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T HE BE BEL L VOL. VIII ISSUE. 10 MARCH 8, 2021 photo by atithi patel
VOICES ARE NOT HOMOGENOUS third year baily reese
There comes a time when schools reward COMPLIANCE over culture. You were probably told to write or speak or sit or read or THINK A certain way that standardized your personality There’s nothing about you that’s standard, breaking the standards with your existence. They tell anyone that will listen that literacy is linear and measurable and determines your life path. But little do we know that literacy is the blood pumping in your veins. Literacy is seen in the recipes your Grandma passed down your family tree. Literacy is like the long list of street signs you memorized as a kid, marking the boundaries where you called home. Literacy includes rap lyrics, every ounce of them saturated with a culture too rich to restrict Literacy includes drawing pictures instead of writing. Did you know that doodles are just as valuable? Literacy is a sheet of music, similarly decoded like a foreign language. Literacy includes everything that Standard American English rejects. Literacy is a culmination of all of your identities that come together and shake you awake. Literacy answers the question: What and how do you communicate? How did this begin? It’s an origin story of who you are and how you communicate: You’re welcome. An eclectic collection of you, BY you! Nothing gets more original than that. Words are power, and with power comes control. Whether school repressed your identity or emboldened it -- think about why. So why is there this value held in the systems that standardize and dilute these multiple variations of literacy? Because it was never about literacy in the first place, rather controlling the power and suppressing other voices. If no one ever told you that your voice matters, more specifically your words, I hope you know your power. THE CHAPEL BELL: A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION
MOTHER TONGUE second year srija sengupta
I speak two languages: Bengali and English. English is kind of a no-brainer -- I grew up here, and therefore I learned to speak it, easy as breathing. There’s not much to tell there, unless you’d like the particulars of that one time I accidentally cursed in 8th grade English class. (I almost cried, but it’s cool. We’re cool.) Bengali, on the other hand, is a different story. First off, Bengali is my mother tongue, my maatribhaasha. I like saying it’s my mother tongue more than saying it’s my first language because it’s like the language has nurtured and raised me, just like a mother would. And just like a child, I’ve disappointed her many, many times. There’s a kind of shame that comes with being bilingual: my “r”s betray my American accent when I speak Bengali, I stumble over complex conjugations, and we’re not even going to talk about my grade-school level of reading comprehension. It burns a bit every time, reminding me that I have failed yet again. Failed what? you ask. It’s just a language, after all. Not to me, it’s not -- it’s talking to my grandmothers, both of whom can only just understand basic English. It’s joking with my parents, laughing around the dinner table as we tease each other to the moon and back. It’s meeting my uncles and aunts for the second-first time (the first-first time being when I was just a baby, so that doesn’t really count) and catching them up on what life is like for me where I live. It’s not just a language to me; it’s my family. (Hence my preference for “mother tongue”.) I’ve come to realize over the years that this is not the healthiest way of looking at my relationship with Bengali. Not the family part, but the shame part -feeling as if I need to be absolutely perfect at all times when speaking. “Don’t I mess up in English?” I ask myself. “Don’t I stutter and lose words when making a speech? Don’t I accidentally pick up an Indian accent when I get tired?” Yes, yes to all of them. “Then why am I blaming myself for making mistakes in Bengali?” The moment I asked myself that question, it felt like a weight had dropped off my back. I ’d been focusing on the mistakes I kept making for so long that I’d almost forgotten that Bengali wasn’t my only way to connect with my family. We could still understand each other even if I tripped over my words sometimes and couldn’t read worth a damn. I don’t have to be a scholar in my mother tongue just to talk with my parents. I can just be as I am and correct my mistakes with grace.
THE BELL VOL. VIII, ISSUE 10
photo by atithi patel
SCATTERED THOUGHTS OF A BURNT-OUT SENIOR fourth year sydney kohne 8:52 a . m . d a n g I t hi n k I l e f t my c of f e e o n t h e c o u n te r d a m mi t I w a s g o n n a p u t i t i n a to - g o c u p I g u e s s I ’ll g e t o n e a t c hi c k- f il - a w hy d i d M e l a t d r a g m e h e r e. l a u g h a t l o u d a t t h e f a c t s h e h a s to te ll t h e s e d r i ve t h r u p e o p l e h e r n a m e i s M e l b e c a u s e t h ey c a n’t p r o n o u n c e h e r n a m e r ig h t o m g r e m e m b e r w h e n w e s a w t h a t h ot U P S d r i ve r a n d h e s a w u s c all hi m c u te t h a t w a s r e all y e m b a r r a s s i n g – – w ai t I n e e d to a r r a n g e t h a t i n te r v i e w w i t h t h a t c o a c h a n d tex t my s i s te r o h n o o k ay b u t a t l e a s t I w a s h e d my hai r t hi s m o r ni n g s o I k i n d of have my li f e to g e t h e r to d ay ’s g o n na b e a s e mi - g o o d d ay! M e l a t t hi n k s I t hi n k to o m u c h. C a n s h e s to p h av i n g t h e s a m e b r ai n a s m e. Aw t h e Re d & B l a c k of f i c e! I mi s s h av i n g m e e t i n g s w i t h p e o p l e i n - p e r s o n WOW w hy a r e t h e r e s o m a ny s h o r t p e o p l e t h a t g o to t hi s s c h o o l w al k i n g a r o u n d a r e t h ey j u s t f r e s h m e n? 11: 01 a . m . O h n o I d o n’t t hi n k t hi s g i r l w a s h e d h e r h a n d s b e f o r e l e av i n g t h e b a t h r o o m o h n o i s t h e r e a p o li te w ay to c all p e o p l e o u t f o r l e av i n g t h e r e s t r o o m w i t h o u t w a s hi n g h a n d s li ke W E A R E I N A PA N D EMI C PEO PL E! T h e r e i s n o h o p e l e f t f o r u s – – WOW I l ove h e r n e c k l a c e I n e e d o n e li ke t h a t b u t I ’m b r o ke. W h e r e i s Ev a n? I f h e s l e p t t h r o u g h c l a s s to d ay I ’ll have to s u f f e r f o r t h e n ex t h o u r a n d a h al f o h s hi t I f o r g ot to c all M o m b a c k– – o h h ey Ev a n’s h e r e! 2 p. m . Wo w my p r of e s s o r i s s o ni c e t h a t I s h o w e d u p l a te, I h a te t h a t I h ave to d e al w i t h l a te i n te r v i e w s – – d a n g I ’m s t a r v i n g b u t h ave t h a t l e f tove r c hi c ke n to r t ill a s o u p I c a n e a t w h e n I g e t h o m e b u t t h a t ’s s o f a r f r o m n o w w ai t W H AT IS T H IS CO FFEE S TA I N O N M Y W H I T E S W E AT SH I R T ? H a s t hi s b e e n h e r e all d ay? Aw l o o k a c o u p l e h o l d i n g h a n d s w hy w o n’t a nyo n e h o l d h a n d s w i t h m e I a m s o l o n e l y g o o d t hi n g Val e n t i n e’s Day i s c o mi n g u p a n d I d o n’t h ave a v al e n t i n e b u t t h a t ’s o k ay b c m a r g a r i t a s w i t h t h e g i r l s ! Wo w S u p e r t r a m p al w ay s p u t s m e i n a g o o d m o o d a n d i t i s s o ni c e o u t to d ay I s h o ul d j u s t w al k all t h e w ay h o m e o h n o d o yo u t hi n k t h a t g i r l n ot i c e d m e al m o s t f all of f t h e s i d e w al k t r y i n g to avo i d h e r m a s k l e s s s e l f ? Gi r l w e i n a PA N D EMI C!! w h a t i s w i t h p e o p l e to d ay. T H AT M A N IS O N A U N I C YCL E O N S A N F O R D D R I V E. h e ll ye s . W h a t a w o r l d w e li ve i n. 7:4 3 p. m . W hy i s Z a x by ’s t h e o nl y p l a c e yo u c a n g e t a g o o d c h e r r y Fa n t a a r o u n d h e r e? I s h o ul d p r o b a b l y h ave a r e al m e al b u t I t hi n k t hi s h a s c a f f e i n e i n i t w hi c h i s s t ill f u e l f o r yo u r b o d y r ig h t? O k ay c o o l d a n g I s e t u p all t h o s e i n te r v i e w s b u t DA MN i n eve r c all e d M o m. M ay b e to m o r r o w, i f I r e m e m b e r. d i d I d o a ny a c t u al h o m e w o r k ye t to d ay? M ay b e I ’ll g o w a t c h C r i mi n al Mi n d s i n s te a d.
photo by arantxa villa
THE BELL VOL. VIII, ISSUE 10
ON THE PURSUIT OF SELFGROWTH
photo by catherine campbell
fourth year claire torak
Every Wednesday morning, my therapist would ask me, “What do you want to talk about today?”, and every Wednesday morning, I’d pick a topic from my revolving door of brokenness, and spend the next hour in the pursuit of grueling self-excavation. Week after week, I’d turn myself inside out, scraping away at the excess, until I slowly became new again. But you can only put on a raw, tender skin so many times before it is stretched too thin. About two months ago, I sat on the couch in my therapist’s office, and she asked me the same question: “What do you want to talk about today?”, but for the first time, I found myself at a loss for an answer. There were no pressing anxieties, no new goals for self-improvement that I could produce. I don’t remember what we even talked about that day, but I do remember getting home and breathing in an odd sense of relief.
HAPPYAY! MOND
It feels as though we have to be working on ourselves every second of every day, emerging a better person in the morning than we were the night before, as if the world is demanding that we grow out of our old selves and into a new, sparkling version all the time. And while part of being a person is to grow up and change in an attempt to better understand ourselves and the world we inhabit, I am learning that simply just being is as much a part of the process of being alive as anything else. So, here is my confession: I stopped seeing my therapist, and I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t need to see her right now, so why would I? I am letting myself be better, and
there’s nothing wrong with that. Like so many other things, I can take some time away and pick it back up again when I need to. So can you, so can anyone else. It’s okay to put the tools of self-growth down and rest inside of the frame we have already built. It’s okay to celebrate the achievements already made instead of constantly looking at the finish lines that have yet to be crossed. That’s the beauty of self-growth: it happens on your own time, when you’re ready. Plant your seeds and water them, and they will bloom then they’re ready.
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