun finally dipped below the horizon. Or you stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon and had your breath taken away, incredulous that you had the privilege of seeing something so stunning. Or you were doing something as simple as sitting on a park bench under a cloudless sky just basking in the fact that nature really came together to make the perfect day, and all seemed right in the world. These are the “stop and smell the flowers” moments. They’re the ones that we can’t take for granted and the ones that life so preciously gifted to us. So go, chase your dadirri moments and hold on to them as tightly as you can– –you’ll never regret it.
THE BELL VOL. VIII, ISSUE 3
TIES: TIME AFTER TIME third year baily reese
The time reads, 4:03 - the repetitive time of day that I seem to see every single time it hits. I’d recently explained to someone the meaningless yet meaningful significance of the time of day I hold dear, the one I happen to be drawn to or seem to see in patterns. Then I wonder– whenever they see 4:03, will they think of me? After conversation fades, and communication becomes few and far between— what will be left of what I was to them?
photo by atithi patel
Through laughter and tears, the best of times and the worst of times, you can’t control what people take and leave behind. The parts that linger and stay stuck to the skin of remembrance– a membrane, coming hot around the corner in a blue wave of unexpected sentimentality They hit you heavy. A bowling ball on the guardrails, when you think they’re gone they come back around the bend. Like taste aversion, a permanent pucker. Silhouettes of their figure, favorite sports teams, a shade of red hair, the smell of cigarettes. It’s a terrifying thought to think how you can’t control what other people choose to remember about you. Taking and passing and sharing their subjective interpretation, Your existence in the palm of their hands. But there’s the possibility of the warm ones, soft smiles in secret Throw the head back and release the guttural, “AHA!” Pangs in the chest or flutters in the stomach, fond of it all nevertheless. Their smile, the band UMO, a sense of adventure, – you love(d) them. There’s peace in never knowing, the boundless ambiguity that comes with the passerby the ignorance of a good sort; is it bliss or does it keep you numb from feeling? But if you always knew what they held onto and what they left behind, would you change?
HAPPAYY! MOND
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