THE BELL: VOL IX, ISSUE 7 by The Chapel Bell

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THE BELL Creative content for a brighter Monday

FEB 7, 2022

VOL. IX ISSUE. VII

Cold Turkey by graduate student jake head

There is one dopamine dependency that seems to be wide spread among people my age: the tinder match. Or the bumble match. Or wherever you choose to find romance. I find that most of my college aged peers fall into two categories: completely devoted to another or chronically single. For those of us who lean towards chronic singularity, the general trend of modern romance is dating apps. It seems that a large fraction of single people cling to these apps, and I fear we may have all developed a dependency. Since I came to UGA, I have been hooked on these apps. I’ve gone on tinder dates that led to one night stands, tinder dates that led to unfulfilling month long relationships, tinder dates wherein the chemistry was so abominable that I had to find an excuse to leave prematurely; but what I haven’t found on tinder, or hinge, or bumble, or grindr, is anything or anyone that makes me feel good about myself. Nothing on a deep level. At this point, I know I’ve stayed on them solely to approve my vanity. I could make the false claim that dating apps are good for some people. I could validate those of us who are in denial that they have a dependency, but I tend to think we in our generation too easily validate each other when we should push each other

photo by sophie mcleod to betterment. My singular new year’s resolution this year was to delete all my dating apps and keep them deleted. Thus far, I have been successful, but I’m having a hard time replacing the dopamine boost they used to give me. In the near past, college was where one would learn to flirt and connect with people romantically. I realized long ago that I’m stunted when it comes to in-person romance. Why is it so easy to be bold over a screen, yet so difficult to approach someone attractive and charismatic in person? I’ve never been a shy or timid man, yet this art evades me. What I’m trying to say here in this convoluted Bradshaw-esque confession is that we need to attempt to regain romance for the sake of our young culture. As Valentine's day approaches, I’m embracing my singularity. I’m aware this is a cliche, but I’m not embracing it in a “galentines” self-love way— that would only be a shallow attempt to hide my true ambitions when it comes to romance and friendships. I’m embracing my singularity in that from now on I am challenging myself to be bolder, challenging myself to abstain from shallow dopamine rewards, and begging my generation to join me. And if you need to wean yourself off, maybe try sliding into his DMs.

THE CHAPEL BELL: A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION

My Crush

Together

by second year erin o’keefe

The snow falls in their hair, All I can do is stare. I know there is passion that we share. I know I will always care. Love is never lost, I will always feel this way: Free forever in the frost, I will remain to stay.

We share a smile in the park, Laughing in the cold. And are both in the dark About what lies in our souls. But there is never a doubt About the love we share We could never live without Always being near.

In time, our love never fades. All that matters Is us standing together in the shade Of the soon blossoming flowers.

They live here in my heart, Ever since the very start, They were made to be viewed as art, My perfect counterpart. Yes, it is true, That without them I am blue. I only wish they knew.

My Friend I laugh by their side, I am never without them. They are always my guide, Always my best friend. I wonder in amusement, At their gentle kind eyes. They are filled with cherishment, And never disguised, Nor filled with lies, Only bright blue skies That I could never despise.

THE BELL VOL. IX, ISSUE VII

photo by arantxa villa

A LOVE LETTER TO TAYLOR SWIFT by fourth year priya desai Dear Taylor, Are you ready for Valentine’s Day? I think you of all people would be. They say you write too many love songs, though they’d learn they’re wrong if they actually listened to your discography. And anyways, that’s the same old tired talking point, and I personally think you have just the right amount to teach someone about love. After all, you have no idea who I am (and I know an embarrassing amount about you, clearly), but you’re the one who taught me, long before I was old enough to understand–though maybe I’m still too young, and we’ll all laugh at this in a few years–back when I was still playing with legos and listening to Tim McGraw. I learned about all kinds of love through you: tender and new, like Enchanted, or turned sour, like White Horse, or transformative, like Daylight. In fact, I’m not sure who I might have turned out to be without this guidance in my formative years. Maybe a little more cynical and jaded, a little less of a hopeless romantic – but maybe hopeless isn’t the right word, in the end. Anyone who’s listened to Red (Taylor’s version, obviously) through the heartbreak of All Too Well and into the optimism of Begin Again couldn’t use “hopeless romantic” as an insult. Often I think of You Are In Love, a testament to someone else’s relationship that didn’t survive, and your confession that you’ve spent your whole life trying to define love in your own words. Do you think you have? Do you think anyone can? I’m not sure where I stand on the whole issue, but maybe, if anyone can do it, it’s you. Lover, an album that feels like a love letter of its own, comes close. Taylor, you’re better at giving advice than most of the people I know, or maybe I just refuse to listen to what I don’t want to hear, your music included. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you’re perfect, not by a long shot. We have a complicated relationship, and I mean, if we’re being realistic, most love stories fall apart from both ends, but I applaud the times you’ve acknowledged that publicly (see: Back to December). All the same, I’m sure releasing an album feels a bit like releasing a piece of a diary, and the poems in my notes app paint others in a worse light than

photo by arantxa villa myself. By the way, if we’re being candid, I think folklore, the album I’ve decided you created specifically for me, is your best. Taylor, I have to apologize. This (like everything either of us write) is about me, not you. I’m sure you’ve heard that line before, but I don’t mean in the cliche sense of a break-up, I mean in the fact that this isn’t really a love letter to you–it’s ultimately to myself, or to the concept of love itself, or whatever weird shit I use you as a parasocial substitute for in my life. With all that said, thanks for being the stand-in within my life and an oracle of love to everyone willing to listen. With love, Priya THE BELL VOL. IX, ISSUE VII

Object Permanence by third year srija sengupta

Underneath the sheafs of paper Post it notes I’ve saved for later Lies the card you gave me last year I’ve read it once or twice or thrice I loved the words, they’re really nice I never told you while you were here And it’s not you, I swear it’s me I do this every time, you see Rushing on, forgetting the world won’t If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind And I’m running wild on broken time And my shoulds, my coulds, my woulds become my… don’ts Chorus:

I can’t promise A happy ending, there’s no pretending I’m not someone who’ll screw you over I try to change it, rearrange yet I don’t know how to pull you closer I keep forgetting, keep regretting And I know I can’t give you closure

Chorus:

Such a shame, such a waste, the story of a child who never learned sense

They grew up to be beautiful and cold with no object permanence Chorus:

I can’t promise A happy ending, there’s no pretending And I know that I screwed you over I try to change it, rearrange yet I swear someone else will pull you closer I won’t forget this, won’t regret this And I hope I can give you closure So here’s that apology text I never sent Not for trying, but for lack of commitment

So here’s that apology text I never sent Not for trying, but for lack of commitment I never meant to hurt anyone The creeping silence is a loaded gun Aimed for the sky but it shot through your heart Now Cupid’s laughing from every corner “Stupid fool, did no one warn ya, What happens when you go too (fucking) far?

photo by catherine campbell